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diff --git a/old/55496-0.txt b/old/55496-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 361ece1..0000000 --- a/old/55496-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19066 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Household Book of English Poetry, by -Various. - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Household Book of English Poetry - Selected and Arranged with Notes - -Editor: Richard Chenevix Trench - -Author=Aldrich, James -Author=Alford, Henry -Author=Arnold, Edwin -Author=Arnold, Matthew -Author=Aytoun, Sir Robert -Author=Bacon, Lord -Author=Baillie, Joanna -Author=Baxter, Richard -Author=Beaumont and Fletcher -Author=Beaumont, Francis -Author=Beaumont, Sir John -Author=Beddoes, Thomas Lovell -Author=Berkeley, George -Author=Blackstone, Sir William -Author=Blake, William -Author=Bowles, William L., -Author=Browne, Sir Thomas -Author=Browning, Elizabeth Barrett -Author=Browning, Robert -Author=Bryant, William Cullen -Author=Buchanan, Robert -Author=Burbidge, Thomas -Author=Burns, Robert -Author=Byron, Lord -Author=Campbell, Thomas -Author=Campion, Thomas -Author=Carew, Thomas -Author=Charles I. -Author=Clare, John -Author=Cleveland, John -Author=Clough, Arthur Hugh -Author=Coleridge, Hartley -Author=Coleridge, Samuel Taylor -Author=Collins, William -Author=Cotton, Charles -Author=Cowley, Abraham -Author=Cowper, William -Author=Crashaw, Richard -Author=Croly, George -Author=Cunningham, Allan -Author=Davenant, Sir William -Author=De VERE, Aubrey, -Author=Donne, John -Author=Doubleday, Thomas -Author=Doyle, Sir Francis Hastings -Author=Drayton, Michael -Author=Drummond, William -Author=Dryden, John -Author=Eastman, Charles Gammage -Author=Elliot, Ebenezer -Author=Elliott, Jane -Author=Emerson, Ralph Waldo -Author=Falkland, Lord -Author=Fanshawe, Sir Richard -Author=Forster, John -Author=Gay, John -Author=Glen, William -Author=Glover, Richard -Author=Gray, David -Author=Gray, Thomas -Author=Greene, Robert -Author=Habington, William -Author=Hale, Sir Matthew -Author=Hallam, Arthur Henry -Author=Hamilton, William -Author=Herbert, George -Author=Herrick, Robert -Author=Holmes, Oliver Wendell -Author=Holyday, Barten -Author=Hood, Thomas -Author=Houghton, Lord -Author=Hume, Alexander -Author=Hunnis, William -Author=Hunt, Leigh -Author=Irving, Edward -Author=James, Thomas -Author=Johnson, Samuel -Author=Jones, Sir William -Author=Jonson, Ben -Author=Keats, John -Author=Keble, John -Author=King, Henry -Author=Kingsley, Charles -Author=Knowles, Herbert -Author=Lamb, Charles -Author=Landor, Walter Savage -Author=Lindsay, Lady Anne -Author=Logan, John -Author=Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth -Author=Lovelace, Richard -Author=Lushington, Henry -Author=Macaulay, Lord -Author=Macdonald, George -Author=Marlowe, Christopher -Author=Marvell, Andrew -Author=Mickle, William Julius -Author=Milton, John -Author=Montgomery, James -Author=Montrose, Marquis of -Author=Moore, Thomas -Author=Nairn, Lady -Author=Newcastle, Duchess of -Author=Newman, John Henry -Author=Oxford, Earl of -Author=Palmer, John Williamson -Author=Patmore, Coventry -Author=Philips, Ambrose -Author=Pope, Alexander -Author=Quarles, Francis -Author=Raleigh, Sir Walter -Author=Robertson, John, CCLXXII -Author=Scott, Sir Walter -Author=Seward, Anna -Author=Shakespeare, William -Author=Shelley, Percy Bysshe -Author=Shepherd, Nathaniel G. -Author=Shirley, James -Author=Sidney, Sir Philip -Author=Southey, Robert -Author=Southwell, Robert -Author=Spenser, Edmund -Author=Stillingfleet, Benjamin -Author=Stirling, Earl of -Author=Stoddard, Richard Henry -Author=Story, William -Author=Strong, Charles -Author=Surrey, Earl of -Author=Swift, Jonathan -Author=Sylvester, Joshua -Author=Taylor, Henry -Author=Taylor, Jane -Author=Taylor, Jeremy -Author=Tennyson, Alfred -Author=Tennyson, Charles -Author=Terry, Rose -Author=Thackeray, William Makepeace -Author=Thomson, James -Author=Thurlow, Lord -Author=Tickell, Thomas -Author=Trench, Melesina -Author=Tychborn, Chidiock -Author=Vaughan, Henry -Author=Waller, Edmund -Author=Warton, Thomas -Author=Wastell, Simon -Author=Wesley, Charles -Author=White, Blanco -Author=Whitman, Walter -Author=Whittier, John Greenleaf -Author=Wild, Robert -Author=Wilson, John -Author=Wither, George -Author=Wolfe, Charles -Author=Wordsworth, William -Author=Wotton, Sir Henry -Author=Wyat, Sir Thomas - -Release Date: September 6, 2017 [eBook #55496] -[Most recently updated: October 7, 2023] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Books project.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HOUSEHOLD BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY *** - - - - - Household Book of English Poetry - - [Illustration: colophon] - - - - - A HOUSEHOLD BOOK - - OF - - ENGLISH POETRY - - SELECTED AND ARRANGED - - With Notes - - BY - - RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D. - - ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN - - - LONDON - MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1868 - - LONDON: PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - AND PARLIAMENT STREET - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The first question which I asked myself, when I resumed a purpose long -ago entertained, and then for a long while laid aside, of publishing -such a selection of English Poetry as the present, was this, namely, -whether Mr. Palgrave’s _Golden Treasury_ had not so occupied the ground -that there was no room for one who should come after. The selection is -one made with so exact an acquaintance with the sources from which his -_Treasury_ was to be replenished, with so fine a taste in regard of what -was worthy to be admitted there, that this was the conclusion to which -at the first I was disposed to arrive. Presently, however, I saw reason -to change my mind. The volume which I meditated was on so different a -scheme and plan from his, that, while no doubt I should sometimes go -over ground which he had gone over before, it was evident that for the -most part our paths would be different, and my choice not identical with -his. This to so great an extent has proved the case, that of more than -three hundred pieces which compose this volume, less than seventy have -appeared in his. And it is easy to perceive how this should be. His is -a _Treasury of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English -Language_, and of these exclusively; but within this circle he proposes -to include _all_ which is of first-rate excellence in our language by -authors not living. My scheme is at once broader and narrower; broader, -in that I limit myself to no one particular class of poetry, and embrace -the living and the dead alike; narrower, in that I make no attempt to be -exhaustive, or to give more than a very few samples even of the best and -greatest of our poets. - -But if Mr. Palgrave had not forestalled me, I certainly did not feel -that any other had so done. Most of the collections which have fallen -under my eye have failed to give me the impression of being the result -of direct and immediate investigation on the part of the collector into -the treasures of our English Poetry. There is so much there which -invites citation, and which has never been cited yet in any of our -popular anthologies, that it is difficult to think that any one who had -himself wandered in this garden of riches would not have carried off -some flowers and fruits of his own gathering; instead of offering to us -again, as most do, though it may be in somewhat different combinations, -what already has been offered by others. When I see, for example, ‘Queen -and huntress chaste and fair,’ doubtless a very graceful lyric, with one -or two other familiar poems, doing duty in one collection after another -as the specimens of Ben Jonson’s verse, it is hard to suppose that his -rich and pleasant _Underwood_ has been wandered through; since in that -case something which others have not brought already would surely have -been brought away from thence; while the specimens from other poets -provoke a similar misgiving. Whatever merit or demerit this may imply, -the volume here presented lays claim to a certain originality--or, if -that word cannot in this matter be allowed,--to a certain independence -of judgment. There has not, indeed, been any attempt, as certainly there -has been no desire, to reverse the general judgment and decision about -the great poems of the language. He who should offer to do this would -merely betray his own presumption, and his unfitness for even so humble -a task as that here attempted. But in poems of a very high merit, which -yet do not attain to the highest rank of all, there is ample space for -the play of such an independent judgment, and I have not hesitated to -exercise this. Many, which almost all collections have hitherto -contained, will be looked for in vain in this; not a few which, so far -as I know, none have included, have found room in it. It is not always -that I have considered what I bring forward _better_ than what to make -place for it I set aside; but where I have only considered it as good, -it has seemed a real gain to put new treasures within the reach of those -who are little able, or, if able, are little likely, to go and discover -such for themselves. But in very many instances I feel sure that what I -have made room for is not merely as good, but better than that which to -make room for it I have dismissed; nor has it been a little pleasure to -draw from obscure retreats, or from retreats only familiar to those who -have made English poetry more or less of a special study, and -acquainted themselves with its bye ways no less than its high ways, -poems which little merit the oblivion into which they had fallen. - -I have called this volume a _Household Book of English Poetry_, by this -name implying that it is a book for all, that there is nothing in it to -prevent it from being confidently placed in the hands of every member of -the household. I wish I could have kept it within a moderate size by no -more than the excluding from it everything of inferior value; but it -will be evident to all who are at all acquainted with the inexhaustible -opulence of English Poetry that I could only do this by continual acts -of self-denial, having, at every step of my progress, to set my seal to -the truth of that Eastern proverb which says, ‘You may bring a nosegay -to the city, but you cannot bring the garden.’ This is indeed all which -in this anthology I have attempted. To have allowed it to grow to a -larger bulk would have defeated my hopes that it might be a volume which -the emigrant, finding room for little not absolutely necessary, might -yet find room for it in his trunk, and the traveller in his knapsack, -and that on some narrow shelves where there are few books this might be -one. But indeed the actual amount which such a volume contains, whether -it be much or little, will be of less consequence in our eyes, when once -we have apprehended that Horace was only under the mark when he affirmed -of good poetry that ten times repeated it will please. It would be truer -to say of a poem which in motive, in form, in diction, in melody, in -unity of plan, satisfies all conditions, that it is ‘a joy for ever.’ -It is impossible so to draw out the sweetness of it that it shall not -still have as much to yield us, or it maybe more than it had at the -beginning. How many another book, once read, can yield no more pleasure -or profit to us--but poems of the highest order are in their very -essence sources of a delight which is inexhaustible. However much of -this has been drawn from them, as much or more remains behind. - -There is another reflection which may console us in leaving so much -untouched, namely, that almost every considerable poet has written -something, in which all that he has of highest and most characteristic -has come to a head. Thus I remember that Wordsworth used to speak of -Shelley’s _Ode to a Skylark_ as the expression of the highest to which -his genius had attained. Wordsworth’s own _Lines on revisiting the banks -of the Wye_, or, higher perhaps even than these, his _Lines suggested by -a picture of Peele Castle in a Storm_, I should regard as fulfilling for -him the same conditions; and what is true of these two, is no less true -of other poets out of number. - -I have nowhere given extracts from larger poems, but only poems which -may be regarded as complete in themselves. It is true that I have -sometimes made room for such as, through their length, or through some -other cause, must otherwise have been shut out, by omissions; but only -where I believed these omissions to be real gains; and I do not think I -have anywhere done this without giving warning to the reader. There are, -no doubt, certain inconveniences which attend a resolution only to give -entire poems and not extracts; and this the chief one--that the space -allotted to different poets cannot in all or nearly all instances -represent or correspond to their several importance. Some poets have -thrown all or well nigh all their poetic faculty into the composition of -one or two great poems; and have very seldom indeed allowed themselves -in briefer excursions into the land of song. Others on the contrary, of -not higher, or it may be not nearly so high, a gift, have put a large -part of their strength into these occasional poems, and will therefore -yield for a volume like the present infinitely more than their more -illustrious compeers. Under the action of this rule, and dramatic poetry -being of necessity excluded, there is nothing of Shakespeare’s to choose -from but his Sonnets and his Songs--these certainly being in themselves -much, but still little when compared with what is passed by. Again, one -who does not believe in _Alexander’s Feast_, and still less in the _Ode -on the Death of Mrs. Killigrew_, finds it hard, indeed impossible, to -deal anything approaching to justice to Dryden, or by specimens which -are at his command to afford any true representation of the range of his -powers or the eminence of his place in English literature. It is the -same and nearly to the same extent with Pope; while others, like Gray -and Campbell, get justice and more than justice; though, yielding what -they do, one does not grudge this to them in the least. The -inconvenience would certainly be a grave one, if the volume presented -itself as primarily a Manual of English Poetry, or an assistance to the -study of the history of this; but having quite another as its primary -object, it is one which may very well be borne, while the advantages of -such a rule of selection are undoubted. - -I have attached a few notes to this volume. I had intended to add many -more, but under the pressure of events which now claim, and for a long -time to come are likely to claim, nearly all one’s thoughts and leisure, -have been obliged to renounce the carrying of this intention out, and -only to print those which were ready. If in them there is little or -nothing with which professed students of English literature are not -already familiar, I can only urge that this volume was not designed, and -still less were the notes designed, for such; but for readers who, -capable of an intelligent interest in the subject, have yet had neither -time nor opportunity for special studies of their own in it, and who -must therefore rely more or less on the hand-leading of others; nor I -trust shall I be found fault with that I have sometimes taken upon me in -these notes to indicate what seemed worthy of special admiration; or -sought in other ways to plant the reader at that point of view from -which the merits of some poem might be most deeply felt and best -understood. If I am, I must plead in excuse that for myself in other -regions of art, as in music or painting, where I have comparatively -little or no confidence in my own judgment, I have been and often am -most thankful to those, being persons whom I could trust, who have told -me what to admire, and given me the reasons for so doing. If we set -aside a few intuitive geniuses, it is only thus that any of us can ever -hope to be educated into independence of judgment; and I am sure that -some, acknowledging this, will be grateful for notes of admiration, by -which I have sometimes called their attention to that which otherwise -might not obtain it, or might not obtain it to the full of its deserts. - - LONDON: _May 8th, 1868_. - - - - -A - -HOUSEHOLD BOOK - -OF - -ENGLISH POETRY. - - - - -PART THE FIRST. - - - - -I - -_A MEDITATION UPON THE FRAILTY OF THIS LIFE._ - - - O trifling toys that toss the brains, - While loathsome life doth last; - O wishèd wealth, O sugared joys, - O life when death is past; - Who loaths exchange of loss with gain? 5 - Yet loath we death as hell. - What woeful wight would wish his woe? - Yet wish we here to dwell. - O Fancy frail, that feeds on earth, - And stays on slippery joys; 10 - O noble mind, O happy man, - That can contemn such toys! - - Such toys as neither perfect are, - And cannot long endure; - Our greatest skill, our sweetest joy, 15 - Uncertain and unsure. - For life is short, and learning long, - All pleasure mixt with woe; - Sickness and sleep steal time unseen, - And joys do come and go. 20 - Thus learning is but learned by halves, - And joy enjoyed no while; - That serves to show thee what thou want’st, - This helps thee to beguile. - - But after death is perfect skill, 25 - And joy without decay; - When sin is gone, that blinds our eyes, - And steals our joys away; - No crowing cock shall raise us up, - To spend the day in vain; 30 - No weary labour shall us drive - To go to bed again. - But for we feel not what we want, - Nor know not what we have; - We love to keep the body’s life, 35 - We loath the soul to save. - _Anon._ - - - - -II - -_LOVE THE ONLY PRICE OF LOVE._ - - - The fairest pearls that northern seas do breed, - For precious stones from eastern coasts are sold; - Nought yields the earth that from exchange is freed; - Gold values all, and all things value gold. - Where goodness wants an equal change to make, 5 - There greatness serves, or number place doth take. - - No mortal thing can bear so high a price, - But that with mortal thing it may be bought; - The corn of Sicil buys the western spice; - French wine of us, of them our cloth is sought. 10 - No pearls, no gold, no stones, no corn, no spice, - No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price. - - What thing is Love, which nought can countervail? - Nought save itself, ev’n such a thing is Love. - All worldly wealth in worth as far doth fail, 15 - As lowest earth doth yield to heaven above. - Divine is Love, and scorneth worldly pelf, - And can be bought with nothing but with self. - _Anon._ - - - - -III - -_A POESY TO PROVE AFFECTION IS NOT LOVE_ - - - Conceit, begotten by the eyes, - Is quickly born, and quickly dies; - For while it seeks our hearts to have, - Meanwhile there reason makes his grave: - For many things the eyes approve, 5 - Which yet the heart doth seldom love. - - For as the seeds, in springtime sown, - Die in the ground ere they be grown; - Such is conceit, whose rooting fails, - As child that in the cradle quails; 10 - Or else within the mother’s womb - Hath his beginning, and his tomb. - - Affection follows Fortune’s wheels, - And soon is shaken from her heels; - For following beauty or estate, 15 - Her liking still is turned to hate; - For all affections have their change, - And Fancy only loves to range. - - Desire himself runs out of breath, - And, getting, doth but gain his death; 20 - Desire nor reason hath, nor rest, - And, blind, doth seldom choose the best: - Desire attained is not desire, - But as the cinders of the fire. - - As ships in ports desired are drowned; 25 - As fruit, once ripe, then falls to ground; - As flies, that seek for flames, are brought - To cinders by the flames they sought: - So fond Desire, when it attains, - The life expires, the woe remains. 30 - - And yet some poets fain would prove - Affection to be perfect love; - And that Desire is of that kind, - No less a passion of the mind, - As if wild beasts and men did seek 35 - To like, to love, to choose alike. - _Sir Walter Raleigh._ - - - - -IV - -_LIFE._ - - - The World’s a bubble, and the Life of Man - Less than a span; - In his conception wretched; from the womb - So to the tomb; - Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years 5 - With cares and fears. - Who then to frail mortality shall trust, - But limns on water, or but writes in dust. - - Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, - What life is best? 10 - Courts are but only superficial schools - To dandle fools: - The rural parts are turned into a den - Of savage men: - And where’s a city from foul vice so free, 15 - But may be termed the worst of all the three? - - Domestic cares afflict the husband’s bed, - Or pains his head: - Those that live single, take it for a curse, - Or do things worse: 20 - Some would have children; those that have them, moan, - Or wish them gone: - What is it, then, to have, or have no wife, - But single thraldom, or a double strife? - - Our own affections still at home to please 25 - Is a disease: - To cross the seas to any foreign soil, - Peril and toil: - Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease, - We’ are worse in peace:-- 30 - What then remains, but that we still should cry - For being born, or, being born, to die? - _Lord Bacon._ - - - - -V - -_NATURAL COMPARISONS WITH PERFECT LOVE._ - - - The lowest trees have tops; the ant her gall; - The fly her spleen; the little sparks their heat: - The slender hairs cast shadows, though but small; - And bees have stings, although they be not great. - Seas have their surges, so have shallow springs; 5 - And love is love, in beggars as in kings. - - Where rivers smoothest run, deep are the fords; - The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move; - The firmest faith is in the fewest words; - The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love. 10 - True hearts have eyes, and ears, no tongues to speak; - They hear, and see, and sigh; and then they break. - _Anon._ - - - - -VI - -_THE SOUL’S ERRAND._ - - - Go, Soul, the body’s guest, - Upon a thankless errand; - Fear not to touch the best; - The truth shall be thy warrant. - Go, since I needs must die, 5 - And give the world the lie. - - Say to the Court it glows - And shines like rotten wood; - Say to the Church it shows - What’s good, and doth no good. 10 - If Church and Court reply, - Then give them both the lie. - - Tell Potentates they live - Acting by others’ action; - Not loved unless they give, 15 - Not strong but by affection. - If Potentates reply, - Give Potentates the lie. - - Tell men of high condition, - That manage the Estate, 20 - Their purpose is ambition, - Their practice only hate. - And if they once reply, - Then give them all the lie. - - Tell them that brave it most, 25 - They beg for more by spending, - Who in their greatest cost - Like nothing but commending: - And if they make reply, - Then tell them all they lie. 30 - - Tell Zeal it wants devotion; - Tell Love it is but lust; - Tell Time it is but motion; - Tell Flesh it is but dust. - And wish them not reply, 35 - For thou must give the lie. - - Tell Age it daily wasteth; - Tell Honour how it alters; - Tell Beauty how she blasteth; - Tell Favour how it falters. 40 - And as they shall reply, - Give every one the lie. - - Tell Wit how much it wrangles - In tickle points of niceness; - Tell Wisdom she entangles 45 - Herself in over-wiseness. - And when they do reply, - Straight give them both the lie. - - Tell Physic of her boldness; - Tell Skill it is pretension; 50 - Tell Charity of coldness; - Tell Law it is contention. - And as they do reply, - So give them all the lie. - - Tell Fortune of her blindness; 55 - Tell Nature of decay; - Tell Friendship of unkindness; - Tell Justice of delay. - And if they will reply, - Then give them all the lie. 60 - - Tell Arts they have no soundness, - But vary by esteeming; - Tell Schools they want profoundness, - And stand so much on seeming. - If Arts and Schools reply, 65 - Give Arts and Schools the lie. - - Tell Faith it’s fled the city; - Tell how the country erreth; - Tell Manhood shakes off pity; - Tell Virtue least preferreth. 70 - And if they do reply, - Spare not to give the lie. - - So when thou hast, as I - Commanded thee, done blabbing, - Because to give the lie 75 - Deserves no less than stabbing, - Stab at thee who that will, - No stab the soul can kill. - - _Anon._. - - - - -VII - - -1 - -_MUNDUS QUALIS._ - - What is the world? tell, worldling, if thou know it. - If it be good, why do all ills o’erflow it? - If it be bad, why dost thou like it so? - If it be sweet, how comes it bitter then? - If it be bitter, what bewitcheth men? 5 - If it be friend, why kills it, as a foe, - Vain-minded men that over-love and lust it? - If it be foe, fondling, how dar’st thou trust it? - - -2 - -_EMBLEMA._ - - Friend faber, cast me a round hollow ball, - Blown full of wind, for emblem of this All; - Adorn it fair, and flourish every part - With flowers and fruits, with brooks, beasts, fish, and fowl, - With rarest cunning of thy curious art: 5 - And grave in gold, about my silver bowl, - _Thus rolls the world, the idol of mankind, - Whose fruit is fiction; whose foundation wind_. - - -3 - -_FUIMUS FUMUS._ - - Where, where are now the great reports - Of those huge haughty earthborn giants? - Where are the lofty towers and forts - Of those proud kings bade Heaven defiance? - When these I to my mind revoke, 5 - Methinks I see a mighty smoke - Thick mounting from quick-burning matter, - Which in an instant winds do scatter. - - -4 - -_OMNIA SOMNIA._ - - Go, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel, - Despising pain, so thou may’st gain - Some honour or some golden gravel; - But death the while, to fill his number, - With sudden call takes thee from all, 5 - To prove thy days but dream and slumber. - - -5 - -_MORS MORTIS._ - - The World and Death one day them cross-disguisèd, - To cozen man, when sin had once beguiled him. - Both called him forth, and questioning advisèd - To say whose servant he would fairly yield him. - Man, weening then but to the World to’ have given him, 5 - By the false World became the slave of Death; - But from their fraud he did appeal by faith - To HIM whose death killed Death, and from the world has driven him. - _Joshua Sylvester._ - - - - -VIII - -_THE STORY OF A SUMMER DAY._ - - - O perfect Light, which shaid away - The darkness from the light, - And set a ruler o’er the day, - Another o’er the night; - - Thy glory, when the day forth flies, 5 - More vively does appear, - Than at midday unto our eyes - The shining sun is clear. - - The shadow of the earth anon - Removes and drawis by, 10 - While in the east, when it is gone, - Appears a clearer sky. - - Which soon perceive the little larks, - The lapwing and the snipe, - And tune their songs, like Nature’s clerks, 15 - O’er meadow, muir, and stripe. - - Our hemisphere is polished clean, - And lightened more and more; - While everything is clearly seen, - Which seemèd dim before: 20 - - Except the glistering astres bright, - Which all the night were clear, - Offuskèd with a greater light - No longer do appear. - - The golden globe incontinent 25 - Sets up his shining head, - And o’er the earth and firmament - Displays his beams abread. - - For joy, the birds with boulden throats - Against his visage sheen 30 - Take up their kindly music notes - In woods and gardens green. - - The dew upon the tender crops, - Like pearles white and round, - Or like to melted silver drops, 35 - Refreshes all the ground. - - The misty reek, the clouds of rain - From tops of mountains skails, - Clear are the highest hills and plain, - The vapours take the vales. 40 - - The ample heaven, of fabric sure, - In cleanness does surpass - The crystal and the silver pure, - Or clearest polished glass. - - The time so tranquil is and still, 45 - That no where shall ye find, - Save on a high and barren hill, - The air of peeping wind. - - All trees and simples, great and small, - That balmy leaf do bear, 50 - Than they were painted on a wall, - No more they move or steir. - - Calm is the deep and purple sea, - Yea, smoother than the sand; - The waves, that weltering wont to be, 55 - Are stable like the land. - - So silent is the cessile air, - That every cry and call, - The hills and dales and forest fair - Again repeats them all. 60 - - The flourishes and fragrant flowers, - Through Phœbus’ fostering heat, - Refreshed with dew and silver showers, - Cast up an odour sweet. - - The cloggèd busy humming bees, 65 - That never think to drone, - On flowers and flourishes of trees, - Collect their liquor brown. - - The sun, most like a speedy post, - With ardent course ascends; 70 - The beauty of the heavenly host - Up to our zenith tends; - - Not guided by a Phaëthon, - Not trainèd in a chair, - But by the high and holy One, 75 - Who does all where empíre. - - The burning beams down from his face - So fervently can beat, - That man and beast now seek a place - To save them from the heat. 80 - - The herds beneath some leafy tree, - Amidst the flowers they lie; - The stable ships upon the sea - Tend up their sails to dry. - - With gilded eyes and open wings, 85 - The cock his courage shows; - With claps of joy his breast he dings, - And twenty times he crows. - - The dove with whistling wings so blue, - The winds can fast collect, 90 - Her purple pens turn many a hue - Against the sun direct. - - Now noon is went; gone is midday, - The heat does slake at last, - The sun descends down west away, 95 - For three o’clock is past. - - The rayons of the sun we see - Diminish in their strength, - The shade of every tower and tree - Extended is in length. 100 - - Great is the calm, for everywhere - The wind is setting down, - The reek throws right up in the air - From every tower and town. - - The gloming comes, the day is spent, 105 - The sun goes out of sight, - And painted is the occident - With purple sanguine bright. - - The scarlet nor the golden thread, - Who would their beauty try, 110 - Are nothing like the colour red - And beauty of the sky. - - Our west horizon circular, - From time the sun be set, - Is all with rubies, as it were, 115 - Or roses red o’erfret. - - What pleasure were to walk and see, - Endlong a river clear, - The perfect form of every tree - Within the deep appear. 120 - - Oh then it were a seemly thing, - While all is still and calm, - The praise of God to play and sing - With cornet and with shalm! - - All labourers draw home at even, 125 - And can to other say, - Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, - Which sent this summer day. - _Alexander Hume._ - - - - -IX - -_A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY, HOWSOEVER HE BE REWARDED._ - - - Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green, - Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice; - In temperate heat where he is felt and seen; - In presence prest of people, mad or wise; - Set me in high, or yet in low degree; 5 - In longest night, or in the shortest day; - In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be; - In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray: - Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell, - In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood; 10 - Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell, - Sick or in health, in evil fame or good, - Hers will I be; and only with this thought - Content myself, although my chance be nought. - _Earl of Surrey._ - - - - -X - -_AN APPEAL._ - - - Forget not yet the tried intent - Of such a truth as I have meant; - My great travail so gladly spent - Forget not yet! - - Forget not yet when first began 5 - The weary life ye know, since whan - The suit, the service none tell can; - Forget not yet! - - Forget not yet the great assays, - The cruel wrong, the scornful ways; 10 - The painful patience in delays, - Forget not yet! - - Forget not! oh! forget not this, - How long ago hath been, and is - The mind that never meant amiss-- 15 - Forget not yet! - - Forget not then thine own approved, - The which so long hath thee so loved, - Whose steadfast faith yet never moved-- - Forget not this! 20 - _Sir Thomas Wyat._ - - - - -XI - -_A RENUNCIATION._ - - - If women could be fair, and yet not fond, - Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, - I would not marvel that they make men bond - By service long to purchase their good will; - But when I see how frail those creatures are, 5 - I muse that men forget themselves so far. - - To mark the choice they make, and how they change, - How oft from Phœbus they do flee to Pan; - Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, - These gentle birds that fly from man to man; 10 - Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, - And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list? - - Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, - To pass the time when nothing else can please, - And train them to our lure with subtle oath, 15 - Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease; - And then we say when we their fancy try, - To play with fools, oh what a fool was I! - _Earl of Oxford._ - - - - -XII - -_THE EXCELLENCY OF HIS LOVE._ - - - Give place, ye lovers, here before - That spent your boasts and brags in vain: - My lady’s beauty passeth more - The best of yours, I dare well say’n, - Than doth the sun the candle light, 5 - Or brightest day the darkest night. - - And thereto hath a troth as just - As had Penelope the fair; - For what she saith, ye may it trust, - As it by writing sealèd were; 10 - And virtues hath she many mo, - Than I with pen have skill to show. - - I could rehearse, if that I would, - The whole effect of Nature’s plaint, - When she had lost the perfect mould, 15 - The like to whom she could not paint: - With wringing hands how she did cry, - And what she said, I know it, I. - - I know she swore with raging mind, - Her kingdom only set apart, 20 - There was no loss by law of kind - That could have gone so near her heart; - And this was chiefly all her pain: - ‘She could not make the like again.’ - - Sith Nature thus gave her the praise 25 - To be the chiefest work she wrought; - In faith, methink! some better ways - On your behalf might well be sought, - Than to compare, as ye have done, - To match the candle with the sun. 30 - _Earl of Surrey._ - - - - -XIII - - - When first mine eyes did view and mark - Thy beauty fair for to behold, - And when mine ears ’gan first to hark - The pleasant words that thou me told, - I would as then I had been free 5 - From ears to hear, and eyes to see. - - And when in mind I did consent - To follow thus my fancy’s will, - And when my heart did first relent - To taste such bait, myself to spill, 10 - I would my heart had been as thine, - Or else thy heart as soft as mine. - - O flatterer false! thou traitor born, - What mischief more might thou devise - Than thy dear friend to have in scorn, 15 - And him to wound in sundry wise; - Which still a friend pretends to be, - And art not so by proof I see? - Fie, fie upon such treachery! - _William Hunnis._ - - - - -XIV - -_TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS._ - - - I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair, - And I might have gone near to love thee, - Had I not found the slightest prayer - That lips could speak, had power to move thee; - But I can let thee now alone, 5 - As worthy to be loved by none. - - I do confess thou’rt sweet, but find - Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, - Thy favours are but like the wind, - That kisses everything it meets: 10 - And since thou can with more than one, - Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none. - - The morning rose that untouched stands, - Armed with her briars, how sweetly smells - But, plucked and strained through ruder hands, 15 - Her scent no longer with her dwells. - But scent and beauty both are gone, - And leaves fall from her, one by one. - - Such fate ere long will thee betide, - When thou hast handled been a while; 20 - Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;-- - And I will sigh, while some will smile, - To see thy love for more than one - Hath brought thee to be loved by none. - _Sir Robert Aytoun._ - - - - -XV - -_THE SHEPHERDS FAREWELL._ - - - While that the sun with his beams hot - Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain, - Philon the shepherd, late forgot, - Sitting beside a crystal fountain, - In shadow of a green oak tree 5 - Upon his pipe this song playèd he: - Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, - Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; - Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. - - So long as I was in your sight, 10 - I was your heart, your soul, and treasure; - And evermore you sobbed and sighed, - Burning in flames beyond all measure: - Three days endured your love to me, - And it was lost in other three! 15 - Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, - Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; - Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. - - Another shepherd you did see, - To whom your heart was soon enchainèd; 20 - Full soon your love was leapt from me, - Full soon my place he had obtainèd. - Soon came a third, your love to win, - And we were out, and he was in. - Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 25 - Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; - Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. - - Sure you have made me passing glad - That you your mind so soon removèd, - Before that I the leisure had 30 - To choose you for my best belovèd: - For all your love was past and done - Two days before it was begun:-- - Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, - Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; 35 - Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. - _Anon._ - - - - -XVI - -_SONNET._ - - - Rudely thou wrongest my dear hearts desire, - In finding fault with her too portly pride: - The thing which I do most in her admire, - Is of the world unworthy most envíed; - For in those lofty looks is close implied 5 - Scorn of base things and sdeign of foul dishonour, - Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide, - That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. - Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour; - That boldness innocence bears in her eyes; 10 - And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner, - Spreads in defiance of all enemies. - Was never in this world ought worthy tried, - Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride. - _Edmund Spenser._ - - - - -XVII - -_SONNET._ - - - Like as a huntsman after weary chace, - Seeing the game from him escaped away, - Sits down to rest him in some shady place, - With panting hounds beguilèd of their prey; - So after long pursuit and vain assay, 5 - When I all weary had the chace forsook, - The gentle deer returned the self-same way, - Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook; - There she beholding me with milder look, - Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide, 10 - Till I in hand her yet half trembling took, - And with her own good-will her firmly tied; - Strange thing meseemed to see a beast so wild - So goodly won, with her own will beguiled. - _Edmund Spenser._ - - - - -XVIII - -_A VISION UPON THE FAIRY QUEEN._ - - - Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, - Within that temple where the vestal flame - Was wont to burn; and passing by that way - To see that buried dust of living fame, - Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, 5 - All suddenly I saw The Fairy Queen: - At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; - And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, - For they this Queen attended; in whose stead - Oblivion laid him down on Laura’s hearse. 10 - Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, - And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, - Where Homer’s spright did tremble all for grief, - And cursed the access of that celestial thief. - _Sir Walter Raleigh._ - - - - -XIX - -_THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE._ - - - Come live with me, and be my love, - And we will all the pleasures prove, - That valleys, groves, [or] hills and fields, - Woods or steepy mountains yields. - - And we will sit upon the rocks, 5 - Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks - By shallow rivers, to whose falls - Melodious birds sing madrigals. - - And I will make thee beds of roses, - And a thousand fragrant posies, 10 - A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, - Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; - - A gown made of the finest wool, - Which from our pretty lambs we pull; - Fair-linèd slippers for the cold, 15 - With buckles of the purest gold; - - A belt of straw and ivy-buds, - With coral clasps and amber studs: - And if these pleasures may thee move, - Come live with me, and be my love. 20 - - Thy silver dishes for thy meat, - As precious as the gods do eat, - Shall, on an ivory table, be - Prepared each day for thee and me. - - The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 25 - For thy delight each May-morning. - If these delights thy mind may move, - Come live with me, and be my love. - _Christopher Marlowe._ - - - - -XX - -_THE ANSWER._ - - - If all the world and Love were young, - And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, - These pretty pleasures might me move - To live with thee, and be thy love, - - Time drives the flocks from field to fold, 5 - When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold; - Then Philomel becometh dumb, - The rest complains of cares to come. - - The flowers do fade, and wanton fields - To wayward winter reckoning yields; 10 - A honey tongue, a heart of gall, - Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall. - - Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, - Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, - Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; 15 - In folly ripe, in reason rotten. - - Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, - Thy coral clasps and amber studs, - All these in me no means can move, - To come to thee, and be thy love. 20 - - What should we talk of dainties then, - Of better meat than’s fit for men? - These are but vain: that’s only good - Which God hath blessed and sent for food. - - But could youth last, and love still breed, 25 - Had joys no date, nor age no need; - Then those delights my mind might move, - To live with thee, and be thy love. - _Anon._ - - - - -XXI - -_SAMELA._ - - - Like to Diana in her summer weed, - Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, - Goes fair Samela; - Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, - When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, 5 - Is fair Samela; - As fair Aurora in her morning grey, - Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, - Is fair Samela; - Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day, 10 - Whenas her brightness Neptune’s fancy move, - Shines fair Samela; - Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, - Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory - Of fair Samela; 15 - Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams, - Her brows’ bright arches framed of ebony; - Thus fair Samela - Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, - And Juno in the show of majesty, 20 - For she’s Samela: - Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, - For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity - Yield to Samela. - _Robert Greene._ - - - - -XXII - -_SILENT MUSIC._ - - - Rose-cheeked Laura, come! - Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’s - Silent music, either other - Sweetly gracing. - - Lovely forms do flow 5 - From concent divinely framed, - Heaven is music, and thy beauty’s - Birth is heavenly. - - These dull notes we sing - Discords need for helps to grace them; 10 - Only beauty purely loving - Knows no discord; - - But still moves delight, - Like clear springs renewed by flowing, - Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal. 15 - _Thomas Campion._ - - - - -XXIII - -_TRIUMPH OF CHARIS._ - - - See the chariot at hand here of Love, - Wherein my lady rideth! - Each that draws is a swan or a dove, - And well the car Love guideth. - As she goes, all hearts do duty 5 - Unto her beauty, - And enamoured do wish, so they might - But enjoy such a sight, - That they still were to run by her side, - Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 10 - - Do but look on her eyes, they do light - All that Love’s world compriseth! - Do but look on her hair, it is bright - As Love’s star when it riseth! - Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother 15 - Than words that soothe her! - And from her arched brows, such a grace - Sheds itself through the face, - As alone there triumphs to the life - All the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife. 20 - - Have you seen but a bright lily grow, - Before rude hands have touched it? - Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow, - Before the soil hath smutched it? - Have you felt the wool of the beaver? 25 - Or swan’s down ever? - Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar? - Or the nard in the fire? - Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee? - O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! 30 - _Ben Jonson._ - - - - -XXIV - -_A BRIDAL SONG_ - - - Roses, their sharp spines being gone, - Not royal in their smells alone, - But in their hue; - Maiden-pinks, of odour faint; - Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 5 - And sweet thyme true; - - Primrose, first-born child of Ver, - Merry spring-time’s harbinger, - With her bells dim; - Oxlips in their cradles growing, 10 - Marigolds on death-beds blowing, - Lark-heels trim; - - All, dear Nature’s children sweet, - Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet, - Blessing their sense! 15 - Not an angel of the air, - Bird melodious, or bird fair, - Be absent hence! - - The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor - The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 20 - Nor chattering pie, - May on our bride-house perch or sing, - Or with them any discord bring, - But from it fly! - _Beaumont and Fletcher._ - - - - -XXV - -_SONNET._ - - - You that do search for every purling spring, - Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, - And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows - Near thereabouts, into your posy wring; - You that do dictionaries’ method bring 5 - Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows; - You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woes - With new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing; - You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be such - As do bewray a want of inward touch: 10 - And sure at length stoln goods do come to light. - But if (both for your love and skill) your name - You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame, - Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite. - _Sir Philip Sidney._ - - - - -XXVI - -_SONNET._ - - - Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, - The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, - The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release, - The indifferent Judge between the high and low; - With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 5 - Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw. - Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease; - I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. - Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, - A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light, 10 - A rosy garland, and a weary head: - And if these things, as being thine by right, - Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me - Livelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see. - _Sir Philip Sidney._ - - - - -XXVII - -_SONNET._ - - - To yield to those I cannot but disdain, - Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts; - It is the beauty of the better parts, - With which I mind my fancies for to chain. - Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain, 5 - But only curlèd locks and wanton looks, - Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks, - Which may well take, but cannot well retain. - He that began to yield to the outward grace, - And then the treasures of the mind doth prove, 10 - He who as ’twere was with the mask in love, - What doth he think whenas he sees the face? - No doubt being limed by the outward colours so, - That inward worth would never let him go. - _Earl of Stirling._ - - - - -XXVIII - -_SONNET._ - - - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought - I summon up remembrance of things past, - I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, - And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste; - Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5 - For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, - And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe, - And moan the expense of many a vanished sight. - Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, - And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er 10 - The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan, - Which I new pay as if not paid before:-- - But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, - All losses are restored, and sorrows end. - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -XXIX - -_SONNET._ - - - From you have I been absent in the spring, - When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, - Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, - That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. - Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 5 - Of different flowers in odour and in hue, - Could make me any summer’s story tell, - Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: - Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, - Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; 10 - They were but sweet, but figures of delight, - Drawn after you--you pattern of all those. - Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, - As with your shadow I with these did play. - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -XXX - -_SONNET._ - - - Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, - By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! - The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem - For that sweet odour which doth in it live. - The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 5 - As the perfumèd tincture of the roses, - Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly - When summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses; - But, for their virtue only is their show, - They live unwooed, and unrespected fade; 10 - Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; - Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: - And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, - When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth. - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -XXXI - -_SONNET._ - - - A good that never satisfies the mind, - A beauty fading like the April flowers, - A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined, - A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, - A honour that more fickle is than wind, 5 - A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers, - A treasury which bankrupt time devours, - A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, - A vain delight our equals to command, - A style of greatness, in effect a dream, 10 - A swelling thought of holding sea and land, - A servile lot, decked with a pompous name; - Are the strange ends we toil for here below, - Till wisest death make us our errors know. - _William Drummond._ - - - - -XXXII - -_SONNET._ - - - Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade, - The morning’s darling late, the summer’s queen, - Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green, - As high as it did raise, bows low the head: - Right so my life, contentments being dead, 5 - Or in their contraries but only seen, - With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, - And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. - As doth the pilgrim therefore, whom the night - Hastes darkly to imprison on his way, 10 - Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright - Of what yet rests thee of life’s wasting day; - Thy sun posts westward, passèd is thy morn, - And twice it is not given thee to be born. - _William Drummond._ - - - - -XXXIII - -_SONNET._ - - - Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines, - Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair; - Here did she spread the treasure of her hair, - More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines. - She sat her by these muskèd eglantines, 5 - The happy place the print seems yet to bear; - Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines, - To which winds, trees, beasts, birds did lend an ear. - Me here she first perceived, and here a morn - Of bright carnations did o’erspread her face: 10 - Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born, - Here first I got a pledge of promised grace: - But ah! what served it to be happy so? - Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe? - _William Drummond._ - - - - -XXXIV - -_SONNET._ - - - Sweet spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train, - Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers; - The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, - The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers, - Thou turn’st, sweet youth; but ah! my pleasant hours 5 - And happy days with thee come not again; - The sad memorials only of my pain - Do with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours. - Thou art the same which still thou wast before, - Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair; 10 - But she, whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air, - Is gone; nor gold nor gems her can restore. - Neglected Virtue! seasons go and come, - When thine, forgot, lie closèd in a tomb. - _William Drummond._ - - - - -XXXV - -_SONNET._ - - - Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part-- - Nay, I have done, you get no more of me; - And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, - That thus so cleanly I myself can free; - Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 5 - And when we meet at any time again, - Be it not seen in either of our brows - That we one jot of former love retain. - Now at the last gasp of love’s latest breath, - When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, 10 - When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, - And innocence is closing up his eyes,-- - Now if thou would’st, when all have given him over, - From death to life thou might’st him yet recover! - _Michael Drayton._ - - - - -XXXVI - -_A SAD SONG._ - - - Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, - Sorrow calls no time that’s gone: - Violets plucked, the sweetest rain - Makes not fresh nor grow again; - Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; 5 - Fate’s hidden ends eyes cannot see: - Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast, - Why should sadness longer last? - Grief is but a wound to woe; - Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo. 10 - _Beaumont and Fletcher._ - - - - -XXXVII - -_INVOCATION TO SLEEP._ - - - Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving - Lock me in delight awhile; - Let some pleasing dreams beguile - All my fancies; that from thence - I may feel an influence, 5 - All my powers of care bereaving! - - Though but a shadow, but a sliding, - Let me know some little joy! - We that suffer long annoy - Are contented with a thought, 10 - Through an idle fancy wrought: - Oh, let my joys have some abiding! - _Beaumont and Fletcher._ - - - - -XXXVIII - -_SONG._ - - - Lay a garland on my hearse - Of the dismal yew; - Maidens, willow branches bear; - Say, I died true. - - My love was false, but I was firm 5 - From my hour of birth. - Upon my buried body lie - Lightly, gentle earth! - _Beaumont and Fletcher._ - - - - -XXXIX - -_THE SHEPHERD’S PRAISE OF HIS SACRED DIANA._ - - - Praised be Diana’s fair and harmless light, - Praised be the dews, wherewith she moists the ground: - Praised be her beams, the glory of the night, - Praised be her power, by which all powers abound. - - Praised be her nymphs, with whom she decks the woods, - Praised be her knights, in whom true honour lives: 6 - Praised be that force by which she moves the floods, - Let that Diana shine which all these gives. - - In heaven Queen she is among the spheres, - She, mistress-like, makes all things to be pure; 10 - Eternity in her oft change she bears, - She beauty is, by her the fair endure. - - Time wears her not, she doth his chariot guide, - Mortality below her orb is placed; - By her the virtue of the stars down slide, 15 - In her is Virtue’s perfect image cast. - A knowledge pure it is her worth to know: - With Circe let them dwell that think not so. - _Anon._ - - - - -XL - -_TRUE GROWTH._ - - - It is not growing like a tree - In bulk, doth make men better be; - Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, - To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. - A lily of a day 5 - Is fairer far in May, - Although it fall and die that night; - It was the plant and flower of light. - In small proportions we just beauties see, - And in short measures life may perfect be. 10 - _Ben Jonson._ - - - - -XLI - -_THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT_ - - - Fair stood the wind for France - When we our sails advance, - Nor now to prove our chance - Longer will tarry; - But putting to the main, 5 - At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, - With all his martial train, - Landed King Harry. - - And taking many a fort, - Furnished in warlike sort, 10 - Marched towards Agincourt - In happy hour; - Skirmishing day by day - With those that stopped his way, - Where the French general lay 15 - With all his power. - - Which in his height of pride, - King Henry to deride, - His ransom to provide - To the King sending; 20 - Which he neglects the while, - As from a nation vile, - Yet with an angry smile, - Their fall portending. - - And turning to his men, 25 - Quoth our brave Henry then, - ‘Though they to one be ten, - Be not amazèd. - Yet have we well begun, - Battles so bravely won 30 - Have ever to the sun - By fame been raisèd. - - ‘And for myself,’ quoth he, - ‘This my full rest shall be; - England ne’er mourn for me, 35 - Nor more esteem me. - Victor I will remain, - Or on this earth lie slain, - Never shall she sustain - Loss to redeem me. 40 - - ‘Poictiers and Cressy tell, - When most their pride did swell, - Under our swords they fell: - No less our skill is, - Than when our grandsire great, 45 - Claiming the regal seat - By many a warlike feat, - Lopped the French lilies.’ - - The Duke of York so dread, - The eager vaward led; 50 - With the main Henry sped, - Amongst his henchmen. - Exeter had the rear, - A braver man not there, - O Lord! how hot they were 55 - On the false Frenchmen! - - They now to fight are gone, - Armour on armour shone, - Drum now to drum did groan, - To hear was wonder; 60 - That with the cries they make, - The very earth did shake, - Trumpet to trumpet spake, - Thunder to thunder. - - Well it thine age became, 65 - O noble Erpingham - Which did the signal aim - To our hid forces; - When from a meadow by, - Like a storm suddenly, 70 - The English archery - Stuck the French horses. - - With Spanish yew so strong, - Arrows a cloth-yard long, - That like to serpents stung, 75 - Piercing the weather; - None from his fellow starts, - But playing manly parts, - And like true English hearts, - Stuck close together. 80 - - When down their bows they threw, - And forth their bilbows drew, - And on the French they flew; - Not one was tardy; - Arms were from shoulders sent; 85 - Scalps to the teeth were rent, - Down the French peasants went, - Our men were hardy. - - This while our noble king, - His broad sword brandishing, 90 - Down the French host did ding, - As to o’erwhelm it; - And many a deep wound lent, - His arms with blood besprent, - And many a cruel dent 95 - Bruisèd his helmet. - - Gloucester, that duke so good, - Next of the royal blood, - For famous England stood, - With his brave brother; 100 - Clarence, in steel so bright, - Though but a maiden knight, - Yet in that furious fight - Scarce such another. - - Warwick in blood did wade, 105 - Oxford the foe invade, - And cruel slaughter made, - Still as they ran up; - Suffolk his axe did ply, - Beaumont and Willoughby 110 - Bare them right doughtily, - Ferrers and Fanhope. - - Upon Saint Crispin’s day - Fought was this noble fray, - Which fame did not delay 115 - To England to carry. - Oh, when shall Englishmen - With such acts fill a pen, - Or England breed again - Such a King Harry! 120 - _Michael Drayton._ - - - - -XLII - -_TO HIMSELF._ - - - Where dost thou careless lie, - Buried in ease and sloth? - Knowledge, that sleeps, doth die; - And this security, - It is the common moth 5 - That eats on wits and arts, and [so] destroys them both. - - Are all the Aonian springs - Dried up? lies Thespia waste? - Doth Clarius’ harp want strings, - That not a nymph now sings! 10 - Or droop they as disgraced, - To see their seats and bowers by chattering pies defaced? - - If hence thy silence be, - As ’tis too just a cause, - Let this thought quicken thee: 15 - Minds that are great and free, - Should not on Fortune pause; - ’Tis crown enough to Virtue still, her own applause. - - What though the greedy fry - Be taken with false baits 20 - Of worded balladry, - And think it poesy? - They die with their conceits, - And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits. - - Then take in hand thy lyre, 25 - Strike in thy proper strain, - With Japhet’s line, aspire - Sol’s chariot for new fire, - To give the world again: - Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove’s brain. - - And since our dainty age 31 - Cannot endure reproof, - Make not thyself a page - To that strumpet the stage, - But sing high and aloof, 35 - Safe from the wolf’s black jaw, and the dull ass’s hoof. - _Ben Jonson._ - - - - -XLIII - -_MELANCHOLY._ - - - Hence, all you vain delights, - As short as are the nights - Wherein you spend your folly! - There’s nought in this life sweet, - If man were wise to see’t, 5 - But only melancholy, - Oh, sweetest melancholy! - Welcome, folded arms, and fixèd eyes, - A sigh that piercing mortifies, - A look that’s fastened to the ground, 10 - A tongue chained up without a sound! - Fountain-heads, and pathless groves, - Places which pale passion loves! - Moonlight walks, when all the fowls - Are warmly housed, save bats and owls! 15 - A midnight bell, a parting groan! - These are the sounds we feed upon; - Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; - Nothing’s so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. - _Beaumont and Fletcher._ - - - - -XLIV - -_LEWD LOVE IS LOSS._ - - - Misdeeming eye! that stoopeth to the lure - Of mortal worths, not worth so worthy love; - All beauty’s base, all graces are impure, - That do thy erring thoughts from God remove. - Sparks to the fire, the beams yield to the sun, 5 - All grace to God, from whom all graces run. - - If picture move, more should the pattern please; - No shadow can with shadowed thing compare, - And fairest shapes, whereon our loves do seize, - But silly signs of God’s high beauty are. 10 - Go, starving sense, feed thou on earthly mast; - True love, in heaven seek thou thy sweet repast. - - Glean not in barren soil these offal ears, - Sith reap thou may’st whole harvests of delight; - Base joys with griefs, bad hopes do end with fears, 15 - Lewd love with loss, evil peace with deadly fight: - God’s love alone doth end with endless ease, - Whose joys in hope, whose hope concludes in peace. - - Let not the luring train of fancies trap, - Or gracious features, proofs of Nature’s skill, 20 - Lull Reason’s force asleep in Error’s lap, - Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will. - The fairest flowers have not the sweetest smell; - A seeming heaven proves oft a damning hell. - - Self-pleasing souls, that play with beauty’s bait, 25 - In shining shroud may swallow fatal hook; - Where eager sight on semblant fair doth wait, - A lock it proves, that first was but a look: - The fish with ease into the net doth glide, - But to get out the way is not so wide. 30 - - So long the fly doth dally with the flame, - Until his singèd wings do force his fall; - So long the eye doth follow fancy’s game, - Till love hath left the heart in heavy thrall. - Soon may the mind be cast in Cupid’s jail, 35 - But hard it is imprisoned thoughts to bail. - - Oh! loathe that love whose final aim is lust, - Moth of the mind, eclipse of reason’s light; - The grave of grace, the mole of Nature’s rust, - The wrack of wit, the wrong of every right; 40 - In sum, an ill whose harms no tongue can tell; - In which to live is death, to die is hell. - _Robert Southwell._ - - - - -XLV - -_TO THE WORLD. A FAREWELL FOR A GENTLEWOMAN, VIRTUOUS AND NOBLE._ - - - False world, good night, since thou hast brought - That hour upon my morn of age, - Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, - My part is ended on thy stage. - - Do not once hope, that thou canst tempt 5 - A spirit so resolved to tread - Upon thy throat, and live exempt - From all the nets that thou canst spread. - - I know thy forms are studied arts, - Thy subtil ways be narrow straits; 10 - Thy courtesy but sudden starts, - And what thou call’st thy gifts, are baits. - - I know too, though thou strut and paint, - Yet art thou both shrunk up and old; - That only fools make thee a saint, 15 - And all thy good is to be sold. - - I know thou whole art but a shop - Of toys and trifles, traps and snares, - To take the weak, or make them stop: - Yet art thou falser than thy wares. 20 - - And, knowing this, should I yet stay, - Like such as blow away their lives, - And never will redeem a day, - Enamoured of their golden gyves? - - Or having ’scaped, shall I return, 25 - And thrust my neck into the noose, - From whence so lately I did burn - With all my powers myself to loose? - - What bird or beast is known so dull, - That fled his cage, or broke his chain, 30 - And tasting air and freedom, wull - Render his head in there again? - - If these who have but sense, can shun - The engines that have them annoyed; - Little for me had reason done, 35 - If I could not thy gins avoid. - - Yes, threaten, do. Alas, I fear - As little, as I hope from thee: - I know thou canst nor show, nor bear - More hatred than thou hast to me. 40 - - My tender, first, and simple years - Thou didst abuse, and then betray; - Since stirr’dst up jealousies and fears, - When all the causes were away. - - Then in a soil hast planted me, 45 - Where breathe the basest of thy fools; - Where envious arts professèd be, - And pride and ignorance the schools: - - Where nothing is examined, weighed; - But as ’tis rumoured, so believed; 50 - Where every freedom is betrayed, - And every goodness taxed or grieved. - - But what we’re born for, we must bear: - Our frail condition it is such, - That what to all may happen here, 55 - If’t chance to me, I must not grutch, - - Else I my state should much mistake, - To harbour a divided thought - From all my kind: that for my sake - There should a miracle be wrought. 60 - - No! I do know that I was born - To age, misfortune, sickness, grief: - But I will bear these with that scorn, - As shall not need thy false relief. - - Nor for my peace will I go far, 65 - As wanderers do, that still do roam; - But make my strengths, such as they are, - Here in my bosom, and at home. - _Ben Jonson._ - - - - -XLVI - -_TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON._ - - - The Muses’ fairest light in no dark time, - The wonder of a learnèd age; the line - Which none can pass; the most proportioned wit - To nature, the best judge of what was fit; - The deepest, plainest, highest, clearest pen; 5 - The voice most echoed by consenting men; - The soul which answered best to all well said - By others, and which most requital made; - Tuned to the highest key of ancient Rome, - Returning all her music with his own; 10 - In whom with nature study claimed a part, - And yet who to himself owed all his art: - Here lies Ben Jonson! every age will look - With sorrow here, with wonder on his book. - _John Cleveland._ - - - - -XLVII - -_A CONTENTED MIND._ - - - I weigh not fortune’s frown or smile; - I joy not much in earthly joys; - I seek not state, I seek not style; - I am not fond of fancy’s toys; - I rest so pleased with what I have, 5 - I wish no more, no more I crave. - - I quake not at the thunder’s crack; - I tremble not at noise of war; - I swound not at the news of wrack; - I shrink not at a blazing star; 10 - I fear not loss, I hope not gain, - I envy none, I none disdain. - - I see ambition never pleased; - I see some Tantals starved in store; - I see gold’s dropsy seldom eased; 15 - I see e’en Midas gape for more: - I neither want, nor yet abound-- - Enough’s a feast, content is crowned. - - I feign not friendship, where I hate; - I fawn not on the great in show; 20 - I prize, I praise a mean estate-- - Neither too lofty nor too low: - This, this is all my choice, my cheer-- - A mind content, a conscience clear. - _Joshua Sylvester._ - - - - -XLVIII - -_SONNET._ - - - Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, - Fooled by these rebel powers that thee array, - Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, - Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? - Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 5 - Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? - Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. - Eat up thy charge? is this thy body’s end? - Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant’s loss, - And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 10 - Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; - Within be fed, without be rich no more:-- - So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men; - And Death once dead, there’s no more dying then. - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -XLIX - -_SONNET._ - - - The expense of spirit in a waste of shame - Is lust in action; and till action, lust - Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, - Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; - Enjoyed no sooner than despisèd straight; 5 - Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, - Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, - On purpose laid to make the taker mad: - Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; - Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; 10 - A bliss in proof--and proved, a very woe; - Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream: - All this the world well knows; yet none knows well - To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -L - -_TIMES GO BY TURNS._ - - - The loppèd tree in time may grow again; - Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; - The sorriest wight may find release of pain, - The driest soil suck in some moistening shower; - Times go by turns, and chances change by course, 5 - From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. - - The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow, - She draws her favours to the lowest ebb; - Her tides have equal times to come and go; - Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web; 10 - No joy so great but runneth to an end, - No hap so hard but may in fine amend. - - Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring; - No endless night, yet not eternal day; - The saddest birds a season find to sing; 15 - The roughest storm a calm may soon allay; - Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, - That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. - - A chance may win that by mischance was lost; - That net that holds no great, takes little fish; 20 - In some things all, in all things none are crossed; - Few all they need, but none have all they wish; - Unmeddled joys here to no man befall, - Who least hath some, who most hath never all. - _Robert Southwell._ - - - - -LI - -_LIFE A BUBBLE._ - - - This Life, which seems so fair, - Is like a bubble blown up in the air, - By sporting children’s breath, - Who chase it everywhere, - And strive who can most motion it bequeath; 5 - And though it sometimes seem of its own might - Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there, - And firm to hover in that empty height, - That only is because it is so light. - But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 10 - For when ’tis most admirèd, in a thought, - Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. - _William Drummond._ - - - - -LII - -_MAN’S MORTALITY._ - - - Like as the damask rose you see, - Or like the blossom on the tree, - Or like the dainty flower in May, - Or like the morning of the day, - Or like the sun, or like the shade, 5 - Or like the gourd which Jonas had-- - E’en such is man; whose thread is spun, - Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. - The rose withers; the blossom blasteth; - The flower fades; the morning hasteth; 10 - The sun sets, the shadow flies; - The gourd consumes; and man he dies! - - Like to the grass that’s newly sprung, - Or like a tale that’s new begun, - Or like the bird that’s here to day, 15 - Or like the pearlèd dew of May, - Or like an hour, or like a span, - Or like the singing of a swan-- - E’en such is man; who lives by breath, - Is here, now there, in life, and death. 20 - The grass withers, the tale is ended; - The bird is flown, the dew’s ascended; - The hour is short, the span is long; - The swan’s near death; man’s life is done! - _Simon Wastell._ - - - - -LIII - -_OF MY DEAR SON GERVASE BEAUMONT._ - - - Can I, who have for others oft compiled - The songs of death, forget my sweetest child, - Which, like the flower crusht, with a blast is dead, - And ere full time hangs down his smiling head, - Expecting with clear hope to live anew, 5 - Among the angels fed with heavenly dew? - We have this sign of joy, that many days, - While on the earth his struggling spirit stays, - The name of Jesus in his mouth contains - His only food, his sleep, his ease from pains. 10 - Oh! may that sound be rooted in my mind, - Of which in him such strong effect I find. - Dear Lord, receive my son, whose winning love - To me was like a friendship, far above - The course of nature, or his tender age; 15 - Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage; - Let his pure soul, ordained seven years to be - In that frail body, which was part of me, - Remain my pledge in heaven, as sent to show, - How to this port at every step I go. 20 - _Sir John Beaumont._ - - - - -LIV - -_DIRGE._ - - - Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, - Nor the furious winter’s rages; - Thou thy worldly task hast done, - Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: - Golden lads and girls all must, 5 - As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. - - Fear no more the frown o’ the great, - Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; - Care no more to clothe and eat; - To thee the reed is as the oak: 10 - The sceptre, learning, physic, must - All follow this, and come to dust. - - Fear no more the lightning-flash, - Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; - Fear not slander, censure rash; 15 - Thou hast finished joy and moan: - All lovers young, all lovers must - Consign to thee, and come to dust. - - No exorciser harm thee! - Nor no witchcraft charm thee! - Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 20 - Nothing ill come near thee! - Quiet consummation have; - And renownèd be thy grave! - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -LV - -_ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY._ - - - Mortality, behold and fear! - What a change of flesh is here! - Think how many royal bones - Sleep within these heaps of stones; - Here they lie, had realms and lands, 5 - Who now want strength to stir their hands, - Where from their pulpits sealed with dust - They preach, ‘In greatness is no trust.’ - Here’s an acre sown indeed - With the richest royallest seed 10 - That the earth did e’er suck in, - Since the first man died for sin: - Here the bones of birth have cried, - ‘Though gods they were, as men they died!’ - Here are sands, ignoble things, 15 - Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: - Here’s a world of pomp and state - Buried in dust, once dead by fate. - _Francis Beaumont._ - - - - -LVI - -_DEATH’S FINAL CONQUEST._ - - - Victorious men of earth, no more - Proclaim how wide your empires are; - Though you bind-in every shore - And your triumphs reach as far - As night or day, 5 - Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey, - And mingle with forgotten ashes, when - Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. - - Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, - Each able to undo mankind, 10 - Death’s servile emissaries are; - Nor to these alone confined, - He hath at will - More quaint and subtle ways to kill; - A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 15 - Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. - _James Shirley._ - - - - -LVII - -_THE SAME._ - - - The glories of our blood and state - Are shadows, not substantial things; - There is no armour against fate; - Death lays his icy hand on kings: - Sceptre and crown 5 - Must tumble down, - And in the dust be equal made - With the poor crookèd scythe and spade. - - Some men with swords may reap the field, - And plant fresh laurels where they kill: 10 - But their strong nerves at last must yield; - They tame but one another still: - Early or late - They stoop to fate, - And must give up their murmuring breath 15 - When they, pale captives, creep to death. - - The garlands wither on your brow; - Then boast no more your mighty deeds; - Upon Death’s purple altar now - See where the victor-victim bleeds: 20 - Your heads must come - To the cold tomb; - Only the actions of the just - Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. - _James Shirley._ - - - - -LVIII - -_LINES WRITTEN BY ONE IN THE TOWER, BEING YOUNG AND CONDEMNED TO DIE._ - - - My prime of youth is but a frost of cares; - My feast of joy is but a dish of pain; - My crop of corn is but a field of tares; - And all my good is but vain hope of gain: - The day is [fled], and yet I saw no sun; 5 - And now I live, and now my life is done! - - The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung; - The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green; - My youth is gone, and yet I am but young; - I saw the world, and yet I was not seen: 10 - My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun; - And now I live, and now my life is done! - - I sought my death, and found it in my womb; - I looked for life, and saw it was a shade; - I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb; 15 - And now I die, and now I am but made: - The glass is full, and now my glass is run; - And now I live, and now my life is done! - _Chidiock Tychborn._ - - - - -LIX - -_LINES WRITTEN THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION._ - - - E’en such is time; which takes on trust - Our youth, our joys, our all we have, - And pays us but with earth and dust; - Which in the dark and silent grave, - When we have wandered all our ways, 5 - Shuts up the story of our days: - But from this earth, this grave, this dust, - My God shall raise me up, I trust. - _Sir Walter Raleigh._ - - - - -LX - -_SONNET._ - - - Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day - Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, - And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away - Captivity thence captive, us to win; - This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, 5 - And grant that we, for whom Thou diddest die, - Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin, - May live for ever in felicity: - And that thy love we weighing worthily, - May likewise love Thee for the same again; 10 - And for thy sake, that alllike dear didst buy, - With love may one another entertain. - So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought; - Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. - _Edmund Spenser._ - - - - -LXI - -_THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM._ - - - Jerusalem, my happy home, - When shall I come to thee? - When shall my sorrows have an end, - Thy joys when shall I see? - - O happy harbour of the saints! 5 - O sweet and pleasant soil! - In thee no sorrow may be found, - No grief, no care, no toil. - - In thee no sickness may be seen, - Nor hurt, nor ache, nor sore; 10 - There is no death, nor ugly dole, - But Life for evermore. - - There lust and lucre cannot dwell, - There envy bears no sway; - There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, 15 - But pleasure every way. - - Thy walls are made of precious stones, - Thy bulwarks diamonds square; - Thy gates are of right orient pearl, - Exceeding rich and rare. 20 - - Thy turrets and thy pinnacles - With carbuncles do shine; - Thy very streets are paved with gold, - Surpassing clear and fine. - - Thy houses are of ivory, 25 - Thy windows crystal clear; - Thy tiles are made of beaten gold;-- - O God, that I were there! - - Ah, my sweet home, Jerusalem, - Would God I were in thee! 30 - Would God my woes were at an end, - Thy joys that I might see! - - Thy saints are crowned with glory great; - They see God face to face; - They triumph still, they still rejoice, 35 - Most happy is their case. - - We that are here in banishment - Continually do moan, - We sigh, and sob, we weep and wail, - Perpetually we groan. 40 - - Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall, - Our pleasure is but pain, - Our joys scarce last the looking on, - Our sorrows still remain. - - But there they live in such delight, 45 - Such pleasure and such play, - As that to them a thousand years - Doth seem as yesterday. - - Thy gardens and thy gallant walks - Continually are green; 50 - There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers - As nowhere else are seen. - - Quite through the streets, with silver sound, - The flood of Life doth flow; - Upon whose banks on every side 55 - The wood of Life doth grow. - - There trees for evermore bear fruit, - And evermore do spring; - There evermore the angels sit, - And evermore do sing. 60 - - Jerusalem, my happy home, - Would God I were in thee! - Would God my woes were at an end, - Thy joys that I might see! - _Anon._ - - - - -PART THE SECOND. - - - - -LXII - -_THE HAPPY LIFE._ - - - How happy is he born and taught, - That serveth not another’s will; - Whose armour is his honest thought, - And simple truth his utmost skill! - - Whose passions not his masters are, 5 - Whose soul is still prepared for death; - Not tied unto the world with care - Of public fame, or private breath; - - Who envies none that chance doth raise, - Or vice; who never understood 10 - How deepest wounds are given by praise; - Nor rules of state, but rules of good: - - Who hath his life from rumours freed, - Whose conscience is his strong retreat; - Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 15 - Nor ruin make accusers great; - - Who God doth late and early pray - More of his grace than gifts to lend; - And entertains the harmless day - With a religious book or friend; 20 - - --This man is freed from servile bands - Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; - Lord of himself, though not of lands; - And having nothing, yet hath all. - _Sir Henry Wotton._ - - - - -LXIII - -_WINIFREDA._ - - - Away, let nought to love displeasing, - My Winifreda, move your care, - Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, - Nor squeamish pride nor gloomy fear. - - What though no grants of royal donors 5 - With pompous titles grace our blood? - We’ll shine in more substantial honours, - And to be noble we’ll be good. - - Our name, while virtue thus we tender, - Will sweetly sound where’er ’tis spoke; 10 - And all the great ones, they shall wonder - How they respect such little folk. - - What though from fortune’s lavish bounty - No mighty treasures we possess, - We’ll find within our pittance plenty, 15 - And be content without excess. - - Still shall each returning season - Sufficient for our wishes give; - For we will live a life of reason, - And that’s the only life to live. 20 - - Through youth and age in love excelling, - We’ll hand in hand together tread; - Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, - And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. - - How should I love the pretty creatures, 25 - While round my knees they fondly clung; - To see them look their mother’s features, - To hear them lisp their mother’s tongue. - - And when with envy time transported, - Shall think to rob us of our joys, 30 - You’ll in your girls again be courted, - And I’ll go wooing in my boys. - _Anon._ - - - - -LXIV - -_A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW._ - - - Stand still, and I will read to thee - A lecture, Love, in love’s philosophy. - These three hours that we have spent - Walking here, two shadows went - Along with us, which we ourselves produced: 5 - But, now the sun is just above our head, - We do those shadows tread, - And to brave clearness all things are reduced. - So whilst our infant loves did grow, - Disguises did and shadows flow 10 - From us and from our cares; but now it is not so. - - That love hath not attained the highest degree, - Which is still diligent lest others see; - Except our loves at this noon stay, - We shall new shadows make the other way. 15 - As the first were made to blind - Others, these which come behind - Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes, - If our loves faint, and westwardly decline, - To me thou falsely thine, 20 - And I to thee mine actions shall disguise. - The morning shadows wear away, - But these grow longer all the day; - But, oh! love’s day is short, if love decay. - - Love is a growing or full constant light, 25 - And his short minute, after noon, is night. - _John Donne._ - - - - -LXV - -_SONG._ - - - Ask me no more where Jove bestows, - When June is past, the fading rose; - For in your beauties, orient deep. - These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. - - Ask me no more, whither do stray 5 - The golden atoms of the day; - For, in pure love, heaven did prepare - Those powders to enrich your hair. - - Ask me no more, whither doth haste - The nightingale, when May is past; 10 - For in your sweet dividing throat - She winters, and keeps warm her note. - - Ask me no more, where those stars light, - That downwards fall in dead of night; - For in your eyes they sit, and there 15 - Fixèd become, as in their sphere. - - Ask me no more, if east or west, - The phœnix builds her spicy nest; - For unto you at last she flies, - And in your fragrant bosom dies. 20 - _Thomas Carew._ - - - - -LXVI - -THE PRIMROSE. - - - Ask me why I send you here - This sweet Infanta of the year? - Ask me why I send to you - This primrose, thus bepearled with dew? - I will whisper to your ears, 5 - The sweets of love are mixt with tears. - Ask me why this flower does show - So yellow-green, and sickly too? - Ask me why the stalk is weak, - And bending, yet it doth not break? 10 - I will answer, these discover - What fainting hopes are in a lover. - _Robert Herrick._ - - - - -LXVII - -_TRUE LOVELINESS._ - - - It is not beauty I demand, - A crystal brow, the moon’s despair, - Nor the snow’s daughter, a white hand, - Nor mermaid’s yellow pride of hair: - - Tell me not of your starry eyes, 5 - Your lips that seem on roses fed, - Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, - Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed:-- - - A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, - Like Hebe’s in her ruddiest hours, 10 - A breath that softer music speaks - Than summer winds a-wooing flowers, - - These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? - Coral beneath the ocean-stream, - Whose brink when your adventurer slips, 15 - Full oft he perisheth on them. - - And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft - That wave hot youth to fields of blood? - Did Helen’s breast, though ne’er so soft, - Do Greece or Ilium any good? 20 - - Eyes can with baleful ardour burn; - Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed; - There’s many a white hand holds an urn - With lovers’ hearts to dust consumed. - - For crystal brows there’s nought within, 25 - They are but empty cells for pride; - He who the Siren’s hair would win - Is mostly strangled in the tide. - - Give me, instead of beauty’s bust, - A tender heart, a loyal mind, 30 - Which with temptation I would trust, - Yet never linked with error find,-- - - One in whose gentle bosom I - Could pour my secret heart of woes, - Like the care-burthened honey-fly 35 - That hides his murmurs in the rose,-- - - My earthly comforter! whose love - So indefeasible might be - That, when my spirit wonned above, - Hers could not stay, for sympathy. 40 - _Anon._ - - - - -LXVIII - -_THE ROSE’S MESSAGE._ - - - Go, lovely Rose! - Tell her, that wastes her time and me, - That now she knows, - When I resemble her to thee, - How sweet and fair she seems to be. 5 - - Tell her that’s young, - And shuns to have her graces spied, - That had’st thou sprung - In deserts where no men abide, - Thou must have uncommended died. 10 - - Small is the worth - Of beauty from the light retired: - Bid her come forth, - Suffer herself to be desired, - And not blush so to be admired. 15 - Then die! that she - The common fate of all things rare - May read in thee: - How small a part of time they share, - That are so wondrous sweet and fair! 20 - _Edmund Waller._ - - - - -LXIX - -_THE ROSES PRIDE._ - - - Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin leaves - The wanton wind to sport himself presumes, - Whilst from their rifled wardrobe he receives - For his wings purple, for his breath perfumes! - - Blown in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon; 5 - What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee? - Thou’ art wondrous frolic, being to die so soon, - And passing proud a little colour makes thee. - - _Sir Richard Fanshawe._ - - - - -LXX - -_TO CASTARA. THE REWARD OF INNOCENT LOVE._ - - - We saw and wooed each other’s eyes, - My soul contracted then with thine, - And both burnt in one sacrifice, - By which our marriage grew divine. - - Let wilder youth, whose soul is sense, 5 - Profane the temple of delight, - And purchase endless penitence - With the stol’n pleasure of one night. - - Time’s ever ours, while we despise - The sensual idol of our clay, 10 - For though the suns do set and rise, - We joy one everlasting day; - - Whose light no jealous clouds obscure, - While each of us shine innocent; - The troubled stream is still impure; 15 - With virtue flies away content. - - And though opinions often err, - We’ll court the modest smile of fame, - For sin’s black danger circles her - Who hath infection in her name. 20 - - Thus when to one dark silent room - Death shall our loving coffins thrust, - Fame will build columns on our tomb, - And add a perfume to our dust. - _William Habington._ - - - - -LXXI - -_LOVE’S ANNIVERSARY._ - -TO THE SUN. - - - Thou art returned, great light, to that blest hour - In which I first by marriage, sacred power, - Joined with Castara hearts: and as the same - Thy lustre is, as then, so is our flame; - Which had increased, but that by love’s decree 5 - ’Twas such at first, it ne’er could greater be. - But tell me, glorious lamp, in thy survey - Of things below thee, what did not decay - By age to weakness? I since that have seen - The rose bud forth and fade, the tree grow green 10 - And wither, and the beauty of the field - With winter wrinkled. Even thyself dost yield - Something to time, and to thy grave fall nigher; - But virtuous love is one sweet endless fire. - _William Habington._ - - - - -LXXII - -_THE SURRENDER._ - - - My once dear Love! hapless that I no more - Must call thee so--the rich affection’s store - That fed our hopes, lies now exhaust and spent, - Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent. - We, that did nothing study but the way 5 - To love each other, with which thoughts the day - Rose with delight to us, and with them set, - Must learn the hateful art, how to forget. - We, that did nothing wish that Heaven could give, - Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live 10 - Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must, - As if not writ in faith, but words and dust. - Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make, - Witness the chaste desires that never brake - Into unruly heats; witness that breast, 15 - Which in thy bosom anchored his whole rest, - ’Tis no default in us, I dare acquit - Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white - As thy pure self. Cross planets did envy - Us to each other, and Heaven did untie 20 - Faster than vows could bind. Oh that the stars, - When lovers meet, should stand opposed in wars! - Since then some higher destinies command, - Let us not strive, nor labour to withstand - What is past help. The longest date of grief 25 - Can never yield a hope of our relief; - And though we waste ourselves in moist laments, - Tears may drown us, but not our discontents. - Fold back our arms; take home our fruitless loves, - That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves 30 - Dislodgèd from their haunts. We must in tears - Unwind a love knit up in many years. - In this last kiss I here surrender thee - Back to thyself,--so thou again art free; - Thou in another, sad as that, resend 35 - The truest heart that lover e’er did lend. - Now turn from each. So fare our severed hearts, - As the divorced soul from her body parts. - _Henry King._ - - - - -LXXIII - -_THE BRIDE’S TRAGEDY._ - - - O waly, waly up the bank, - And waly, waly down the brae, - And waly, waly yon burn-side, - Where I and my Love wont to gae. - I leaned my back unto an aik, 5 - I thought it was a trusty tree; - But first it bowed, and syne it brak’, - Sae my true Love did lichtly me. - - O waly, waly, but love be bonnie, - A little time while it is new, 10 - But when ’tis auld, it waxeth cauld, - And fades away like morning dew. - Oh! wherefore should I busk my head, - Or wherefore should I kame my hair? - For my true Love has me forsook, 15 - And says he’ll never love me mair. - - Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed, - The sheets shall ne’er be prest by me, - Saint Anton’s well shall be my drink, - Since my true Love’s forsaken me. 20 - Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, - And shake the green leaves off the tree? - O gentle Death! when wilt thou come? - For of my life I am wearie. - - ’Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 25 - Nor blawing snaw’s inclemency; - ’Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, - But my Love’s heart grown cauld to me. - When we came in by Glasgow town, - We were a comely sight to see; 30 - My Love was clad in the black velvet, - And I mysel’ in cramasie. - - But had I wist, before I kissed, - That love had been sae ill to win, - I’d locked my heart in a case of gowd, 35 - And pinned it with a siller pin. - And oh! if my young babe were born, - And set upon the nurse’s knee, - And I mysel’ were dead and gane, - With the green grass growing over me! 40 - _Anon._ - - - - -LXXIV - -_BURD HELEN._ - - - I wish I were where Helen lies; - Night and day on me she cries; - Oh that I were where Helen lies - On fair Kirconnell lea! - - Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 5 - And curst the hand that fired the shot, - When in my arms burd Helen dropt, - And died to succour me! - - Oh think na but my heart was sair, - When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair! 10 - I laid her down wi’ meikle care - On fair Kirconnell lea. - - As I went down the water-side, - None but my foe to be my guide, - None but my foe to be my guide, 15 - On fair Kirconnell lea; - - I lighted down my sword to draw, - I hackèd him in pieces sma’, - I hackèd him in pieces sma’, - For her sake that died for me. 20 - - O Helen fair, beyond compare! - I’ll make a garland of thy hair - Shall bind my heart for evermair - Until the day I die. - - Oh that I were where Helen lies! 25 - Night and day on me she cries; - Out of my bed she bids me rise, - Says, ‘Haste and come to me!’ - - O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! - If I were with thee, I were blest, 30 - Where thou lies low and takes thy rest - On fair Kirconnell lea. - - I wish my grave were growing green, - A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, - And I in Helen’s arms lying, 35 - On fair Kirconnell lea. - - I wish I were where Helen lies: - Night and day on me she cries; - And I am weary of the skies, - Since my Love died for me. 40 - _Anon._ - - - - -LXXV - -_LOVE’S ENTERPRISE._ - - - Over the mountains - And over the waves, - Under the fountains - And under the graves; - Under floods that are deepest, 5 - Which Neptune obey, - Over rocks that are steepest - Love will find out the way. - - Where there is no place - For the glowworm to lie; 10 - Where there is no space - For receipt of a fly; - Where the midge dares not venture, - Lest herself fast she lay; - If Love come, he will enter 15 - And find out the way. - - You may esteem him - A child for his might; - Or you may deem him - A coward from his flight; 20 - But if she whom Love doth honour - Be concealed from the day, - Set a thousand guards upon her, - Love will find out the way. - - Some think to lose him 25 - By having him confined; - And some do suppose him, - Poor heart! to be blind; - But if ne’er so close you wall him, - Do the best that you may, 30 - Blind Love, if so you call him, - Will find out his way. - - You may train the eagle - To stoop to your fist; - Or you may inveigle 35 - The phœnix of the east; - The lioness, you may move her - To give o’er her prey; - But you’ll ne’er Stop a lover: - He will find out the way. 40 - - If the earth should part him, - He would gallop it o’er; - If the seas should o’erthwart him, - He would swim to the shore. - Should his Love become a swallow, 45 - Through the air to stray, - Love will lend wings to follow, - And will find out the way. - - There is no striving - To cross his intent, 50 - There is no contriving - His plots to prevent; - But if once the message greet him, - That his true-love doth stay, - If death should come and meet him, 55 - Love will find out the way. - _Anon._ - - - - -LXXVI - -_THE TWA BROTHERS._ - - - There were twa brothers at the scule, - And when they got awa’-- - ‘Its will ye play at the stane-chucking, - Or will ye play at the ba’, - Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, 5 - And there we’ll warsell a fa’.’ - - ‘I winna play at the stane-chucking, - Nor will I play at the ba’, - But I’ll gae up to yon bonnie green hill, - And there we’ll warsel a fa’.’ 10 - - They warsled up, they warsled down, - Till John fell to the ground; - A dirk fell out of Willie’s pouch, - And gave him a deadly wound. - - ‘Oh, Billie, lift me on your back, 15 - Take me to yon well fair, - And wash the bluid frae aff my wound, - And it will bleed nae mair.’ - - He’s lifted his brother upon his back, - Ta’en him to yon well fair; 20 - He’s washed the bluid frae aff his wound, - But ay it bled mair and mair. - - ‘Tak ye aff my Holland sark, - And rive it gair by gair, - And stap it in my bluidy wound, 25 - And syne ’twill bleed nae mair.’ - - He’s taken aff his Holland sark, - And torn it gair by gair; - He’s stappit it in his bluidy wound, - But ay it bled mair and mair. 30 - - ‘Tak now aff my green sleiding, - And row me saftly in; - And tak me up to yon kirk style, - Where the grass grows fair and green.’ - - He’s taken aff the green sleiding, 35 - And rowed him saftly in; - He’s laid him down by yon kirk style, - Where the grass grows fair and green. - - ‘What will ye say to your father dear - When ye gae hame at e’en?’ 40 - ‘I’ll say ye’re lying at yon kirk style, - Where the grass grows fair and green. - - ‘O no, O no, my brother dear, - O you must not say so; - But say that I’m gane to a foreign land, 45 - Where nae man does me know. - - When he sat in his father’s chair - He grew baith pale and wan. - ‘O what blude’s that upon your brow? - O dear son, tell to me.’ 50 - ‘It is the blude o’ my gude gray steed, - He wadna ride wi’ me.’ - - ‘O thy steed’s blude was ne’er sae red, - Nor e’er sae dear to me: 55 - O what blude’s this upon your cheek? - O dear son, tell to me.’ - ‘It is the blude of my greyhound, - He wadna hunt for me.’ - - ‘O thy hound’s blude was ne’er sae red, 60 - Nor e’er sae dear to me: - O what blude’s this upon your hand? - O dear son, tell to me.’ - ‘It is the blude of my gay gosshawk, - He wadna flee for me.’ 65 - - ‘O thy hawk’s blude was ne’er sae red, - Nor e’er sae dear to me: - O what blude’s this upon your dirk? - Dear Willie, tell to me.’ - ‘It is the blude of my ae brother, 70 - O dule and wae is me!’ - - ‘O what will ye say to your father, - Dear Willie, tell to me?’ - ‘I’ll saddle my steed, and awa’ I’ll ride - To dwell in some far countrie.’ 75 - - ‘O when will ye come hame again, - Dear Willie, tell to me?’ - ‘When the sun and mune dance on yon green, - And that will never be.’ - - She turned hersel’ right round about, 80 - And her heart burst into three: - ‘My ae best son is deid and gane, - And my tother ane I’ll ne’er see.’ - _Anon._ - - - - -LXXVII - -_THE TWA SISTERS._ - - - There were twa sisters lived in a bouir; - _Binnorie, O Binnorie_; - The youngest o’ them, oh, she was a flouir! - _By the bonnie mill-dams o’ Binnorie._ - - There came a squire frae the west; 5 - He lo’ed them baith, but the youngest best; - - He gied the eldest a gay gowd ring; - But he lo’ed the youngest abune a’ thing. - - He courted the eldest wi’ broach and knife; - But he lo’ed the youngest as his life. 10 - - The eldest she was vexèd sair, - And sore envied her sister fair. - - And it fell once upon a day, - The eldest to the youngest did say: - - ‘Oh, sister, come to the sea-strand, 15 - And see our father’s ships come to land. - - She’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand, - And led her down to the sea-strand. - - The youngest sat upon a stane; - The eldest came and pushed her in. 20 - - ‘Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand, - And you shall be heir of half my land.’ - - ‘Oh, sister, I’ll not reach my hand, - And I’ll be heir of all your land. - - ‘Shame fa’ the hand that I should take! 25 - It twinned me and my world’s maik.’ - - ‘Oh, sister, reach me but your glove, - And you shall be sweet William’s love.’ - - ‘Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove, - And sweet William shall better be my love. 30 - - ‘Your cherry cheeks and yellow hair - Had gar’d me gang maiden evermair.’ - - First she sank, and syne she swam, - Until she cam to Tweed mill-dam. - - The miller’s dauchter was baking breid, 35 - And gaed for water as she had need. - - ‘Oh, father, father, in our mill-dam - There’s either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.’ - - The miller quickly drew his dam; - And there he fand a drowned woman. 40 - - You couldna see her yellow hair, - For gowd and pearls that were sae rare. - - You couldna see her middle sma’, - Her gowden girdle was sae braw. - - You couldna see her lilie feet, 45 - Her gowden fringes were sae deep. - - You couldna see her fingers sma’, - Wi’ diamond rings they were covered a’. - - ‘Sair will they be, whae’er they be, - The hearts that live to weep for thee!’ 50 - - Then by there cam a harper fine, - That harpèd to the king at dine. - - And, when he looked that lady on, - He sighed, and made a heavy moan. - - He has ta’en three locks o’ her yellow hair, 55 - And wi’ them strung his harp sae fair. - - And he brought the harp to her father’s hall, - And there the court was assembled all. - - He laid his harp upon a stone, - And straight it began to play alone. 60 - - ‘O yonder sits my father, the king! - And yonder sits my mother, the queen! - - ‘And yonder stands my brother Hugh, - And by him my William sweet and true!’ - - But the last tune that the harp played then, 65 - _Binnorie, O Binnorie_, - Was, ‘Woe to my sister, false Helen!’ - _By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie._ - _Anon._ - - - - -LXXVIII - -_TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY._ - - - Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth - Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green, - And with those few art eminently seen, - That labour up the hill of heavenly truth; - The better part with Mary and with Ruth 5 - Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, - And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, - No anger find in thee, but pity’ and ruth. - Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends - To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, 10 - And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure - Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastful friends - Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night, - Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure. - _John Milton._ - - - - -LXXIX - -_EYES AND TEARS._ - - - How wisely Nature did decree, - With the same eyes to weep and see! - That, having viewed the object vain, - They might be ready to complain. - And, since the self-deluding sight 5 - In a false angle takes each height, - These tears, which better measure all, - Like watery lines and plummets fall. - Two tears, which sorrow long did weigh - Within the scales of either eye, 10 - And then paid out in equal poise, - Are the true price of all my joys. - What in the world most fair appears, - Yea, even laughter, turns to tears: - And all the jewels which we prize, 15 - Melt in these pendants of the eyes. - I have through every garden been, - Amongst the red, the white, the green; - And yet from all those flowers I saw, - No honey but these tears could draw. 20 - So the all-seeing sun each day - Distils the world with chymic ray; - But finds the essence only showers, - Which straight in pity back he pours. - Yet happy they whom grief doth bless, 25 - That weep the more, and see the less; - And, to preserve their sight more true, - Bathe still their eyes in their own dew. - So Magdalen in tears more wise - Dissolved those captivating eyes, 30 - Whose liquid chains could flowing meet, - To fetter her Redeemer’s feet. - Nor full sails hasting laden home, - Nor the chaste lady’s pregnant womb, - Nor Cynthia teeming shows so fair 35 - As two eyes, swoln with weeping, are. - The sparkling glance that shoots desire, - Drenched in these waves, does lose its fire. - Yea, oft the Thunderer pity takes, - And here the hissing lightning slakes. 40 - The incense was to Heaven dear, - Not as a perfume, but a tear; - And stars show lovely in the night, - But as they seem the tears of light. - Ope then, mine eyes, your double sluice, 45 - And practise so your noblest use; - For others too can see, or sleep; - But only human eyes can weep. - Now, like two clouds dissolving, drop, - And at each tear in distance stop: 50 - Now, like two fountains, trickle down: - Now, like two floods o’er-run and drown: - Thus let your streams o’erflow your springs, - Till eyes and tears be the same things; - And each the other’s difference bears; 55 - These weeping eyes, those seeing tears. - _Andrew Marvell._ - - - - -LXXX - -_TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MASTER GEORGE SANDYS, ON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE -PSALMS._ - - - I press not to the choir, nor dare I greet - The holy place with my unhallowed feet; - My unwashed Muse pollutes not things divine, - Nor mingles her profaner notes with thine; - Here, humbly waiting at the porch, she stays, 5 - And with glad ears sucks in thy sacred lays. - So, devout penitents of old were wont, - Some without door, and some beneath the font, - To stand and hear the Church’s liturgies, - Yet not assist the solemn exercise: 10 - Sufficeth her, that she a lay-place gain, - To trim thy vestments, or but bear thy train; - Though not in tune nor wing she reach thy lark, - Her lyric feet may dance before the ark. - Who knows, but that her wandering eyes that run, 15 - Now hunting glowworms, may adore the sun: - A pure flame may, shot by Almighty power - Into her breast, the earthly flame devour: - My eyes in penitential dew may steep - That brine, which they for sensual love did weep. 20 - So (though ’gainst nature’s course) fire may be quenched - With fire, and water be with water drenched; - Perhaps my restless soul, tired with pursuit - Of mortal beauty, seeking without fruit - Contentment there, which hath not, when enjoyed, 25 - Quenched all her thirst, nor satisfied, though cloyed, - Weary of her vain search below, above - In the first Fair may find the immortal Love. - Prompted by thy example, then no more - In moulds of clay will I my God adore; 30 - But tear those idols from my heart, and write - What his blest Spirit, not fond love, shall indite; - Then I no more shall court the verdant bay, - But the dry leafless trunk on Golgotha; - And rather strive to gain from thence one thorn, 35 - Than all the flourishing wreaths by laureats worn. - _Thomas Carew._ - - - - -LXXXI - -_THE FLOWER._ - - - How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean - Are thy returns! e’en as the flowers in spring; - To which, besides their own demean, - The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. - Grief melts away, 5 - Like snow in May, - As if there were no such cold thing. - - Who would have thought my shrivelled heart - Could have recovered greenness? It was gone - Quite under ground; as flowers depart 10 - To see their mother-root, when they have blown; - Where they together - All the hard weather, - Dead to the world, keep house unknown. - - These are thy wonders, Lord of power, 15 - Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell - And up to heaven in an hour; - Making a chiming of a passing bell. - We say amiss, - This or that is: 20 - Thy word is all, if we could spell. - - Oh, that I once past changing were, - Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither! - Many a spring I shoot up fair, - Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither: 25 - Nor doth my flower - Want a spring-shower, - My sins and I joining together. - - But while I grow in a straight line, - Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own, 30 - Thy anger comes, and I decline: - What frost to that? what pole is not the zone - Where all things burn, - When Thou dost turn, - And the least frown of thine is shown? 35 - - And now in age I bud again, - After so many deaths I live and write; - I once more smell the dew and rain, - And relish versing: O my only Light, - It cannot be 40 - That I am he, - On whom thy tempests fell at night. - - These are thy wonders, Lord of love, - To make us see we are but flowers that glide: - Which when we once can find and prove, 45 - Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. - Who would be more, - Swelling through store, - Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. - _George Herbert._ - - - - -LXXXII - -_GOD UNSEARCHABLE._ - - - Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find - A way to measure out the wind; - Distinguish all those floods that are - Mixt in that watery theatre; - And taste thou them as saltless there 5 - As in their channel first they were; - Tell me the people that do keep - Within the kingdoms of the deep; - Or fetch me back that cloud again, - Beshivered into seeds of rain; 10 - Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and spears - Of corn when summer shakes his ears; - Show me that world of stars, and whence - They noiseless spill their influence: - This if thou canst, then show me Him 15 - That rides the glorious Cherubim. - _Robert Herrick._ - - - - -LXXXIII - -_AT A SOLEMN MUSIC._ - - - Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy, - Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, - Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ, - Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce; - And to our high-raised phantasy present 5 - That undisturbèd song of pure concent, - Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne - To Him that sits thereon, - With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee; - Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 10 - Their loud up-lifted angel-trumpets blow; - And the Cherubic host in thousand quires - Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, - With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, - Hymns devout and holy psalms 15 - Singing everlastingly: - That we on earth, with undiscording voice, - May rightly answer that melodious noise; - As once we did, till disproportioned sin - Jarred against Nature’s chime, and with harsh din 20 - Broke the fair music that all creatures made - To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed - In perfect diapason, whilst they stood, - In first obedience and their state of good. - Oh may we soon again renew that song, 25 - And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long - To his celestial consort us unite, - To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light! - _John Milton._ - - - - -LXXXIV - -_THE RAINBOW._ - - - Still young and fine! but what is still in view - We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new. - How bright wert thou, when Shem’s admiring eye - Thy burnished, flaming arch did first descry! - When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 5 - The youthful world’s gray fathers, in one knot - Did with intentive looks watch every hour - For thy new light, and trembled at each shower! - When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair, - Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air: 10 - Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours - Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers. - Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie - Of thy Lord’s hand, the object of his eye! - When I behold thee, though my light be dim, 15 - Distant and low, I can in thine see Him, - Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, - And minds the covenant betwixt all and One. - _Henry Vaughan._ - - - - -LXXXV - -_L’ALLEGRO._ - - - Hence, loathèd Melancholy, - Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, - In Stygian cave forlorn, - ’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! - Find out some uncouth cell, 5 - Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, - And the night-raven sings; - There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks, - As ragged as thy locks, - In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 10 - But come, thou Goddess fair and free, - In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, - And by men, heart-easing Mirth; - Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, - With two sister Graces more, 15 - To ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore: - Or whether (as some sager sing) - The frolic wind that breathes the spring, - Zephyr, with Aurora playing, - As he met her once a-maying, 20 - There on beds of violets blue, - And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, - Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, - So buxom, blithe, and debonair. - Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 25 - Jest, and youthful Jollity, - Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, - Nods, and becks, and wreathèd smiles, - Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, - And love to live in dimple sleek; 30 - Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, - And Laughter, holding both his sides. - Come, and trip it as you go - On the light fantastic toe; - And in thy right hand lead with thee 35 - The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; - And, if I give thee honour due, - Mirth, admit me of thy crew, - To live with her, and live with thee, - In unreprovèd pleasures free; 40 - To hear the lark begin his flight, - And singing startle the dull night - From his watch-tower in the skies, - Till the dappled dawn doth rise; - Then to come, in spite of sorrow, 45 - And at my window bid good morrow, - Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, - Or the twisted eglantine: - While the cock, with lively din, - Scatters the rear of darkness thin; 50 - And to the stack, or the barn-door, - Stoutly struts his dames before: - Oft listening how the hounds and horn - Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, - From the side of some hoar hill, 55 - Through the high wood echoing shrill: - Sometimes walking, not unseen, - By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, - Right against the eastern gate - Where the great Sun begins his state, 60 - Robed in flames and amber light, - The clouds in thousand liveries dight; - While the ploughman, near at hand, - Whistles o’er the furrowed land, - And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 65 - And the mower whets his scythe, - And every shepherd tells his tale - Under the hawthorn in the dale. - Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, - Whilst the landscape round it measures; 70 - Russet lawns, and fallows gray, - Where the nibbling flocks do stray; - Mountains, on whose barren breast - The labouring clouds do often rest; - Meadows trim with daisies pied, 75 - Shallow brooks, and rivers wide: - Towers and battlements it sees - Bosomed high in tufted trees, - Where perhaps some Beauty lies, - The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 80 - Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, - From betwixt two agèd oaks, - Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, - Are at their savoury dinner set - Of herbs, and other country messes, 85 - Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; - And then in haste her bower she leaves, - With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; - Or, if the earlier season lead, - To the tanned haycock in the mead. 90 - Sometimes with secure delight - The upland hamlets will invite, - When the merry bells ring round, - And the jocund rebecks sound - To many a youth, and many a maid, 95 - Dancing in the chequered shade; - And young and old come forth to play - On a sunshine holiday, - Till the livelong daylight fail: - Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100 - With stories told of many a feat, - How faery Mab the junkets eat; - She was pinched, and pulled, she said; - And he, by friar’s lantern led, - Tells how the drudging goblin sweat, 105 - To earn his cream-bowl duly set, - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, - His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn, - That ten day-labourers could not end; - Then lies him down the lubbar-fiend, 110 - And, stretched out all the chimney’s length, - Basks at the fire his hairy strength; - And crop-full out of doors he flings, - Ere the first cock his matin rings. - Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 115 - By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. - Towered cities please us then, - And the busy hum of men, - Where throngs of knights and barons bold, - In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 120 - With store of ladies, whose bright eyes - Rain influence, and judge the prize - Of wit, or arms, while both contend - To win her grace, whom all commend. - There let Hymen oft appear 125 - In saffron robe, with taper clear, - And pomp and feast and revelry, - With mask and antique pageantry, - Such sights as youthful poets dream - On summer eves by haunted stream. 130 - Then to the well-trod stage anon, - If Jonson’s learnèd sock be on, - Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child, - Warble his native wood-notes wild. - And ever against eating cares 135 - Lap me in soft Lydian airs, - Married to immortal verse; - Such as the meeting soul may pierce - In notes, with many a winding bout - Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out, 140 - With wanton heed and giddy cunning; - The melting voice through mazes running, - Untwisting all the chains that tie - The hidden soul of harmony; - That Orpheus’ self may heave his head 145 - From golden slumber on a bed - Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear - Such strains as would have won the ear - Of Pluto, to have quite set free - His half-regained Eurydice. 150 - These delights if thou canst give, - Mirth, with thee I mean to live. - _John Milton._ - - - - -LXXXVI - -_IL PENSEROSO._ - - - Hence, vain deluding Joys, - The brood of Folly without father bred! - How little you bested, - Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! - Dwell in some idle brain, 5 - And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, - As thick and numberless - As the gay motes that people the sunbeams; - Or likest hovering dreams, - The fickle pensioners of Morpheus’ train. 10 - But hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy, - Hail, divinest Melancholy! - Whose saintly visage is too bright - To hit the sense of human sight, - And therefore to our weaker view 15 - O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue; - Black, but such as in esteem - Prince Memnon’s sister might beseem, - Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove - To set her beauty’s praise above 20 - The sea-nymphs’, and their powers offended: - Yet thou art higher far descended: - Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore - To solitary Saturn bore; - His daughter she; in Saturn’s reign 25 - Such mixture was not held a stain: - Oft in glimmering bowers and glades - He met her, and in secret shades - Of woody Ida’s inmost grove, - Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 30 - Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, - Sober, steadfast, and demure, - All in a robe of darkest grain, - Flowing with majestic train, - And sable stole of cypres lawn, 35 - Over thy decent shoulders drawn. - Come, but keep thy wonted state, - With even step, and musing gait; - And looks commercing with the skies, - Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 40 - There, held in holy passion still, - Forget thyself to marble, till - With a sad leaden downward cast - Thou fix them on the earth as fast: - And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 45 - Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, - And hears the Muses in a ring - Aye round about Jove’s altar sing: - And add to these retired Leisure, - That in trim gardens takes his pleasure: 50 - But first and chiefest with thee bring, - Him that yon soars on golden wing, - Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, - The cherub Contemplation; - And the mute Silence hist along, 55 - ’Less Philomel will deign a song, - In her sweetest saddest plight, - Smoothing the rugged brow of night, - While Cynthia checks her dragon-yoke - Gently o’er the accustomed oak: 60 - Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly, - Most musical, most melancholy! - Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, - I woo, to hear thy even-song; - And, missing thee, I walk unseen 65 - On the dry smooth-shaven green, - To behold the wandering moon, - Riding near her highest noon, - Like one that had been led astray - Through the heaven’s wide pathless way; 70 - And oft, as if her head she bowed, - Stooping through a fleecy cloud. - Oft, on a plat of rising ground, - I hear the far-off curfew sound - Over some wide-watered shore, 75 - Swinging slow with sullen roar: - Or, if the air will not permit, - Some still removèd place will fit, - Where glowing embers through the room - Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; 80 - Far from all resort of mirth, - Save the cricket on the hearth, - Or the bellman’s drowsy charm, - To bless the doors from nightly harm. - Or let my lamp at midnight hour 85 - Be seen in some high lonely tower, - Where I may oft out-watch the Bear, - With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere - The spirit of Plato, to unfold - What worlds or what vast regions hold 90 - The immortal mind, that hath forsook - Her mansion in this fleshly nook: - And of those demons that are found, - In fire, air, flood, or under ground, - Whose power hath a true consent 95 - With planet, or with element. - Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy - In sceptered pall come sweeping by, - Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line, - Or the tale of Troy divine; 100 - Or what, though rare, of later age - Ennobled hath the buskined stage. - But, O sad Virgin, that thy power - Might raise Musæus from his bower! - Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 105 - Such notes as, warbled to the string, - Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek, - And made Hell grant what love did seek! - Or call up him that left half-told - The story of Cambuscan bold, 110 - Of Camball, and of Algarsife, - And who had Canace to wife, - That owned the virtuous ring and glass; - And of the wondrous horse of brass, - On which the Tartar king did ride: 115 - And if aught else great bards beside - In sage and solemn tunes have sung, - Of turneys, and of trophies hung, - Of forests and enchantments drear, - Where more is meant than meets the ear. 120 - Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, - Till civil-suited Morn appear, - Not tricked and frounced as she was wont - With the Attic boy to hunt, - But kercheft in a comely cloud, 125 - While rocking winds are piping loud, - Or ushered with a shower still, - When the gust hath blown his fill, - Ending on the rustling leaves, - With minute drops from off the eaves. 130 - And, when the sun begins to fling - His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring - To archèd walks of twilight groves, - And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, - Of pine, or monumental oak, 135 - Where the rude axe with heavèd stroke - Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, - Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. - There in close covert by some brook, - Where no profaner eye may look, 140 - Hide me from day’s garish eye, - While the bee with honied thigh, - That at her flowery work doth sing, - And the waters murmuring, - With such consort as they keep, 145 - Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep; - And let some strange mysterious dream - Wave at his wings, in aery stream - Of lively portraiture displayed, - Softly on my eyelids laid. 150 - And, as I wake, sweet music breathe - Above, about, or underneath, - Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, - Or the unseen Genius of the wood. - But let my due feet never fail 155 - To walk the studious cloisters pale, - And love the high-embowèd roof - With antique pillars massy-proof, - And storied windows richly dight, - Casting a dim religious light: 160 - There let the pealing organ blow, - To the full-voiced quire below, - In service high, and anthems clear, - As may with sweetness through mine ear - Dissolve me into ecstasies, 165 - And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. - And may at last my weary age - Find out the peaceful hermitage, - The hairy gown and mossy cell, - Where I may sit, and rightly spell 170 - Of every star that heaven doth shew, - And every herb that sips the dew; - Till old experience do attain - To something like prophetic strain. - These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 175 - And I with thee will choose to live. - _John Milton._ - - - - -LXXXVII - -_CONTENTATION._ - -DIRECTED TO MY DEAR FATHER, AND MOST WORTHY FRIEND, MR. ISAAC WALTON. - - - Heaven, what an age is this! what race - Of giants are sprung up, that dare - Thus fly in the Almighty’s face, - And with his Providence make war! - - I can go nowhere but I meet 5 - With malcontents and mutineers, - As if in life was nothing sweet, - And we must blessings reap in tears. - - O senseless man! that murmurs still - For happiness, and does not know, 10 - Even though he might enjoy his will, - What he would have to make him so. - - Is it true happiness to be - By undiscerning Fortune placed - In the most eminent degree, 15 - Where few arrive, and none stand fast? - - Titles and wealth are Fortune’s toils, - Wherewith the vain themselves ensnare: - The great are proud of borrowed spoils, - The miser’s plenty breeds his care. 20 - - The one supinely yawns at rest, - The other eternally doth toil; - Each of them equally a beast, - A pampered horse, or labouring moil: - - The titulados oft disgraced 25 - By public hate or private frown, - And he whose hand the creature raised, - Has yet a foot to kick him down. - - The drudge who wold all get, all save, - Like a brute beast both feeds and lies; 30 - Prone to the earth, he digs his grave, - And in the very labour dies. - - Excess of ill-got, ill-kept, pelf - Does only death and danger breed; - Whilst one rich worldling starves himself 35 - With what would thousand others feed. - - By which we see that wealth and power, - Although they make men rich and great, - The sweets of life do often sour, - And gull ambition with a cheat. 40 - - Nor is he happier than these, - Who in a moderate estate, - Where he might safely live at ease, - Has lusts that are immoderate. - - For he, by those desires misled, 45 - Quits his own vine’s securing shade, - To’ expose his naked, empty head - To all the storms man’s peace invade. - - Nor is he happy who is trim, - Tricked up in favours of the fair, 50 - Mirrors, with every breath made dim. - Birds, caught in every wanton snare. - - Woman, man’s greatest woe or bliss, - Does ofter far, than serve, enslave, - And with the magic of a kiss 55 - Destroys whom she was made to save. - - Oh! fruitful grief, the world’s disease! - And vainer man, to make it so, - Who gives his miseries increase - By cultivating his own woe. 60 - - There are no ills but what we make - By giving shapes and names to things; - Which is the dangerous mistake - That causes all our sufferings. - - We call that sickness, which is health; 65 - That persecution, which is grace; - That poverty, which is true wealth; - And that dishonour, which is praise. - - Alas! our time is here so short, - That in what state soe’er ’tis spent, 70 - Of joy or woe, does not import, - Provided it be innocent. - - But we may make it pleasant too, - If we will take our measures right, - And not what Heaven has done, undo 75 - By an unruly appetite. - - The world is full of beaten roads, - But yet so slippery withal, - That where one walks secure, ’tis odds - A hundred and a hundred fall. 80 - - Untrodden paths are then the best, - Where the frequented are unsure; - And he comes soonest to his rest, - Whose journey has been most secure. - - It is content alone that makes 85 - Our pilgrimage a pleasure here; - And who buys sorrow cheapest, takes - An ill commodity too dear. - _Charles Cotton._ - - - - -LXXXVIII - -_IN PRAISE OF HOPE._ - - - Hope, of all ills that men endure - The only cheap and universal cure! - Thou captive’s freedom, and thou sick man’s health! - Thou loser’s victory, and thou beggar’s wealth! - Thou manna, which from heaven we eat, 5 - To every taste a several meat! - Thou strong retreat, thou sure entailed estate, - Which nought has power to alienate! - Thou pleasant, honest flatterer, for none - Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone! 10 - - Hope, thou first-fruits of happiness! - Thou gentle dawning of a bright success! - Thou good preparative, without which our joy - Does work too strong, and whilst it cures, destroy; - Who out of fortune’s reach dost stand, 15 - And art a blessing still in hand! - Whilst thee, her earnest-money, we retain, - We certain are to gain, - Whether she her bargain break, or else fulfil; - Thou only good, not worse for ending ill! 20 - - Brother of Faith, ’twixt whom and thee - The joys of Heaven and earth divided be! - Though Faith be heir, and have the fixed estate, - Thy portion yet in moveables is great. - Happiness itself’s all one 25 - In thee, or in possession! - Only the future’s thine, the present his! - Thine’s the more hard and noble bliss; - Best apprehender of our joys, which hast - So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast! 30 - - Hope, thou sad lover’s only friend! - Thou way, that may’st dispute it with the end! - For love, I fear, ’s a fruit that does delight - The taste itself less than the smell and sight. - Fruition more deceitful is 35 - Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss; - Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee - Some other way again to thee: - And that’s a pleasant country, without doubt, - To which all soon return that travel out. 40 - _Abraham Cowley._ - - - - -LXXXIX - -_PROLOGUE._ - -TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. SPOKEN BY MR. HART, AT THE ACTING OF ‘THE -SILENT WOMAN.’ - - - What Greece, when learning flourished, only knew, - Athenian judges, you this day renew. - Here too are annual rites to Pallas done, - And here poetic prizes lost or won. - Methinks I see you, crowned with olives, sit, 5 - And strike a sacred horror from the pit. - A day of doom is this of your decree, - Where even the best are but by mercy free: - A day, which none but Jonson durst have wished to see, - Here they, who long have known the useful stage, 10 - Come to be taught themselves to teach the age. - As your commissioners our poets go, - To cultivate the virtue which you sow; - In your Lycæum first themselves refined, - And delegated thence to human-kind. 15 - But as ambassadors, when long from home, - For new instructions to their princes come, - So poets, who your precepts have forgot, - Return, and beg they may be better taught: - Follies and faults elsewhere by them are shown, 20 - But by your manners they correct their own. - The illiterate writer, empiric-like, applies - To minds diseased, unsafe, chance remedies: - The learned in schools, where knowledge first began, - Studies with care the anatomy of man; 25 - Sees virtue, vice, and passions, in their cause, - And fame from science, not from fortune, draws. - So poetry, which is in Oxford made - An art, in London only is a trade. - There haughty dunces, whose unlearnèd pen 30 - Could ne’er spell grammar, would be reading men. - Such build their poems the Lucretian way; - So many huddled atoms make a play; - And if they hit in order by some chance, - They call that nature which is ignorance. 35 - To such a fame let mere town-wits aspire, - And their gay nonsense their own cits admire. - Our poet, could he find forgiveness here, - Would wish it rather than a plaudit there. - He owns no crown from those Prætorian bands, 40 - But knows that right is in the senate’s hands, - Not impudent enough to hope your praise, - Low at the Muses’ feet his wreath he lays, - And, where he took it up, resigns his bays. 45 - Kings make their poets whom themselves think fit, - But ’tis your suffrage makes authentic wit. - _John Dryden._ - - - - -XC - -_PROLOGUE._ - -TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. - - - Though actors cannot much of learning boast, - Of all who want it, we admire it most: - We love the praises of a learnèd pit, - As we remotely are allied to wit. - We speak our poet’s wit; and trade in ore, 5 - Like those who touch upon the golden shore; - Betwixt our judges can distinction make, - Discern how much, and why, our poems take: - Mark if the fools, or men of sense, rejoice; - Whether the applause be only sound or voice. 10 - When our fop-gallants, or our city-folly, - Clap over-loud, it makes us melancholy: - We doubt that scene which does their wonder raise, - And, for their ignorance, contemn their praise. - Judge then, if we who act, and they who write, 15 - Should not be proud of giving you delight. - London likes grossly; but this nicer pit - Examines, fathoms all the depths of wit; - The ready finger lays on every blot; - Knows what should justly please, and what should not. 20 - Nature herself lies open to your view; - You judge by her, what draught of her is true, - Where outlines false, and colours seem too faint, - Where bunglers daub, and where true poets paint. - But, by the sacred genius of this place, 25 - By every Muse, by each domestic grace, - Be kind to wit, which but endeavours well, - And, where you judge, presumes not to excel. - Our poets hither for adoption come, - As nations sued to be made free of Rome: 30 - Not in the suffragating tribes to stand, - But in your utmost, last, provincial band. - If his ambition may those hopes pursue, - Who with religion loves your arts and you, - Oxford to him a dearer name shall be 35 - Than his own mother University. - Thebes did his green unknowing youth engage; - He chooses Athens in his riper age. - _John Dryden._ - - - - -XCI - -_DISTICHES._ - - - River is time in water; as it came, - Still so it flows; yet never is the same. - - I wake, and so new live; a night’s protection - Is a new wonder, whiles a resurrection. - - The sun’s up; yet myself and God most bright 5 - I can’t see; I’m too dark, and He’s too light. - - Let devout prayér cast me to the ground, - So shall I yet to heaven be nearer found. - - Clay, sand, and rock seem of a different birth; - So men; some stiff, some loose, some firm; all earth! 10 - - By red, green, blue, which sometimes paint the air, - Guilt, pardon, Heaven, the rainbow does declare. - - The world’s a prison; no man can get out; - Let the atheist storm then; Heaven is round about. - - The rose is but the flower of a briar; 15 - The good man has an Adam to his sire. - - The dying mole, some say, opens his eyes; - The rich, till ’tis too late, will not be wise. - - The sick hart eats a snake, and so grows well; - Repentance digests sin, and man ’scapes hell. 20 - - Flies, oft removed, return. Do they want fear, - Or shame, or memory? Flies are everywhere. - - Pride cannot see itself by mid-day light; - The peacock’s tail is farthest from his sight. - - The swallow’s a quick arrow, that may show 25 - With what an instant swiftness life doth flow. - - The nightingale’s a quire, no single note; - O various power of God in one small throat! - - The silkworm’s its own wonder; without loom - It does provide itself a silken room. 30 - - The moon is the world’s glass; in which ’twere strange - If we saw her’s and saw not our own change. - - Herodotus is history’s fresh youth; - Thucydides is judgment, age, and truth. - - In sadness, Machiavel, thou didst not well, 35 - To help the world to run faster to hell. - - The Italian’s the world’s gentleman, the Court - To which thrift, wit, lust, and revenge resort. - - Bogs, purgatory, wolves, and ease, by fame - Are counted Ireland’s earth, mistake, curse, shame. 40 - - The Indies, Philip, spread not like thy robe; - Art thou the new horizon to the globe? - - Down, pickaxe; to the depths for gold let’s go; - We’ll undermine Peru. Is’nt heaven below? - - Who gripes too much casts all upon the ground; 45 - Too great a greatness greatness doth confound. - - All things are wonder since the world began; - The world’s a riddle, and the meaning’s man. - _Barten Holyday._ - - - - -XCII - -_FAME UNMERITED._ - - - There’s none should places have in Fame’s high court - But those that first do win Invention’s fort; - Not messengers, that only make report. - - To messengers rewards of thanks are due - For their great pains, telling their message true, 5 - But not the honour to invention new. - - Many there are that suits will make to wear - Of several patches, stoln both here and there, - That to the world they gallants may appear: - - And the poor vulgar, who but little know, 10 - And reverence all that makes a glistering show, - Examine not the same how they came to. - - Then do they call their friends and all their kin; - They factions make the ignorant to win, - And with their help into Fame’s court get in. 15 - _Duchess of Newcastle._ - - - - -XCIII - -_ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE HENRY, SON OF JAMES THE FIRST._ - - - Methought his royal person did foretell - A kingly stateliness, from all pride clear; - His look majestic seemèd to compel - All men to love him, rather than to fear. - And yet though he were every good man’s joy, 5 - And the alonely comfort of his own, - His very name with terror did annoy - His foreign foes so far as he was known. - Hell drooped for fear; the Turkey moon looked pale; - Spain trembled; and the most tempestuous sea, - (Where Behemoth, the Babylonish whale, 10 - Keeps all his bloody and imperious plea) - Was swoln with rage, for fear he’d stop the tide - Of her o’er-daring and insulting pride. - _George Wither._ - - - - -XCIV - -_ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA._ - - - You meaner beauties of the night, - Which poorly satisfy our eyes, - More by your number than your light,-- - You common people of the skies, - What are you, when the Moon shall rise? 5 - - You violets that first appear, - By your pure purple mantles known, - Like the proud virgins of the year, - As if the spring were all your own,-- - What are you, when the Rose is blown? 10 - - You curious chanters of the wood, - That warble forth dame Nature’s lays, - Thinking your passions understood - By your weak accents,--what’s your praise, - When Philomel her voice doth raise? 15 - - So when my Mistress shall be seen - In form and beauty of her mind, - By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, - Tell me, if she were not designed - The eclipse and glory of her kind? 20 - _Sir Henry Wotton._ - - - - -XCV - -_LORD STRAFFORD’S MEDITATIONS IN THE TOWER._ - - - Go, empty joys, - With all your noise, - And leave me here alone, - In sweet sad silence to bemoan - The fickle worldly height, 5 - Whose danger none can see aright, - Whilst your false splendours dim his sight. - - Go, and ensnare - With your trim ware - Some other easy wight, 10 - And cheat him with your flattering light; - Rain on his head a shower - Of honours, favour, wealth, and power; - Then snatch it from him in an hour. - - Fill his big mind 15 - With gallant wind - Of insolent applause; - Let him not fear all-curbing laws, - Nor king, nor people’s frown; - But dream of something like a crown, 20 - Then, climbing towards it, tumble down. - - Let him appear - In his bright sphere - Like Cynthia in her pride, - With starlike troops on every side; 25 - For number and clear light - Such as may soon o’erwhelm him quite, - And blend them both in one dead night. - - Welcome, sad night, - Grief’s sole delight, 30 - Thy mourning best agrees - With honour’s funeral obsequies! - In Thetis’ lap he lies, - Mantled with soft securities, - Whose too much sunshine dims his eyes. 35 - - Was he too bold, - Who needs would hold - With curbing reins the Day, - And make Sol’s fiery steeds obey? - Then, sure, as rash was I, 40 - Who with ambitious wings did fly - In Charles’s Wain too loftily. - - I fall, I fall! - Whom shall I call? - Alas can he be heard, 45 - Who now is neither loved nor feared? - You who have vowed the ground - To kiss, where my blest steps were found, - Come, catch me at my last rebound. - - How each admires 50 - Heaven’s twinkling fires, - Whilst from their glorious seat - Their influence gives light and heat; - But oh! how few there are, - Though danger from the act be far, 55 - Will run to catch a falling star. - - Now ’tis too late - To imitate - Those lights whose pallidness - Argues no inward guiltiness; 60 - Their course one way is bent; - Which is the cause there’s no dissent - In Heaven’s High Court of Parliament. - _Anon._ - - - - -XCVI - -_I’LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE._ - - - My dear and only Love, I pray - That little world of thee - Be governed by no other sway - But purest monarchy: - For if confusion have a part, 5 - Which virtuous souls abhor, - And hold a Synod in thy heart, - I’ll never love thee more. - - As Alexander I will reign, - And I will reign alone; 10 - My thoughts did evermore disdain - A rival on my throne. - He either fears his fate too much, - Or his deserts are small, - Who dares not put it to the touch, 15 - To gain or lose it all. - - But I will reign and govern still, - And always give the law, - And have each subject at my will, - And all to stand in awe: 20 - But ’gainst my batteries if I find - Thou storm, or vex me sore, - As if thou set me as a blind, - I’ll never love thee more. - - And in the empire of thy heart, 25 - Where I should solely be, - If others do pretend a part, - Or dare to share with me: - Or committees if thou erect, - Or go on such a score, 30 - I’ll smiling mock at thy neglect, - And never love thee more. - - But if no faithless action stain - Thy love and constant word, - I’ll make thee famous by my pen, 35 - And glorious by my sword. - I’ll serve thee in such noble ways - As ne’er was known before; - I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays, - And love thee more and more. 40 - _Marquis of Montrose._ - - - - -XCVII - -_TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON._ - - - When Love with unconfinèd wings - Hovers within my gates, - And my divine Althea brings - To whisper at the grates; - When I lie tangled in her hair, 5 - And fettered to her eye, - The birds, that wanton in the air, - Know no such liberty. - - When flowing cups run swiftly round - With no allaying Thames, 10 - Our careless heads with roses crowned, - Our hearts with loyal flames; - When thirsty grief in wine we steep, - When healths and draughts go free, - Fishes, that tipple in the deep, 15 - Know no such liberty. - - When, like committed linnets, I - With shriller throat shall sing - The sweetness, mercy, majesty - And glories of my King; 20 - When I shall voice aloud how good - He is, how great should be, - Enlargèd winds, that curl the flood, - Know no such liberty. - - Stone walls do not a prison make, 25 - Nor iron bars a cage; - Minds innocent and quiet take - That for an hermitage: - If I have freedom in my love, - And in my soul am free, 30 - Angels alone, that soar above, - Enjoy such liberty. - _Richard Lovelace._ - - - - -XCVIII - -_TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS._ - - - If to be absent were to be - Away from thee; - Or that when I am gone - You or I were alone; - Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 5 - Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. - - Though seas and land betwixt us both, - Our faith and troth, - Like separated souls, - All time and space controls: 10 - Above the highest sphere we meet - Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet. - - So then we do anticipate - Our after-fate, - And are alive i’ the skies, 15 - If thus our lips and eyes - Can speak like spirits unconfined - In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. - _Richard Lovelace._ - - - - -XCIX - -_A CAVALIER WAR-SONG._ - - - A steed, a steed, of matchless speed, - A sword of metal keen; - All else to noble hearts is dross, - All else on earth is mean. - The neighing of the war-horse proud, 5 - The rolling of the drum, - The clangour of the trumpet loud, - Be sounds from heaven that come. - And oh! the thundering press of knights, - Whenas their war-cries swell, 10 - May toll from heaven an angel bright, - And rouse a fiend from hell. - - Then mount, then mount, brave gallants all, - And don your helms amain; - Death’s couriers, Fame and Honour, call 15 - Us to the field again. - No shrewish tears shall fill our eye, - When the sword-hilt’s in our hand; - Heart-whole we’ll part, and no whit sigh - For the fairest in the land. 20 - Let piping swain and craven wight - Thus weep and puling cry; - Our business is like men to fight, - And, like to heroes, die! - _Anon._ - - - - -C - -_THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD._ - - - Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl, - To purify the air; - Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl, - On bracelets of thy hair. - - The trumpet makes the echo hoarse, 5 - And wakes the louder drum; - Expense of grief gains no remorse, - When sorrow should be dumb: - - For I must go, where lazy peace - Will hide her drowsy head; 10 - And, for the sport of kings, increase - The number of the dead. - - But first I’ll chide thy cruel theft; - Can I in war delight, - Who, being of my heart bereft, - Can have no heart to fight? 15 - - Thou know’st the sacred laws of old - Ordained a thief should pay, - To quit him of his theft, sevenfold - What he had stol’n away. - - Thy payment shall but double be; 20 - Oh then with speed resign - My own seducèd heart to me, - Accompanied with thine. - _Sir William Davenant._ - - - - -CI - -_LOYALTY CONFINED._ - - - Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; - Swell, curlèd waves, high as Jove’s roof; - Your incivility doth show - That innocence is tempest-proof: - Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; 5 - Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. - - That which the world miscalls a jail, - A private closet is to me, - Whilst a good conscience is my bail, - And innocence my liberty: 10 - Locks, bars, and solitude together met, - Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. - - I, whilst I wished to be retired, - Into this private room was turned; - As if their wisdom had conspired 15 - The salamander should be burned; - Or like a sophy that would drown a fish, - I am constrained to suffer what I wish. - - The cynic loves his poverty; - The pelican her wilderness; 20 - And ’tis the Indian’s pride to be - Naked on frozen Caucasus: - Contentment cannot smart; stoics we see - Make torments easy to their apathy. - - These manacles upon my arm 25 - I, as my mistress’ favours, wear; - And for to keep my ancles warm, - I have some iron shackles there: - These walls are but my garrison; this cell, - Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel. 30 - - I’m in the cabinet locked up, - Like some high-prizèd margarite, - Or like the great mogul or pope, - Am cloistered up from public sight: - Retiredness is a piece of majesty, 35 - And thus, proud sultan, I’m as great as thee. - - Here sin for want of food must starve, - Where tempting objects are not seen; - And these strong walls do only serve - To keep vice out, and keep me in: 40 - Malice of late’s grown charitable, sure, - I’m not committed, but am kept secure. - - So he that struck at Jason’s life, - Thinking to’ have made his purpose sure, - By a malicious friendly knife 45 - Did only wound him to a cure: - Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant - Mischief, ofttimes proves favour by the event. - - When once my Prince affliction hath, - Prosperity doth treason seem; 50 - And for to smooth so rough a path, - I can learn patience from him: - Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart, - When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part. - - What though I cannot see my King, 55 - Neither in person nor in coin; - Yet contemplation is a thing - That renders what I have not, mine: - My King from me what adamant can part, - Whom I do wear engraven on my heart? 60 - - Have you not seen the nightingale, - A pilgrim, coopt into a cage, - How doth she chaunt her wonted tale - In that her narrow hermitage? - Even there her charming melody doth prove 65 - That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. - - I am that bird, whom they combine - Thus to deprive of liberty; - But though they do my corps confine, - Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free: 70 - And though immured, yet can I chirp and sing - Disgrace to rebels, glory to my King. - - My soul is free as ambient air, - Although my baser part’s immewed, - Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 75 - To’ accompany my solitude: - Although rebellion do my body bind, - My King alone can captivate my mind. - _Anon._ - - - - -CII - -_A ROYAL LAMENTATION._ - - - Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springs - The potency and power of [earthly] kings, - Record the royal woe my suffering sings. - - Nature and law by thy divine decree, - (The only root of righteous royalty,) 5 - With this dim diadem invested me: - - With it the sacred sceptre, purple robe, - The holy unction, and the royal globe; - Yet am I levelled with the life of Job. - - The fiercest furies, that do daily tread 10 - Upon my grief, my grey discrownèd head, - Are they that owe my bounty for their bread. - - With my own power my majesty they wound, - In the King’s name the King’s himself uncrowned; - So doth the dust destroy the diamond. 15 - - They promise to erect my royal stem, - To make me great, to’ advance my diadem, - If I will first fall down, and worship them. - - My life they prize at such a slender rate, - That in my absence they draw bills of hate, 20 - To prove the King a traitor to the State. - - Felons obtain more privilege than I; - They are allowed to answer ere they die: - ’Tis death for me to ask the reason why. - - But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 25 - Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to - Such as Thou know’st do not know what they do. - - Augment my patience, nullify my hate, - Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate; - Yet, though we perish, bless this Church and State. 30 - _King Charles the First._ - - - - -CIII - -_HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL’S RETURN FROM IRELAND._ - - - The forward youth that would appear, - Must now forsake his Muses dear, - Nor in the shadows sing - His numbers languishing. - - ’Tis time to leave the books in dust, 5 - And oil the unused armour’s rust, - Removing from the wall - The corslet of the hall. - - So restless Cromwell could not cease - In the inglorious arts of peace, 10 - But through adventurous war - Urgèd his active star: - - And like the three-forked lightning first, - Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, - Did thorough his own side 15 - His fiery way divide: - - For ’tis all one to courage high - The emulous, or enemy; - And with such, to enclose - Is more than to oppose. 20 - - Then burning through the air he went, - And palaces and temples rent; - And Cæsar’s head at last - Did through his laurels blast. - - ’Tis madness to resist or blame 25 - The face of angry heaven’s flame; - And if we would speak true, - Much to the Man is due, - - Who, from his private gardens, where - He lived reservèd and austere 30 - (As if his highest plot - To plant the bergamot,) - - Could by industrious valour climb - To ruin the great work of time, - And cast the Kingdoms old 35 - Into another mould. - - Though Justice against Fate complain, - And plead the ancient Rights in vain-- - But those do hold or break - As men are strong or weak. 40 - - Nature, that hateth emptiness, - Allows of penetration less, - And therefore must make room, - Where greater spirits come. - - What field of all the Civil War 45 - Where his were not the deepest scar? - And Hampton shows what part - He had of wiser art, - - Where, twining subtle fears with hope, - He wove a net of such a scope 50 - That Charles himself might chase - To Carsbrook’s narrow case; - - That thence the royal actor borne - The tragic scaffold might adorn: - While round the armèd bands 55 - Did clap their bloody hands; - - He nothing common did or mean - Upon that memorable scene, - But with his keener eye - The axe’s edge did try; 60 - - Nor called the Gods, with vulgar spite, - To vindicate his helpless right; - But bowed his comely head - Down, as upon a bed. - - --This was that memorable hour 65 - Which first assured the forcèd power: - So when they did design - The Capitol’s first line, - - A Bleeding Head, where they begun, - Did fright the architects to run; 70 - And yet in that the State - Foresaw its happy fate! - - And now the Irish are ashamed - To see themselves in one year tamed: - So much one man can do 75 - That does both act and know. - - They can affirm his praises best, - And have, though overcome, confessed - How good he is, how just - And fit for highest trust; 80 - - Nor yet grown stiffer with command, - But still in the Republic’s hand-- - How fit he is to sway - That can so well obey! - - He to the Commons’ feet presents 85 - A Kingdom for his first year’s rents, - And (what he may) forbears - His fame, to make it theirs: - - And has his sword and spoils ungirt - To lay them at the Public’s skirt. 90 - So when the falcon high - Falls heavy from the sky, - - She, having killed, no more does search - But on the next green bough to perch, - Where, when he first does lure, 95 - The falconer has her sure. - - --What may not then our Isle presume, - While victory his crest does plume? - What may not others fear, - If thus he crowns each year! 100 - - As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul, - To Italy an Hannibal, - And to all states not free - Shall climacteric be. - - The Pict no shelter now shall find 105 - Within his parti-coloured mind, - But from this valour, sad - Shrink underneath the plaid-- - - Happy, if in the tufted brake - The English hunter him mistake, 110 - Nor lay his hounds in near - The Caledonian deer. - - But thou, the War’s and Fortune’s son, - March indefatigably on; - And for the last effect 115 - Still kept the sword erect: - - Besides the force it has to fright - The spirits of the shady night, - The same arts that did gain - A power, must it maintain. 120 - _Andrew Marvell._ - - - - -CIV - -_ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT._ - - - Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones - Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; - Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, - When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, - Forget not: in thy book record their groans 5 - Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold - Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolled - Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans - The vales redoubled to the hills, and they - To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow 10 - O’er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway - The triple tyrant; that from these may grow - A hundred fold, who, having learned thy way, - Early may fly the Babylonian woe. - _John Milton._ - - - - -CV - -_HYMN TO LIGHT._ - - - First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come - From the old Negro’s darksome womb! - Which, when it saw the lovely child, - The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled: - - Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know, 5 - But ever ebb and ever flow! - Thou golden shower of a true Jove! - Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love! - - Say, from what golden quivers of the sky - Do all thy wingèd arrows fly? 10 - Swiftness and power by birth are thine; - From thy great sire they came, thy sire, the Word Divine. - - ’Tis, I believe, this archery to show, - That so much cost in colours thou - And skill in painting dost bestow 15 - Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow. - - Swift as light thoughts their empty carriere run, - Thy race is finished when begun; - Let a post-angel start with thee, - And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as soon as he. 20 - - Thou in the moon’s bright chariot proud and gay - Dost thy bright wood of stars survey; - And all the year dost with thee bring - Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring. - - Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands, above 25 - The sun’s gilt tent, for ever move; - And still as thou in pomp dost go, - The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. - - Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn - The humble glowworms to adorn, 30 - And with those living spangles gild - (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field. - - Night and her ugly subjects dost thou fright, - And sleep, the lazy owl of night; - Ashamed and fearful to appear, 35 - They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere. - - With them there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm, - Of painted dreams a busy swarm; - At the first opening of thine eye - The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly. 40 - - When, Goddess, thou lift’st up thy wakened head - Out of the Morning’s purple bed, - Thy choir of birds about thee play, - And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day. - - All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes, 45 - Is but thy several liveries; - Thou the rich dye on them bestowest, - Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou goest. - - A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st; - A crown of studded gold thou bear’st; 50 - The virgin lilies, in their white, - Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. - - The violet, spring’s little infant, stands - Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands; - On the fair tulip thou dost dote, 55 - Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-coloured coat. - - With flame condensed thou dost thy jewels fix, - And solid colours in it mix: - Flora herself envies to see - Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. 60 - - Through the soft ways of heaven and air and sea, - Which open all their pores to thee, - Like a clear river thou dost glide, - And with thy living stream through the close channels slide. - - But where firm bodies thy free course oppose, 65 - Gently thy source the land o’erflows; - Takes there possession, and does make, - Of colours’ mingled light, a thick and standing lake: - - But the vast ocean of unbounded day - In the empyrean heaven does stay; 70 - Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below - From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow. - _Abraham Cowley._ - - - - -CVI - -_TO THE ROYAL SOCIETY._ - - - Philosophy! the great and only heir - Of all that human knowledge which has been - Unforfeited by man’s rebellious sin, - Though full of years he do appear, - (Philosophy! I say, and call it He, 5 - For whatsoe’er the painter’s fancy be, - It a male virtue seems to me) - Has still been kept in nonage till of late, - Nor managed or enjoyed his vast estate. - Three or four thousand years, one would have thought, 10 - To ripeness and perfection might have brought - A science so well bred and nursed, - And of such hopeful parts, too, at the first; - But oh! the guardians and the tutors then, - (Some negligent, some ambitious men) 15 - Would ne’er consent to set him free, - Or his own natural powers to let him see, - Lest that should put an end to their authority. - - That his own business he might quite forget, - They’ amused him with the sports of wanton wit; 20 - With the deserts of poetry they fed him, - Instead of solid meats to’ increase his force; - Instead of vigorous exercise they led him - Into the pleasant labyrinths of ever-fresh discourse: - Instead of carrying him to see 25 - The riches which do hoarded for him lie - In Nature’s endless treasury, - They chose his eye to entertain - (His curious, but not covetous, eye) - With painted scenes and pageants of the brain. 30 - Some few exalted spirits this latter age has shown, - That laboured to assert the liberty - (From guardians who were now usurpers grown) - Of this old minor still, captived Philosophy; - But ’twas rebellion called, to fight 35 - For such a long-oppressèd right. - Bacon, at last, a mighty man! arose, - Whom a wise King and Nature chose - Lord Chancellor of both their laws, - And boldly undertook the injured pupil’s cause. 40 - - Authority, which did a body boast, - Though ’twas but air condensed, and stalked about - Like some old giant’s more gigantic ghost, - To terrify the learnèd rout, - With the plain magic of true reason’s light 45 - He chased out of our sight, - Nor suffered living men to be misled - By the vain shadows of the dead: - To graves, from whence it rose, the conquered phantom fled. - He broke that monstrous god which stood, 50 - In midst of the orchard, and the whole did claim, - Which with a useless scythe of wood, - And something else not worth a name, - (Ridiculous and senseless terrors!) made - Children and superstitious men afraid. 55 - The orchard’s open now, and free: - Bacon has broke that scarecrow deity: - Come, enter all that will, - Behold the ripened fruit, come, gather now your fill! - Yet still, methinks, we fain would be 60 - Catching at the forbidden tree; - We would be like the Deity; - When truth and falsehood, good and evil, we - Without the senses’ aid within ourselves would see; - For ’tis God only who can find 65 - All nature in his mind. - - From words, which are but pictures of the thought - (Though we our thoughts from them perversely drew,) - To things, the mind’s right object, he it brought; - Like foolish birds to painted grapes we flew. 70 - He sought and gathered for our use the true; - And when on heaps the chosen bunches lay, - He pressed them wisely the mechanic way, - Till all their juice did in one vessel join, - Ferment into a nourishment divine, 75 - The thirsty soul’s refreshing wine. - Who to the life an exact piece would make, - Must not from others’ work a copy take; - No, not from Rubens or Vandyck; - Much less content himself to make it like 80 - The ideas and the images which lie - In his own fancy or his memory: - No, he before his sight must place - The natural and the living face; - The real object must command 85 - Each judgment of his eye and motion of his hand. - - From these, and all long errors of the way, - In which our wandering predecessors went, - And, like the old Hebrews, many years did stray - In deserts, but of small extent, 90 - Bacon! like Moses, led us forth at last; - The barren wilderness he passed, - Did on the very border stand - Of the blessed Promised Land, - And from the mountain’s top of his exalted wit, 95 - Saw it himself, and showed us it. - But life did never to one man allow - Time to discover worlds, and conquer too; - Nor can so short a line sufficient be - To fathom the vast deeps of Nature’s sea: 100 - The work he did we ought to admire, - And were unjust if we should more require - From his few years, divided ’twixt the excess - Of low affliction and high happiness: - For who on things remote can fix his sight, 105 - That’s always in a triumph or a fight? - - From you, great champions! we expect to get - These spacious countries but discovered yet; - Countries where yet, instead of Nature, we - Her images and idols worshipped see: 110 - These large and wealthy regions to subdue, - Though Learning has whole armies at command, - Quartered about in every land, - A better troop she ne’er together drew. - Methinks, like Gideon’s little band, 115 - God with design has picked out you, - To do these noble wonders by a few. - When the whole host He saw, they are, said He, - Too many to o’ercome for Me: - And now He chooses out his men, 120 - Much in the way that He did then: - Not those many, whom He found - Idly extended on the ground, - To drink, with their dejected head, - The stream, just so as by their mouths it fled: 125 - No; but those few who took the waters up, - And made of their laborious hands the cup. - - Thus you prepared, and in the glorious fight - Their wondrous pattern too you take: - Their old and empty pitchers first they brake, 130 - And with their hands then lifted up the light. - Iö! sound too the trumpets here! - Already your victorious lights appear; - New scenes of heaven already we espy, - And crowds of golden worlds on high, 135 - Which from the spacious plains of earth and sea - Could never yet discovered be - By sailor’s or Chaldean’s watchful eye. - Nature’s great works no distance can obscure, - No smallness her near objects can secure: 140 - You’ have taught the curious sight to press - Into the privatest recess - Of her imperceptible littleness: - You’ have learned to read her smallest hand, - And well begun her deepest sense to understand. 145 - - Mischief and true dishonour fall on those - Who would to laughter or to scorn expose - So virtuous and so noble a design, - So human for its use, for knowledge so divine. - The things which these proud men despise, and call 150 - Impertinent, and vain, and small, - Those smallest things of nature let me know, - Rather than all their greatest actions do. - Whoever would deposèd truth advance - Into the throne usurped from it, 155 - Must feel at first the blows of ignorance, - And the sharp points of envious wit. - So when, by various turns of the celestial dance, - In many thousand years - A star, so long unknown, appears, 160 - Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow, - It troubles and alarms the world below, - Does to the wise a star, to fools a meteor, show. - - With courage and success you the bold work begin; - Your cradle has not idle been; 165 - None e’er but Hercules and you would be - At five years’ age worthy a history: - And ne’er did fortune better yet - The historian to the story fit. - As you from all old errors free 170 - And purge the body of Philosophy, - So from all modern follies he - Has vindicated eloquence and wit: - His candid style like a clean stream does slide, - And his bright fancy all the way 175 - Does, like the sunshine, in it play; - It does like Thames, the best of rivers, glide, - Where the god does not rudely overturn, - But gently pour, the crystal urn, - And with judicious hand does the whole current guide. - ’T has all the beauties Nature can impart, 181 - And all the comely dress, without the paint, of Art. - _Abraham Cowley._ - - - - -CVII - -_THE DREAM._ - - - No victor that in battle spent, - When he at night asleep doth lie - Rich in a conquered monarch’s tent, - E’er had so vain a dream as I. - - Methought I saw the earliest shade 5 - And sweetest that the spring can spread, - Of jasmin, briar, and woodbine made; - And there I saw Clorinda dead. - - Though dead she lay, yet could I see - No cypress nor no mourning yew; 10 - Nor yet the injured lover’s tree; - No willow near her coffin grew. - - But all showed unconcerned to be, - As if just Nature there did strive - To be as pitiless as she 15 - Was to her lover when alive. - - And now, methought, I lost all care, - In losing her; and was as free - As birds let loose into the air, - Or rivers that are got to sea. 20 - - Methought Love’s monarchy was gone; - And whilst elective numbers sway, - Our choice and change makes power our own, - And those court us whom we obey. - - Yet soon, now from my Princess free, 25 - I rather frantic grew than glad, - For subjects, getting liberty, - Get but a license to be mad. - - Birds that are long in cages awed, - If they get out, awhile will roam; 30 - But straight want skill to live abroad, - Then pine and hover near their home. - - And to the ocean rivers run - From being pent in banks of flowers; - Not knowing that the exhaling sun 35 - Will send them back in weeping showers. - - Soon thus for pride of liberty - I low desires of bondage found; - And vanity of being free - Bred the discretion to be bound. 40 - - But as dull subjects see too late - Their safety in monarchal reign, - Finding their freedom in a State - Is but proud strutting in a chain; - - Then growing wiser, when undone, 45 - In winter nights sad stories sing - In praise of monarchs long since gone, - To whom their bells they yearly ring; - - So now I mourned that she was dead, - Whose single power did govern me; 50 - And quickly was by reason led - To find the harm of liberty. - - Even so the lovers of this land - (Love’s empire in Clorinda gone) - Thought they were quit from Love’s command, 55 - And beauty’s world was all their own. - - But lovers, who are Nature’s best - Old subjects, never long revolt; - They soon in passion’s war contest, - Yet in their march soon make a halt. 60 - - And those, when by my mandates brought - Near dead Clorinda, ceased to boast - Of freedom found, and wept for thought - Of their delightful bondage lost. - - And now the day to night was turned, 65 - Or sadly night’s close mourning wore; - All maids for one another mourned, - That lovers now could love no more. - - All lovers quickly did perceive - They had on earth no more to do 70 - Than civilly to take their leave, - As worthies that to dying go. - - And now all quires her dirges sing, - In shades of cypress and of yew; - The bells of every temple ring, 75 - Where maids their withered garlands strew. - - To such extremes did sorrow rise, - That it transcended speech and form, - And was so lost to ears and eyes - As seamen sinking in a storm. 80 - - My soul, in sleep’s soft fetters bound, - Did now for vital freedom strive; - And straight, by horror waked, I found - The fair Clorinda still alive. - - Yet she’s to me but such a light, 85 - As are the stars to those who know - We can at most but guess their height, - And hope they mind us here below. - _Sir William Davenant._ - - - - -CVIII - -_THE DIRGE._ - - - What is the existence of man’s life - But open war, or slumbered strife? - Where sickness to his sense presents - The combat of the elements; - And never feels a perfect peace, 5 - Till death’s cold hand signs his release. - - It is a storm, where the hot blood - Outvies in rage the boiling flood; - And each loud passion of the mind - Is like a furious gust of wind, 10 - Which bears his bark with many a wave, - Till he casts anchor in the grave. - - It is a flower, which buds and grows, - And withers as the leaves disclose; - Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep, 15 - Like fits of waking before sleep: - Then shrinks into that fatal mould - Where its first being was enrolled. - - It is a dream, whose seeming truth - Is moralized in age and youth: 20 - Where all the comforts he can share - As wandering as his fancies are; - Till in the mist of dark decay - The dreamer vanish quite away. - - It is a dial, which points out 25 - The sunset, as it moves about: - And shadows out in lines of night - The subtle stages of time’s flight, - Till all-obscuring earth hath laid - The body in perpetual shade. 30 - - It is a weary interlude, - Which doth short joys, long woes include; - The world the stage, the prologue tears, - The acts vain hope, and varied fears: - The scene shuts up with loss of breath, 35 - And leaves no epilogue but death. - _Henry King._ - - - - -CIX - -_PARAPHRASE FROM SENECA._ - - - Let him that will, ascend the tottering seat - Of courtly grandeur, and become as great - As are his mounting wishes: as for me, - Let sweet repose and rest my portion be; - Give me some mean obscure recess, a sphere 5 - Out of the road of business, or the fear - Of falling lower; where I sweetly may - Myself and dear retirement still enjoy: - Let not my life or name be known unto - The grandees of the time, tost to and fro 10 - By censures or applause; but let my age - Slide gently by; not overthwart the stage - Of public action; unheard, unseen, - And unconcerned, as if I ne’er had been. - And thus, while I shall pass my silent days 15 - In shady privacy, free from the noise - And bustles of the mad world, then shall I - A good old innocent plebeian die. - Death is a mere surprise, a very snare - To him, that makes it his life’s greatest care 20 - To be a public pageant; known to all, - But unacquainted with himself, doth fall. - _Sir Matthew Hale._ - - - - -CX - -_VANISHED BLESSINGS._ - - - The voice which I did more esteem - Than music in her sweetest key, - Those eyes which unto me did seem - More comfortable than the day-- - Those now by me, as they have been, 5 - Shall never more be heard or seen; - But what I once enjoyed in them - Shall seem hereafter as a dream. - - All earthly comforts vanish thus; - So little hold of them have we, 10 - That we from them, or they from us, - May in a moment ravished be. - Yet we are neither just nor wise, - If present mercies we despise; - Or mind not how there may be made 15 - A thankful use of what we had. - _George Wither._ - - - - -CXI - -_EPITAPH._ - - - In this marble casket lies - A matchless jewel of rich price; - Whom Nature in the world’s disdain - But showed, and put it up again. - _Anon._ - - - - -CXII - -_THE WORLD’S FALLACIES._ - - - False world, thou liest: thou canst not lend - The least delight: - Thy favours cannot gain a friend, - They are so slight: - Thy morning pleasures make an end 5 - To please at night: - Poor are the wants that thou suppliest: - And yet thou vaunt’st, and yet thou viest - With heaven; fond earth, thou boast’st; false world, thou liest. - - Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales 10 - Of endless treasure: - Thy bounty offers easy sales - Of lasting pleasure: - Thou ask’st the conscience what she ails, - And swear’st to ease her; 15 - There’s none can want where thou suppliest, - There’s none can give where thou deniest; - Alas! fond world, thou boast’st; false world, thou liest. - - What well-advisèd ear regards - What earth can say? 20 - Thy words are gold, but thy rewards - Are painted clay: - Thy cunning can but pack the cards, - Thou canst not play: - Thy game at weakest, still thou viest; 25 - If seen, and then revied, deniest: - Thou art not what thou seem’st; false world, thou liest. - - Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint - Of new-coined treasure; - A paradise, that has no stint, 30 - No change, no measure; - A painted cask, but nothing in’t, - Nor wealth, nor pleasure. - Vain earth! that falsely thus compliest - With man; vain man, that thou reliest 35 - On earth: vain man, thou doat’st; vain earth, thou liest. - - What mean dull souls in this high measure - To haberdash - In earth’s base wares, whose greatest treasure - Is dross and trash; 40 - The height of whose enchanting pleasure - Is but a flash? - Are these the goods that thou suppliest - Us mortals with? Are these the highest? 44 - Can these bring cordial peace? False world, thou liest. - _Francis Quarles._ - - - - -CXIII - -_TO THE MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM._ - - - Farewell, too little and too lately known, - Whom I began to think, and call my own; - For sure our souls were near allied, and thine - Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. - One common note on either lyre did strike, 5 - And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike. - To the same goal did both our studies drive; - The last set out, the soonest did arrive. - Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place, - Whilst his young friend performed, and won the race. 10 - Oh early ripe! to thy abundant store - What could advancing age have added more? - It might (what nature never gives the young) - Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue. - But satire needs not those, and wit will shine 15 - Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line. - A noble error, and but seldom made, - When poets are by too much force betrayed; - Thy generous fruits, though gathered ere their prime, - Still showed a quickness; and maturing time 20 - But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of rhyme. - Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell, thou young, - But, ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue! - Thy brows with ivy and with laurels bound; - But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around. 25 - _John Dryden._ - - - - -CXIV - -_AN EPITAPH ON THE EXCELLENT COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON._ - - - The chief perfection of both sexes joined, - With neither’s vice nor vanity combined; - Of this our age the wonder, love, and care, - The example of the following, and despair; - Such beauty, that from all hearts love must flow, 5 - Such majesty, that none durst tell her so; - A wisdom of so large and potent sway, - Rome’s Senate might have wished, her Conclave may: - Which did to earthly thoughts so seldom bow, - Alive she scarce was less in heaven than now; 10 - So void of the least pride, to her alone - These radiant excellencies seemed unknown; - Such once there was; but let thy grief appear, - Reader, there is not: Huntingdon lies here. - _Lord Falkland._ - - - - -CXV - -_A PAGAN EPITAPH._ - - - In this marble buried lies - Beauty may enrich the skies, - And add light to Phœbus’ eyes; - - Sweeter than Aurora’s air, - When she paints the lilies fair, 5 - And gilds cowslips with her hair; - - Chaster than the virgin spring, - Ere her blossoms she doth bring, - Or cause Philomel to sing. - - If such goodness live ’mongst men, 10 - Tell me it: I [shall] know then - She is come from heaven again. - _Anon._ - - - - -CXVI - -_ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN -FRIEND._ - - - When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, - Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, - Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load - Of death, called life; which us from life doth sever. - Thy works and alms, and all thy good endeavour, 5 - Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod; - But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, - Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever. - Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best, - Thy handmaids, clad them o’er with purple beams 10 - And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, - And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes - Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest, - And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. - _John Milton._ - - - - -CXVII - -_AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE, WHO DIED AND WERE BURIED TOGETHER._ - - - To these, whom death again did wed, - This grave’s their second marriage-bed; - For though the hand of Fate could force - ’Twixt soul and body a divorce, - It could not sunder man and wife, 5 - ’Cause they both lived but one life. - Peace, good reader, do not weep; - Peace, the lovers are asleep: - They (sweet turtles) folded lie - In the last knot that love could tie. 10 - And though they lie as they were dead, - Their pillow stone, their sheets of lead; - (Pillow hard, and sheets not warm) - Love made the bed, they’ll take no harm. - Let them sleep, let them sleep on, 15 - Till this stormy night be gone, - And the eternal morrow dawn; - Then the curtains will be drawn, - And they wake into that light, - Whose day shall never die in night. 20 - _Richard Crashaw._ - - - - -CXVIII - -_EPITAPH._ - - - Here lies a piece of Christ; a star in dust; - A vein of gold; a china dish that must - Be used in heaven, when God shall feast the just. - _Robert Wild._ - - - - -CXIX - -_EPITAPH ON COMPANIONS LEFT BEHIND IN THE NORTHERN SEAS._ - - - I were unkind unless that I did shed, - Before I part, some tears upon our dead: - And when my eyes be dry, I will not cease - In heart to pray their bones may rest in peace: - Their better parts (good souls) I know were given 5 - With an intent they should return to heaven: - Their lives they spent to the last drop of blood, - Seeking God’s glory and their country’s good. - And as a valiant soldier rather dies, - Than yields his courage to his enemies; 10 - And stops their way with his hewed flesh, when death - Hath quite deprived him of his strength and breath; - So have they spent themselves; and here they lie, - A famous mark of our discovery. - We that survive, perchance may end our days 15 - In some employment meriting no praise; - And in a dung-hill rot, when no man names - The memory of us, but to our shames. - They have outlived this fear, and their brave ends - Will ever be an honour to their friends. 20 - Why drop you so, mine eyes? Nay rather pour - My sad departure in a solemn shower. - The winter’s cold, that lately froze our blood, - Now were it so extreme, might do this good, - As make these tears bright pearls, which I would lay 25 - Tombed safely with you till doom’s fatal day; - That in this solitary place, where none - Will ever come to breathe a sigh or groan, - Some remnant might be extant of the true - And faithful love I ever tendered you. 30 - Oh! rest in peace, dear friends, and, let it be - No pride to say, the sometime part of me. - What pain and anguish doth afflict the head, - The heart, and stomach, when the limbs are dead; - So grieved, I kiss your graves, and vow to die, 35 - A foster-father to your memory. - _Thomas James._ - - - - -CXX - -_EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS._ - - - The Lady Mary Villiers lies - Under this stone: with weeping eyes - The parents that first gave her birth, - And their sad friends, laid her in earth. - If any of them, reader, were 5 - Known unto thee, shed a tear: - Or if thyself possess a gem, - As dear to thee as this to them, - Though a stranger to this place, - Bewail in their’s thine own hard case; 10 - For thou perhaps at thy return - Mayst find thy darling in an urn. - _Thomas Carew._ - - - - -CXXI - -_EXEQUY ON HIS WIFE._ - - - Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, - Instead of dirges this complaint; - And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, - Receive a strew of weeping verse - From thy grieved friend, whom thou might’st see 5 - Quite melted into tears for thee. - Dear loss! since thy untimely fate, - My task hath been to meditate - On thee, on thee: thou art the book, - The library whereon I look, 10 - Though almost blind. For thee, loved clay, - I languish out, not live, the day, - Using no other exercise - But what I practise with mine eyes: - By which wet glasses I find out 15 - How lazily time creeps about - To one that mourns; this, only this, - My exercise and business is: - So I compute the weary hours - With sighs dissolvèd into showers. 20 - Nor wonder if my time go thus - Backward and most preposterous; - Thou hast benighted me; thy set - This eve of blackness did beget, - Who wast my day (though overcast 25 - Before thou hadst thy noontide past), - And I remember must in tears, - Thou scarce hadst seen so many years - As day tells hours. By thy clear sun - My love and fortune first did run; 30 - But thou wilt never more appear - Folded within my hemisphere, - Since both thy light and motion, - Like a fled star, is fall’n and gone, - And ’twixt me and my soul’s dear wish 35 - The earth now interposèd is, - Which such a strange eclipse doth make - As ne’er was read in almanack. - I could allow thee for a time - To darken me and my sad clime; 40 - Were it a month, a year, or ten, - I would thy exile live till then; - And all that space my mirth adjourn. - So thou wouldst promise to return; - And putting off thy ashy shroud 45 - At length disperse this sorrow’s cloud. - But woe is me! the longest date - Too narrow is to calculate - These empty hopes: never shall I - Be so much blest as to descry 50 - A glimpse of thee, till that day come - Which shall the earth to cinders doom, - And a fierce fever must calcine - The body of this world like thine, - My little world! That fit of fire 55 - Once off, our bodies shall aspire - To our souls’ bliss: then we shall rise, - And view ourselves with clearer eyes - In that calm region, where no night - Can hide us from each other’s sight. 60 - Meantime, thou hast her, earth: much good - May my harm do thee. Since it stood - With Heaven’s will I might not call - Her longer mine, I give thee all - My short-lived right and interest 65 - In her, whom living I loved best: - With a most free and bounteous grief, - I give thee what I could not keep. - Be kind to her, and prithee look - Thou write into thy Doomsday book 70 - Each parcel of this rarity, - Which in thy casket shrined doth lie: - See that thou make thy reckoning straight, - And yield her back again by weight; - For thou must audit on thy trust 75 - Each grain and atom of this dust, - As thou wilt answer him that lent, - Not gave, thee, my dear monument. - So close the ground, and ’bout her shade - Black curtains draw; my bride is laid. 80 - Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed - Never to be disquieted! - My last good night! Thou wilt not wake - Till I thy fate shall overtake: - Till age, or grief, or sickness must 85 - Marry my body to that dust - It so much loves; and fill the room - My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. - Stay for me there; I will not fail - To meet thee in that hallow vale. 90 - And think not much of my delay; - I am already on the way, - And follow thee with all the speed - Desire can make, or sorrows breed. - Each minute is a short degree, 95 - And every hour a step towards thee. - At night when I betake to rest, - Next morn I rise nearer my west - Of life, almost by eight hours’ sail, - Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale. 100 - Thus from the sun my bottom steers, - And my day’s compass downward bears: - Nor labour I to stem the tide, - Through which to thee I swiftly glide. - ’Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, 105 - Thou, like the van, first took’st the field, - And gotten hast the victory - In thus adventuring to die - Before me, whose more years might crave - A just precedence in the grave. 110 - But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum, - Beats my approach, tells thee I come; - And slow howe’er my marches be, - I shall at last sit down by thee. - The thought of this bids me go on, 115 - And wait my dissolution - With hope and comfort. Dear (forgive - The crime) I am content to live - Divided, with but half a heart, - Till we shall meet and never part. 120 - _Henry King._ - - - - -CXXII - -_EPITAPH._ - - - Our life is only death! time that ensu’th - Is but the death of time that went before; - Youth is the death of childhood, age of youth; - Die once to God, and then thou diest no more. - _Anon._ - - - - -CXXIII - -_SONNET._ - - - As due by many titles, I resign - Myself to Thee, O God. First I was made - By Thee and for Thee; and, when I was decayed, - Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine: - I am thy son, made with Thyself to shine; 5 - Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid, - Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betrayed - Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. - Why doth the devil then usurp on me? - Why doth he steal, nay, ravish that’s thy right? 10 - Except Thou rise, and for thine own work fight, - Oh! I shall soon despair, when I shall see - That Thou lov’st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, - And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. - _John Donne._ - - - - -CXXIV - -_SONNET._ - - - Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee - Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; - For those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, - Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. - From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, 5 - Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow: - And soonest our best men with thee do go, - Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. - Thou’rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, - And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; 10 - And poppy’ or charms can make us sleep as well, - And better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then? - One short sleep past, we wake eternally; - And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. - _John Donne._ - - - - -CXXV - -_LYCIDAS._ - - - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, - Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere, - I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude; - And, with forced fingers rude, - Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year: 5 - Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, - Compels me to disturb your season due: - For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, - Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. - Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 10 - Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. - He must not float upon his watery bier - Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, - Without the meed of some melodious tear. - Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, 15 - That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; - Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. - Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse: - So may some gentle Muse - With lucky words favour my destined urn; 20 - And as he passes turn, - And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. - For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, - Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill. - Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 25 - Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, - We drove a-field, and both together heard - What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, - Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, - Oft till the star that rose at evening, bright, 30 - Toward heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheel. - Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, - Tempered to the oaten flute; - Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel - From the glad sound would not be absent long; 35 - And old Damœtas loved to hear our song. - But, oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, - Now thou art gone and never must return! - Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, - With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown, 40 - And all their echoes, mourn: - The willows and the hazel copses green - Shall now no more be seen - Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. - As killing as the canker to the rose, 45 - Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, - Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, - When first the white-thorn blows; - Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds’ ear. - Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 50 - Closed o’er the head of your loved Lycidas? - For neither were ye playing on the steep, - Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, - Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, - Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream: 55 - Ay me! I fondly dream! - Had ye been there--for what could that have done - What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, - The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, - Whom universal Nature did lament, 60 - When by the rout that made the hideous roar - His gory visage down the stream was sent, - Down the swift Hebrus, to the Lesbian shore? - Alas! what boots it with incessant care - To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd’s trade, 65 - And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? - Were it not better done, as others use, - To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, - Or with the tangles of Neæra’s hair? - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise-- 70 - That last infirmity of noble mind-- - To scorn delights, and live laborious days; - But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, - And think to burst out into sudden blaze, - Comes the blind Fury with the abhorrèd shears, 75 - And slits the thin-spun life. ‘But not the praise,’ - Phœbus replied, and touched my trembling ears; - ‘Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, - Nor in the glistering foil - Set-off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies; 80 - But lives, and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, - And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; - As he pronounces lastly on each deed, - Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.’ - O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, 85 - Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, - That strain I heard was of a higher mood: - But now my oat proceeds, - And listens to the herald of the sea - That came in Neptune’s plea. 90 - He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, - What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? - And questioned every gust of rugged wings - That blows from off each beakèd promontory: - They knew not of his story; 95 - And sage Hippotades their answer brings, - That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed; - The air was calm, and on the level brine - Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. - It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 - Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, - That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. - Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, - His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, - Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 - Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. - ‘Ah! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge?’ - Last came, and last did go, - The pilot of the Galilean lake; - Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, 110 - (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) - He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake, - ‘How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, - Enow of such as for their bellies’ sake - Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! 115 - Of other care they little reckoning make, - Than how to scramble at the shearers’ feast, - And shove away the worthy bidden guest; - Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold - A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least 120 - That to the faithful herdman’s art belongs! - What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; - And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs - Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; - The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125 - But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, - Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: - Beside what the grim wolf with privy paw - Daily devours apace, and nothing said: - But that two-handed engine at the door 130 - Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.’ - Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past - That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, - And call the vales, and bid them hither cast - Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. 135 - Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use - Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, - On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks, - Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, - That on the green turf suck the honied showers, 140 - And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. - Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, - The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, - The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, - The glowing violet, 145 - The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, - With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, - And every flower that sad embroidery wears: - Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, - And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, 150 - To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. - For, so to interpose a little ease, - Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise; - Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas - Wash far away, where’er thy bones are hurled, 155 - Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, - Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, - Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world; - Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, - Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160 - Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount - Looks towards Namancos and Bayona’s hold. - Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth: - And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. - Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more; 165 - For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, - Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; - So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, - And yet anon repairs his drooping head, - And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170 - Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: - So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, - Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, - Where, other groves and other streams along, - With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 175 - And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, - In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. - There entertain him all the saints above - In solemn troops and sweet societies, - That sing and, singing, in their glory move, 180 - And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. - Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; - Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, - In thy large recompense, and shalt be good - To all that wander in that perilous flood. 185 - Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, - While the still Morn went out with sandals gray; - He touched the tender stops of various quills, - With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: - And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 190 - And now was dropt into the western bay; - At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue; - To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. - _John Milton._ - - - - -CXXVI - -_THE CHRISTIAN’S REPLY TO THE PHILOSOPHER._ - - - The good in graves as heavenly seed are sown; - And at the saints’ first spring, the general doom, - Will rise, not by degrees, but fully blown; - When all the angels to their harvest come. - - Cannot Almighty Heaven (since flowers which pass 5 - Thawed through a still, and there melt mingled too, - Are raised distinct in a poor chymist’s glass) - Do more in graves than men in limbecs do? - - God bred the arts, to make us more believe - (By seeking nature’s covered mysteries,) 10 - His darker works, that faith may thence conceive - He can do more than what our reason sees. - - O coward faith! religion’s trembling guide! - Whom ev’n the dim-eyed arts must lead to see - What nature only from our sloth does hide, 15 - Causes remote, which faith’s dark dangers be. - - Religion, ere imposed, should first be taught; - Not seem to dull obedience ready laid, - Then swallowed straight for ease, but long be sought; - And be by reason counselled, though not swayed. 20 - - God has enough to human kind disclosed; - Our fleshly garments He a while received, - And walked as if the Godhead were deposed, - Yet could be then but by a few believed. - - The faithless Jews will this at doom confess, 25 - Who did suspect Him for his low disguise: - But, if He could have made his virtue less, - He had been more familiar to their eyes. - - Frail life! in which, through mists of human breath - We grope for truth, and make our progress slow, 30 - Because by passion blinded; till, by death - Our passions ending, we begin to know. - - O reverend death! whose looks can soon advise - Even scornful youth, whilst priests their doctrine waste; - Yet mocks us too; for he does make us wise, 35 - When by his coming our affairs are past. - - O harmless death! whom still the valiant brave, - The wise expect, the sorrowful invite, - And all the good embrace, who know the grave - A short dark passage to eternal light. - _Sir William Davenant._ - - - - -CXXVII - -_MORTIFICATION._ - - - How soon doth man decay! - When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets - To swaddle infants, whose young breath - Scarce knows the way; - Those clouts are little winding-sheets, 5 - Which do consign and send them unto death. - - When boys go first to bed, - They step into their voluntary graves; - Sleep binds them fast; only their breath - Makes them not dead. 10 - Successive nights, like rolling waves, - Convey them quickly, who are bound for death. - - When youth is frank and free, - And calls for music, while his veins do swell, - All day exchanging mirth and breath 15 - In company; - That music summons to the knell, - Which shall befriend him at the house of death. - - When man grows staid and wise, - Getting a house and home, where he may move 20 - Within the circle of his breath, - Schooling his eyes; - That dumb inclosure maketh love - Unto the coffin, that attends his death. - - When age grows low and weak, 25 - Marking his grave, and thawing every year, - Till all do melt, and drown his breath, - When he would speak; - A chair or litter shows the bier - Which shall convey him to the house of death. 30 - - Man, ere he is aware, - Hath put together a solemnity, - And dressed his hearse, while he has breath - As yet to spare. - Yet, Lord, instruct us so to die, 35 - That all these dyings may be life in death. - _George Herbert._ - - - - -CXXVIII - -_THE RETREAT._ - - - Happy those early days, when I - Shined in my angel-infancy! - Before I understood this place - Appointed for my second race, - Or taught my soul to fancy aught 5 - But a white celestial thought; - When yet I had not walked above - A mile or two from my first Love, - And looking back, at that short space, - Could see a glimpse of his bright face; 10 - When on some gilded cloud or flower - My gazing soul would dwell an hour, - And in those weaker glories spy - Some shadows of eternity; - Before I taught my tongue to wound 15 - My conscience with a sinful sound, - Or had the black art to dispense - A several sin to every sense, - But felt through all this fleshly dress - Bright shoots of everlastingness. 20 - Oh how I long to travel back, - And tread again that ancient track! - That I might once more reach that plain - Where first I left my glorious train; - From whence the enlightened spirit sees 25 - That shady City of palm-trees. - But ah! my soul with too much stay - Is drunk, and staggers in the way! - Some men a forward motion love, - But I by backward steps would move; 30 - And when this dust falls to the urn, - In that state I came return. - _Henry Vaughan._ - - - - -CXXIX - -_A DROP OF DEW._ - - - See, how the orient dew, - Shed from the bosom of the morn - Into the blowing roses, - Yet careless of its mansion new, - For the clear region where ’twas born, 5 - Round in itself incloses, - And in its little globe’s extent, - Frames, as it can, its native element. - How it the purple flower does slight, - Scarce touching where it lies; 10 - But gazing back upon the skies, - Shines with a mournful light, - Like its own tear, - Because so long divided from the sphere; - Restless it rolls, and unsecure, 15 - Trembling, lest it grow impure; - Till the warm sun pities its pain, - And to the skies exhales it back again. - So the soul, that drop, that ray, - Of the clear fountain of eternal day, 20 - Could it within the human flower be seen, - Remembering still its former height, - Shuns the sweet leaves, the blossoms green; - And, recollecting its own light, - Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express 25 - The greater heaven in a heaven less. - In how coy a figure wound, - Every way it turns away: - So the world excluding round, - Yet receiving in the day; 30 - Dark beneath, but bright above; - Here disdaining, there in love. - How loose and easy hence to go; - How girt and ready to ascend; - Moving but on a point below, 35 - It all about does upward bend. - Such did the manna’s sacred dew distil, - White and entire, although congealed and chill; - Congealed on earth; but does, dissolving, run - Into the glories of the almighty Sun. 40 - _Andrew Marvell._ - - - - -CXXX - -_PEACE._ - - - My soul, there is a country, - Afar beyond the stars, - Where stands a wingèd sentry, - All skilful in the wars. - There, above noise and danger, 5 - Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles, - And One born in a manger - Commands the beauteous files. - He is thy gracious friend, - And (O my soul, awake!) 10 - Did in pure love descend, - To die here for thy sake. - If thou canst get but thither, - There grows the flower of peace, - The rose that cannot wither, 15 - Thy fortress, and thy ease. - Leave then thy foolish ranges; - For none can thee secure, - But One who never changes, - Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 20 - _Henry Vaughan._ - - - - -CXXXI - -_EVENING HYMN._ - - - The night is come, like to the day; - Depart not Thou, great God, away. - Let not my sins, black as the night, - Eclipse the lustre of thy light. - Keep still in my horizon; for to me 5 - The sun makes not the day, but Thee. - Thou whose nature cannot sleep, - On my temples sentry keep! - Guard me ’gainst those watchful foes, - Whose eyes are open while mine close; 10 - Let no dreams my head infest, - But such as Jacob’s temples blest. - While I do rest, my soul advance; - Make me to sleep a holy trance. - That I may, my rest being wrought, 15 - Awake into some holy thought; - And with as active vigour run - My course as doth the nimble sun. - Sleep is a death; oh! make me try, - By sleeping, what it is to die: 20 - And as gently lay my head - On my grave, as now my bed. - Howe’er I rest, great God, let me - Awake again at last with Thee. - And thus assured, behold I lie 25 - Securely, or to wake or die. - These are my drowsy days; in vain - I do now wake to sleep again: - Oh! come that hour, when I shall never - Sleep again, but wake for ever. 30 - _Sir Thomas Browne._ - - - - -CXXXII - -_THE VALEDICTION._ - - - Vain world, what is in thee? - What do poor mortals see, - Which should esteemèd be - Worthy their pleasure? - Is it the mother’s womb, 5 - Or sorrows which soon come, - Or a dark grave and tomb, - Which is their treasure? - How dost thou man deceive - By thy vain glory? 10 - Why do they still believe - Thy false history? - - Is it children’s book and rod, - The labourer’s heavy load, - Poverty undertrod, 15 - The world desireth? - Is it distracting cares, - Or heart-tormenting fears, - Or pining grief and tears, - Which man requireth? 20 - Or is it youthful rage, - Or childish toying; - Or is decrepit age - Worth man’s enjoying? - - Is it deceitful wealth, 25 - Got by care, fraud, or stealth, - Or short uncertain health, - Which thus befool men? - Or do the serpent’s lies, - By the world’s flatteries 30 - And tempting vanities, - Still overrule them? - Or do they in a dream - Sleep out their season? - Or borne down by lust’s stream, 35 - Which conquers reason? - - The silly lambs to-day - Pleasantly skip and play, - Whom butchers mean to slay - Perhaps to-morrow; 40 - In a more brutish sort - Do careless sinners sport, - Or in dead sleep still snort, - As near to sorrow; - Till life, not well begun, 45 - Be sadly ended, - And the web they have spun - Can ne’er be mended. - - What is the time that’s gone, - And what is that to come? 50 - Is it not now as none? - The present stays not. - Time posteth, oh how fast! - Unwelcome death makes haste; - None can call back what’s past-- 55 - Judgment delays not. - Though God bring in the light, - Sinners awake not; - Because hell’s out of sight - They sin forsake not. 60 - - Man walks in a vain show; - They know, yet will not know; - Sit still, when they should go; - But run for shadows; - While they might taste and know 65 - The living streams that flow, - And crop the flowers that grow, - In Christ’s sweet meadows. - Life’s better slept away - Than as they use it; 70 - In sin and drunken play - Vain men abuse it. - - Malignant world, adieu! - Where no foul vice is new-- - Only to Satan true, 75 - God still offended; - Though taught and warned by God, - And his chastising rod, - Keeps still the way that’s broad, - Never amended. 80 - Baptismal vows some make, - But ne’er perform them; - If angels from heaven spake, - ’Twould not reform them. - - They dig for hell beneath, 85 - They labour hard for death, - Run themselves out of breath - To overtake it. - Hell is not had for naught, - Damnation’s dearly bought, 90 - And with great labour sought; - They’ll not forsake it. - Their souls are Satan’s fee-- - He’ll not abate it; - Grace is refused that’s free, 95 - Mad sinners hate it. - - Is this the world men choose, - For which they heaven refuse, - And Christ and grace abuse, - And not receive it? 100 - Shall I not guilty be - Of this in some degree, - If hence God would me free, - And I’d not leave it; - My soul, from Sodom fly, 105 - Lest wrath there find thee; - Thy refuge-rest is nigh; - Look not behind thee! - - There’s none of this ado, 110 - None of the hellish crew; - God’s promise is most true, - Boldly believe it. - My friends are gone before, - And I am near the shore; 115 - My soul stands at the door, - O Lord, receive it! - It trusts Christ and his merits, - The dead He raises; - Join it with blessed spirits, 120 - Who sing thy praises. - _Richard Baxter._ - - - - -CXXXIII - -_HYMN FOR ADVENT; OR CHRIST’S COMING TO JERUSALEM IN TRIUMPH._ - - - Lord, come away, - Why dost Thou stay? - Thy road is ready: and thy paths, made strait, - With longing expectation wait - The consecration of thy beauteous feet. 5 - Ride on triumphantly; behold we lay - Our lusts and proud wills in thy way. - Hosanna! welcome to our hearts. Lord, here - Thou hast a temple too, and full as dear - As that of Sion; and as full of sin; 10 - Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein, - Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor; - Crucify them, that they may never more - Profane that holy place, - Where Thou hast chose to set thy face. 15 - And then if our stiff tongues shall be - Mute in the praises of thy Deity, - The stones out of the temple wall - Shall cry aloud, and call - Hosanna! and thy glorious footsteps greet. 20 - _Jeremy Taylor._ - - - - -CXXXIV - -_BEYOND THE VEIL._ - - - They are all gone into the world of light, - And I alone sit lingering here; - Their very memory is fair and bright, - And my sad thoughts doth clear. - - It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, 5 - Like stars upon some gloomy grove, - Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, - After the sun’s remove. - - I see them walking in an air of glory, - Whose light doth trample on my days; 10 - My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, - Mere glimmering and decays. - - O holy Hope! and high Humility! - High as the heavens above! 15 - These are your walks, and you have showed them me - To kindle my cold love. - - Dear, beauteous death; the jewel of the just, - Shining nowhere but in the dark; - What mysteries do, lie beyond thy dust, 20 - Could man outlook that mark! - - He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know, - At first sight, if the bird be flown; - But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, - That is to him unknown. 25 - - And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams - Call to the soul when man doth sleep, - So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, - And into glory peep. - - If a star were confined into a tomb, 30 - Her captive flames must needs burn there; - But when the hand that locked her up gives room, - She’ll shine through all the sphere. - - O Father of eternal life, and all - Created glories under Thee, 35 - Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall - Into true liberty. - - Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill - My pérspective still as they pass; - Or else remove me hence unto that hill, 40 - Where I shall need no glass. - _Henry Vaughan._ - - - - -PART THE THIRD. - - - - -CXXXV - -_ODE ON SOLITUDE._ - - - Happy the man, whose wish and care - A few paternal acres bound, - Content to breathe his native air, - In his own ground. - - Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 5 - Whose flocks supply him with attire; - Whose trees in summer yield him shade, - In winter fire. - - Blest, who can unconcern’dly find - Hours, days, and years slide soft away, 10 - In health of body, peace of mind, - Quiet by day, - - Sound sleep by night; study and ease, - Together mixed; sweet recreation, - And innocence, which most does please 15 - With meditation. - - Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; - Thus unlamented let me die, - Steal from the world, and not a stone - Tell where I lie. 20 - _Alexander Pope._ - - - - -CXXXVI - -_STELLA’S BIRTHDAY. 1720._ - - - All travellers at first incline - Where’er they see the fairest sign; - And, if they find the chambers neat, - And like the liquor and the meat, - Will call again, and recommend 5 - The Angel-inn to every friend. - What though the painting grows decayed, - The house will never lose its trade: - Nay, though the treacherous tapster Thomas - Hangs a new Angel two doors from us, 10 - As fine as daubers’ hands can make it, - In hopes that strangers may mistake it, - We think it both a shame and sin - To quit the true old Angel-inn. - Now this is Stella’s case in fact, 15 - An angel’s face a little cracked: - (Could poets or could painters fix - How angels look at thirty-six:) - This drew us in at first to find - In such a form an angel’s mind; 20 - And every virtue now supplies - The fainting rays of Stella’s eyes. - See at her levee crowding swains, - Whom Stella freely entertains - With breeding, humour, wit, and sense; 25 - And puts them but to small expense; - Their mind so plentifully fills, - And makes such reasonable bills, - So little gets for what she gives, - We really wonder how she lives; 30 - And, had her stock been less, no doubt - She must have long ago run out. - Then who can think we’ll quit the place, - When Doll hangs out a newer face? - Or stop and light at Chloe’s head, 35 - With scraps and leavings to be fed? - Then, Chloe, still go on to prate - Of thirty-six and thirty-eight; - Pursue your trade of scandal-picking, - Your hints that Stella is no chicken; 40 - Your inuendos, when you tell us - That Stella loves to talk with fellows; - And let me warn you to believe - A truth, for which your soul should grieve; - That, should you live to see the day 45 - When Stella’s locks must all be grey, - When age must print a furrowed trace - On every feature of her face; - Though you, and all your senseless tribe, - Could art, or time, or nature bribe, 50 - To make you look like Beauty’s Queen, - And hold for ever at fifteen; - No bloom of youth can ever blind - The cracks and wrinkles of your mind: - All men of sense will pass your door, 55 - And crowd to Stella’s at fourscore. - _Jonathan Swift._ - - - - -CXXXVII - -_ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA._ - - - The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime - Barren of every glorious theme, - In distant lands now waits a better time, - Producing subjects worthy fame. - - In happy climes, where from the genial sun 5 - And virgin earth such scenes ensue, - The force of art by nature seems outdone, - And fancied beauties by the true. - - In happy climes, the seat of innocence, - Where nature guides, and virtue rules, 10 - Where men shall not impose for truth and sense - The pedantry of courts and schools. - - There shall be sung another Golden Age, - The rise of empire and of arts, - The good and great inspiring epic rage, 15 - The wisest heads and noblest hearts: - - Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; - Such as she bred when fresh and young, - When heavenly flame did animate her clay, - By future poets shall be sung. 20 - - Westward the course of empire take its way; - The four first acts already past, - A fifth shall close the drama with the day; - Time’s noblest offspring is the last. - _George Berkeley._ - - - - -CXXXVIII - -_THE LAWYER’S FAREWELL TO HIS MUSE._ - - - As, by some tyrant’s stem command, - A wretch forsakes his native land, - In foreign climes condemned to roam, - An endless exile from his home; - Pensive he treads the destined way; 5 - And dreads to go; nor dares to stay; - Till on some neighbouring mountain’s brow - He stops, and turns his eyes below; - There, melting at the well-known view, - Drops a last tear, and bids adieu: 10 - So I, thus doomed from thee to part, - Gay Queen of fancy and of art, - Reluctant move, with doubtful mind, - Oft stop, and often look behind. - Companion of my tender age, 15 - Serenely gay, and sweetly sage, - How blithsome were we wont to rove - By verdant hill, or shady grove, - Where fervent bees with humming voice - Around the honied oak rejoice, 20 - And agèd elms with awful bend - In long cathedral walks extend! - Lulled by the lapse of gliding floods, - Cheered by the warbling of the woods, - How blest my days, my thoughts how free, 25 - In sweet society with thee! - Then all was joyous, all was young, - And years unheeded rolled along: - But now the pleasing dream is o’er, - These scenes must charm me now no more. 30 - Lost to the fields, and torn from you,-- - Farewell! a long, a last adieu! - Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law, - To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw: - There selfish faction rules the day, 35 - And pride and avarice throng the way; - Diseases taint the murky air, - And midnight conflagrations glare; - Loose revelry, and riot bold, - In frighted streets their orgies hold; 40 - Or, where in silence all is drowned, - Fell murder walks his lonely round; - No room for peace, no room for you; - Adieu, celestial Nymph, adieu! - Shakspeare no more, thy sylvan son, 45 - Nor all the art of Addison, - Pope’s heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller’s ease, - Nor Milton’s mighty self, must please: - Instead of these a formal band, - In furs and coifs, around me stand; 50 - With sounds uncouth and accents dry, - That grate the soul of harmony, - Each pedant sage unlocks his store - Of mystic, dark, discordant lore; - And points with tottering hand the ways 55 - That lead me to the thorny maze. - There, in a winding close retreat, - Is Justice doomed to fix her seat; - There fenced by bulwarks of the law, - She keeps the wondering world in awe; 60 - And there, from vulgar sight retired, - Like eastern queens, is more admired. - O let me pierce the secret shade - Where dwells the venerable maid! - There humbly mark, with reverend awe, 65 - The guardian of Britannia’s law; - Unfold with joy her sacred page, - The united boast of many an age; - Where mixed, yet uniform, appears - The wisdom of a thousand years; 70 - In that pure spring the bottom view, - Clear, deep, and regularly true; - And other doctrines thence imbibe - Than lurk within the sordid scribe; - Observe how parts with parts unite 75 - In one harmonious rule of right; - See countless wheels distinctly tend - By various laws to one great end: - While mighty Alfred’s piercing soul - Pervades and regulates the whole. 80 - Then welcome business, welcome strife, - Welcome the cares, the thorns of life, - The visage wan, the pore-blind sight, - The toil by day, the lamp at night, - The tedious forms, the solemn prate, 85 - The pert dispute, the dull debate, - The drowsy bench, the babbling hall, - For thee, fair Justice, welcome all! - Thus though my noon of life be passed, - Yet let my setting sun, at last, 90 - Find out the still, the rural cell, - Where sage Retirement loves to dwell! - There let me taste the homefelt bliss - Of innocence, and inward peace; - Untainted by the guilty bribe, 95 - Uncursed amid the harpy tribe; - No orphan’s cry to wound my ear; - My honour and my conscience clear; - Thus may I calmly meet my end, - Thus to the grave in peace descend. 100 - _Sir William Blackstone._ - - - - -CXXXIX - -_THE JUGGLERS._ - - - A Juggler long through all the town - Had rais’d his fortune and renown; - You’d think (so far his art transcends) - The devil at his fingers’ ends. - Vice heard his fame, she read his bill; 5 - Convinced of his inferior skill, - She sought his booth, and from the crowd - Defied the man of art aloud. - ‘Is this then he so famed for sleight? - Can this slow bungler cheat your sight? 10 - Dares he with me dispute the prize? - I leave it to impartial eyes.’ - Provoked, the Juggler cried, ’Tis done; - In science I submit to none.’ - Thus said, the cups and balls he played; 15 - By turns this here, that there, conveyed. - The cards, obedient to his words, - Are by a fillip turned to birds. - His little boxes change the grain: - Trick after trick deludes the train. 20 - He shakes his bag, he shows all fair; - His fingers spread, and nothing there; - Then bids it rain with showers of gold; - And now his ivory eggs are told; - But, when from thence the hen he draws, 25 - Amazed spectators hum applause. - Vice now stept forth, and took the place, - With all the forms of his grimace. - ‘This magic looking-glass,’ she cries, - ‘(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes.’ 30 - Each eager eye the sight desired, - And every man himself admired. - Next, to a senator addressing, - ‘See this bank-note; observe the blessing. - Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! ’tis gone.’ 35 - Upon his lips a padlock shown. - A second puff the magic broke; - The padlock vanished, and he spoke. - Twelve bottles ranged upon the board, - All full, with heady liquor stored, 40 - By clean conveyance disappear, - And now two bloody swords are there. - A purse she to a thief exposed; - At once his ready fingers closed. - He opes his fist, the treasure’s fled: 45 - He sees a halter in its stead. - She bids Ambition hold a wand; - He grasps a hatchet in his hand. - A box of charity she shows. - ‘Blow here;’ and a churchwarden blows. 50 - ’Tis vanish’d with conveyance neat, - And on the table smokes a treat. - She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, - And from all pockets fills her box. - A counter, in a miser’s hand, 55 - Grew twenty guineas at command. - She bids his heir the sum retain, - And ’tis a counter now again. - A guinea with her touch you see - Take every shape but Charity; 60 - And not one thing you saw, or drew, - But changed from what was first in view. - The Juggler now, in grief of heart, - With this submission owned her art: - ‘Can I such matchless sleight withstand? 65 - How practice hath improved your hand! - But now and then I cheat the throng; - You every day, and all day long.’ - _John Gay._ - - - - -CXL - -_RULE BRITANNIA._ - - - When Britain first at Heaven’s command - Arose from out the azure main, - This was the charter of her land, - And guardian angels sung the strain: - Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! 5 - Britons never shall be slaves. - - The nations not so blest as thee - Must in their turn to tyrants fall, - Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free, - The dread and envy of them all. 10 - - Still more majestic shalt thou rise, - More dreadful from each foreign stroke; - As the loud blast that tears the skies - Serves but to root thy native oak. - - Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame; 15 - All their attempts to bend thee down - Will but arouse thy generous flame, - And work their woe and thy renown. - - To thee belongs the rural reign; - Thy cities shall with commerce shine; 20 - All thine shall be the subject main, - And every shore it circles thine! - - The Muses, still with Freedom found, - Shall to thy happy coast repair; - Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crowned, 25 - And manly hearts to guard the fair:-- - Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! - Britons never shall be slaves! - _James Thomson._ - - - - -CXLI - -_ADMIRAL HOSIER’S GHOST._ - -ON THE TAKING OF PORTO-BELLO BY ADMIRAL VERNON. NOV. 22, 1739. - - - As near Porto-Bello lying - On the gently swelling flood, - At midnight with streamers flying - Our triumphant navy rode: - There while Vernon sat all-glorious 5 - From the Spaniards’ late defeat; - And his crews, with shouts victorious, - Drank success to England’s fleet; - - On a sudden, shrilly sounding, - Hideous yells and shrieks were heard; 10 - Then each heart with fear confounding, - A sad troop of ghosts appeared, - All in dreary hammocks shrouded, - Which for winding-sheets they wore, - And with looks by sorrow clouded, 15 - Frowning on that hostile shore. - - On them gleamed the moon’s wan lustre, - When the shade of Hosier brave - His pale bands was seen to muster, - Rising from their watery grave: 20 - O’er the glimmering wave he hied him, - Where the Burford reared her sail, - With three thousand ghosts beside him, - And in groans did Vernon hail: - - ‘Heed, O heed, our fatal story. 25 - I am Hosier’s injured ghost, - You, who now have purchased glory - At this place where I was lost; - Though in Porto-Bello’s ruin - You now triumph free from fears, 30 - When you think on our undoing, - You will mix your joy with tears. - - ‘See these mournful spectres, sweeping - Ghastly o’er this hated wave, - Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping; 35 - These were English captains brave: - Mark those numbers pale and horrid, - Those were once my sailors bold, - Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead, - While his dismal tale is told. 40 - - ‘I, by twenty sail attended, - Did this Spanish town affright: - Nothing then its wealth defended - But my orders not to fight: - Oh! that in this rolling ocean 45 - I had cast them with disdain, - And obeyed my heart’s warm motion, - To have quelled the pride of Spain. - - ‘For resistance I could fear none, - But with twenty ships had done 50 - What thou, brave and happy Vernon, - Hast achieved with six alone. - Then the Bastimentos never - Had our foul dishonour seen, - Nor the sea the sad receiver 55 - Of this gallant train had been. - - ‘Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, - And her galleons leading home, - Though condemned for disobeying, - I had met a traitor’s doom; 60 - To have fall’n, my country crying - He has played an English part, - Had been better far than dying - Of a grieved and broken heart. - - ‘Unrepining at thy glory, 65 - Thy successful arms we hail; - But remember our sad story, - And let Hosier’s wrongs prevail; - Sent in this foul clime to languish, - Think what thousands fell in vain, 70 - Wasted with disease and anguish, - Not in glorious battle slain. - - ‘Hence, with all my train attending - From their oozy tombs below, - Through the hoary foam ascending, 75 - Here I feed my constant woe: - Here the Bastimentos viewing, - We recall our shameful doom, - And our plaintive cries renewing, - Wander through the midnight gloom. 80 - - ‘O’er these waves for ever mourning - Shall we roam, deprived of rest, - If to Britain’s shores returning, - You neglect my just request. - After this proud foe subduing, 85 - When your patriot friends you see, - Think on vengeance for my ruin, - And for England shamed in me.’ - _Richard Glover._ - - - - -CXLII - -_LAMENT FOR FLODDEN._ - - - I’ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, - Lasses a’ lilting before dawn o’ day; - But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning-- - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. 4 - - At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, - Lassies are lonely and dowie and wae; - Nae daffin’, nae gabbin’, but sighing and sabbing, - Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away. - - In har’st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, - Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; 10 - At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching-- - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. - - At e’en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming - ’Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle to play; - But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie-- 15 - The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. - - ’Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! - The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; - The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, - The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 20 - - We’ll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; - Women and bairns are heartless and wae; - Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-- - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. - _Jane Elliott._ - - - - -CXLIII - -_WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE._ - - - A wee bird came to our ha’ door; - He warbled sweet and clearly; - And aye the o’ercome o’ his sang - Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ - Oh! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird, 5 - The tears came drapping rarely; - I took my bonnet aff my head, - For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie. - - Quoth I; ‘My bird, my bonny, bonny bird, - Is that a tale ye borrow? 10 - Or is’t some words ye’ve learned by rote, - Or a lilt o’ dool and sorrow?’ - Oh no, no, no,’ the wee bird sang, - ‘I’ve flown sin’ morning early; - But sic a day o’ wind and rain-- 15 - Oh wae’s me for Prince Charlie! - - O’er hills that are by right his ain - He roams a lonely stranger; - On ilka hand he’s pressed by want, - On ilka side by danger. 20 - Yestreen I met him in the glen, - My heart near bursted fairly: - For sadly changed indeed was he-- - Oh! wae’s me for Prince Charlie! - - ‘Dark night came on; the tempest howled 25 - Out owre the hills and valleys; - And whare was’t that your Prince lay down, - Whase hame should be a palace? - He rowed him in a Highland plaid, - Which covered him but sparely, 30 - And slept beneath a bush o’ broom-- - Oh! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ - - But now the bird saw some red coats, - And he shook his wings wi’ anger: - ‘Oh, this is no a land for me-- 35 - I’ll tarry here nae langer.’ - A while he hovered on the wing, - Ere he departed fairly; - But weel I mind the farewell strain-- - ’Twas ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ 40 - _William Glen._ - - - - -CXLIV - -_AN ODE._ - -IN IMITATION OF ALCÆUS. - - - What constitutes a State? - Not high-raised battlement or laboured mound, - Thick wall or moated gate; - Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; - Not bays and broad-armed ports, 5 - Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; - Not starred and spangled courts, - Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. - No:--men, high-minded men, - With powers as far above dull brutes endued 10 - In forest, brake, or den, - As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; - Men, who their duties know, - But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain, - Prevent the long-aimed blow, 15 - And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain: - These constitute a State, - And sovereign Law, that State’s collected will, - O’er thrones and globes elate, - Sits Empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 20 - Smit by her sacred frown, - The fiend, Dissension, like a vapour sinks, - And e’en the all-dazzling Crown - Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. - Such was this heaven-loved isle, 25 - Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore! - No more shall Freedom smile? - Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? - Since all must life resign, - Those sweet rewards, which decorate the brave, 30 - ’Tis folly to decline, - And steal inglorious to the silent grave. - _Sir William Jones._ - - - - -CXLV - -_ODE._ - -WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746. - - - How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, - By all their country’s wishes blest! - When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, - Returns to deck their hallowed mould, - She there shall dress a sweeter sod 5 - Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod. - - By fairy hands their knell is rung; - By forms unseen their dirge is sung; - There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, - To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 10 - And Freedom shall awhile repair, - To dwell a weeping hermit there! - _William Collins._ - - - - -CXLVI - -_ODE TO THE CUCKOO._ - - - Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! - Thou messenger of spring! - Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, - And woods thy welcome sing. - - What time the daisy decks the green, 5 - Thy certain voice we hear; - Hast thou a star to guide thy path, - Or mark the rolling year? - - Delightful visitant! with thee - I hail the time of flowers, 10 - And hear the sound of music sweet - From birds among the bowers. - - The schoolboy, wandering through the wood - To pull the primrose gay, - Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, 15 - And imitates thy lay. - - What time the pea puts on the bloom, - Thou fliest thy vocal vale, - An annual guest in other lands, - Another spring to hail. 20 - - Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, - Thy sky is ever clear; - Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, - No winter in thy year! - - Oh could I fly, I’d fly with thee! 25 - We’d make, with joyful wing, - Our annual visit o’er the globe, - Companions of the spring. - _John Logan._ - - - - -CXLVII - -_ODE TO EVENING._ - - - If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, - May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, - Like thy own solemn springs, - Thy springs, and dying gales; - - O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired Sun 5 - Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, - With brede ethereal wove, - O’erhang his wavy bed: - - Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat, - With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing; 10 - Or where the beetle winds - His small but sullen horn, - - As oft he rises ’midst the twilight path, - Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum; - Now teach me, Maid composed, 15 - To breathe some softened strain, - - Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, - May not unseemly with its stillness suit; - As, musing slow, I hail - Thy genial loved return! 20 - - For when thy folding-star arising shows - His paly circlet, at his warning lamp - The fragrant Hours, and Elves - Who slept in buds the day, - - And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 25 - And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, - The pensive Pleasures sweet, - Prepare thy shadowy car. - - Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; - Or find some ruin ’midst its dreary dells, 30 - Whose walls more awful nod - By thy religious gleams. - - Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, - Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, - That from the mountain’s side 35 - Views wilds, and swelling floods, - - And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires; - And hears their simple bell, and marks o’er all - Thy dewy fingers draw - The gradual dusky veil. 40 - - While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, - And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! - While Summer loves to sport - Beneath thy lingering light; - - While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45 - Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, - Affrights thy shrinking train, - And rudely rends thy robes; - - So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, - Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 50 - Thy gentlest influence own, - And love thy favourite name! - _William Collins._ - - - - -CXLVIII - -_TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY._ - - - Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower, - Thou’s met me in an evil hour; - For I maun crush amang the stoure - Thy slender stem: - To spare thee now is past my power, 5 - Thou bonnie gem. - - Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet, - The bonnie lark, companion meet! - Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet - Wi’ speckled breast, 10 - When upward-springing, blithe, to greet - The purpling east. - - Cauld blew the bitter-biting north - Upon thy early, humble birth; - Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 15 - Amid the storm; - Scarce reared above the parent-earth - Thy tender form. - - The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, - High sheltering woods and wa’s maun shield, 20 - But thou, beneath the random bield - O’ clod, or stane, - Adorns the histie stubble-field, - Unseen, alane. - - There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 25 - Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, - Thou lifts thy unassuming head - In humble guise; - But now the share uptears thy bed, - And low thou lies! 30 - - Such is the fate of artless maid, - Sweet floweret of the rural shade! - By love’s simplicity betrayed, - And guileless trust, - Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 35 - Low i’ the dust. - - Such is the fate of simple bard, - On life’s rough ocean luckless-starred! - Unskilful he to note the card - Of prudent lore, 40 - Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, - And whelm him o’er! - - Such fate to suffering worth is given, - Who long with wants and woes has striven, - By human pride or cunning driven 45 - To misery’s brink, - Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, - He, ruined, sink! - - Even thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate, - That fate is thine--no distant date; 50 - Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate, - Full on thy bloom, - Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight, - Shall be thy doom. - _Robert Burns._ - - - - -CXLIX - -_ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST._ - - - In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, - And reddening Phœbus lifts his golden fire, - The birds in vain their amorous descant join, - Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. - These ears, alas! for other notes repine, 5 - A different object do these eyes require; - My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine, - And in my breast the imperfect joys expire; - Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, - And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; 10 - The fields to all their wonted tribute bear, - To warm their little loves the birds complain; - I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear, - And weep the more, because I weep in vain. - _Thomas Gray._ - - - - -CL - -_TO THE HONOURABLE MISS CARTERET._ - - - Bloom of beauty, early flower - Of the blissful bridal bower, - Thou, thy parents’ pride and care, - Fairest offspring of the fair, - Lovely pledge of mutual love, 5 - Angel seeming from above, - Was it not thou day by day - Dost thy very sex betray, - Female more and more appear, - Female, more than angel dear, 10 - How to speak thy face and mien, - (Soon too dangerous to be seen) - How shall I, or shall the Muse, - Language of resemblance choose, - Language like thy mien and face, 15 - Full of sweetness, full of grace? - By the next returning spring, - When again the linnets sing, - When again the lambkins play, - Pretty sportlings full of May, 20 - When the meadows next are seen, - Sweet enamel, white and green, - And the year in fresh attire - Welcomes every gay desire, - Blooming on shalt thou appear 25 - More inviting than the year, - Fairer sight than orchard shows, - Which beside a river blows: - Yet another spring I see, - And a brighter bloom in thee: 30 - And another round of time, - Circling, still improves thy prime: - And beneath the vernal skies - Yet a verdure more shall rise, - Ere thy beauties, kindling slow, 35 - In each finished feature glow, - Ere in smiles and in disdain - Thou exert thy maiden reign, - Absolute to save or kill - Fond beholders at thy will. 40 - Happy thrice, and thrice again, - Happiest he of happy men, - Who, in courtship greatly sped, - Wins the damsel to his bed, - Bears the virgin prize away, 45 - Counting life one nuptial day: - For the dark-brown dusk of hair, - Shadowing thick thy forehead fair, - Down the veiny temples growing, - O’er the sloping shoulders flowing, 50 - And the smoothly penciled brow, - Mild to him in every vow, - And the fringèd lid below, - Thin as thinnest blossoms blow, - And the hazely-lucid eye, 55 - Whence heart-winning glances fly, - And that cheek of health, o’erspread - With soft-blended white and red, - And the witching smiles which break - Round those lips, which sweetly speak, 60 - And thy gentleness of mind, - Gentle from a gentle kind, - These endowments, heavenly dower! - Brought him in the promised hour, - Shall for ever bind him to thee, 65 - Shall renew him still to woo thee. - _Ambrose Philips._ - - - - -CLI - -_TO MISS GEORGIANA CARTERET._ - - - Little charm of placid mien, - Miniature of Beauty’s Queen, - Numbering years, a scanty nine, - Stealing hearts without design, - Young inveigler, fond in wiles, 5 - Prone to mirth, profuse in smiles, - Yet a novice in disdain, - Pleasure giving without pain, - Still caressing, still caressed, - Thou and all thy lovers blessed, 10 - Never teased, and never teasing, - Oh for ever pleased and pleasing! - Hither, British Muse of mine, - Hither, all the Grecian Nine, - With the lovely Graces Three, 15 - And your promised nursling see: - Figure on her waxen mind - Images of life refined; - Make it as a garden gay, - Every bud of thought display, 20 - Till, improving year by year, - The whole culture shall appear, - Voice, and speech, and action, rising, - All to human sense surprising. - Is the silken web so thin 25 - As the texture of her skin? - Can the lily and the rose - Such unsullied hue disclose? - Are the violets so blue - As her veins exposed to view? - Do the stars in wintry sky 30 - Twinkle brighter than her eye? - Has the morning lark a throat - Sounding sweeter than her note? - Who e’er knew the like before thee? 35 - They who knew the nymph that bore thee. - From thy pastime and thy toys, - From thy harmless cares and joys, - Give me now a moment’s time: - When thou shalt attain thy prime, 40 - And thy bosom feel desire, - Love the likeness of thy sire, - One ordained through life to prove - Still thy glory, still thy love. - Like thy sister, and like thee, 45 - Let thy nurtured daughters be: - Semblance of the fair who bore thee, - Trace the pattern set before thee. - Where the Liffy meets the main, - Has thy sister heard my strain: 50 - From the Liffy to the Thames, - Minstrel echoes, sing their names, - Wafting to the willing ear - Many a cadence sweet to hear, - Smooth as gently breathing gales 55 - O’er the ocean and the vales, - While the vessel calmly glides - O’er the level glassy tides, - While the summer flowers are springing, - And the new-fledged birds are singing. 60 - _Ambrose Philips._ - - - - -CLII - -_THE DYING LOVER._ - - - Dear Love, let me this evening die, - Oh smile not to prevent it; - Dead with my rivals let me lie, - Or we shall both repent it. - Frown quickly then, and break my heart, 5 - That so my way of dying - May, though my life was full of smart, - Be worth the world’s envying. - - Some, striving knowledge to refine, - Consume themselves with thinking; 10 - And some, who friendship seal in wine, - Are kindly killed with drinking. - And some are wrecked on the Indian coast, - Thither by gain invited; - Some are in smoke of battle lost, 15 - Whom drums, not lutes, delighted. - - Alas! how poorly these depart, - Their graves still unattended! - Who dies not of a broken heart - Is not of Death commended. 20 - His memory is only sweet, - All praise and pity moving, - Who kindly at his mistress’ feet - Does die with over-loving. - - And now thou frown’st, and now I die, 25 - My corpse by lovers followed; - Which straight shall by dead lovers lie; - That ground is only hallowed. - If priests are grieved I have a grave, - My death not well approving, 30 - The poets my estate shall have, - To teach them the Art of Loving. - - And now let lovers ring their bells - For me, poor youth departed, - Who kindly in his love excels, 35 - By dying broken-hearted. - My grave with flowers let lovers strow, - Which, if thy tears fall near them, - May so transcend in scent and show, - As thou wilt shortly wear them. 40 - - Such flowers how much will florists prize, - On lover’s grave that growing, - Are watered by his mistress’ eyes, - With pity ever-flowing. - A grave so deckt will, though thou art 45 - Yet fearful to come nigh me, - Provoke thee straight to break thy heart, - And lie down boldly by me. - - Then everywhere all bells shall ring, - All light to darkness turning; 50 - While every quire shall sadly sing, - And nature’s self wear mourning. - Yet we hereafter may be found, - By destiny’s right placing, - Making, like flowers, love underground, 55 - Whose roots are still embracing. - _Sir William Davenant._ - - - - -CLIII - -_THE SAILOR’S RETURN._ - - - And are ye sure the news is true? - And are ye sure he’s weel? - Is this a time to think o’ wark? - Ye jades, lay by your wheel; - Is this the time to spin a thread, 5 - When Colin’s at the door? - Reach down my cloak, I’ll to the quay, - And see him come ashore. - For there’s nae luck about the house, - There’s nae luck at a’; 10 - There’s little pleasure in the house, - When our gudeman’s awa’. - - And gie to me my bigonet, - My bishop’s satin gown; - For I maun tell the baillie’s wife 15 - That Colin’s in the town. - My Turkey slippers maun gae on, - My stockins pearly blue; - It’s a’ to pleasure our gudeman, - For he’s baith leal and true. 20 - - Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, - Put on the muckle pot; - Gie little Kate her button gown - And Jock his Sunday coat; - And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 25 - Their hose as white as snaw; - It’s a’ to please my ain gudeman, - For he’s been long awa. - - There’s twa fat hens upo’ the coop - Been fed this month and mair; 30 - Mak haste and thraw their necks about, - That Colin weel may fare; - And spread the table neat and clean, - Gar ilka thing look braw, - For wha can tell how Colin fared 35 - When he was far awa? - - Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, - His breath like caller air; - His very foot has music in’t - As he comes up the stair-- 40 - And will I see his face again? - And will I hear him speak? - I’m downright dizzy wi’ the thought, - In troth I’m like to greet! - - If Colin’s weel, and weel content, 45 - I hae nae mair to crave: - And gin I live to keep him sae, - I’m blest aboon the lave: - And will I see his face again, - And will I hear him speak? 50 - I’m downright dizzy wi’ the thought, - In troth I’m like to greet. - For there’s nae luck about the house, - There’s nae luck at a’; - There’s little pleasure in the house, 55 - When our gudeman’s awa’. - _William Julius Mickle._ - - - - -CLIV - -_THE BANKS OF DOON._ - - - Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, - How can ye bloom sae fair! - How can ye chant, ye little birds, - And I sae fu’ o’ care! - - Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 5 - That sings upon the bough; - Thou minds me o’ the happy days - When my fause Luve was true. - - Thou’ll break my heart, thou bonnie bird - That sings beside thy mate; 10 - For sae I sat, and sae I sang, - And wist na o’ my fate. - - Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon - To see the woodbine twine, - And ilka bird sang o’ its love; 15 - And sae did I o’ mine. - - Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose, - Frae aff its thorny tree; - And my fause luver staw the rose, - But left the thorn wi’ me. 20 - _Robert Burns._ - - - - -CLV - -_THE BRAES OF YARROW._ - - - A. ‘Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, - Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, - Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, - And think nae mair of the braes of Yarrow.’ - - B. ‘Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride, 5 - Where gat ye that winsome marrow?’ - A. ‘I gat her where I daurna weel be seen, - Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.’ - - ‘Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, - Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow, 10 - Nor let thy heart lament to leave - Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.’ - - B. ‘Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride? - Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? - And why daur ye nae mair well be seen 15 - Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow?’ - - A. ‘Lang maun she weep, lang lang maun she weep, - Lang maun she weep wi’ dule and sorrow, - And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen - Pu’ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 20 - - ‘For she has tint her lover dear, - Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow; - And I ha’e slain the comeliest swain - That ever pu’ed birks on the braes of Yarrow. - - ‘Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, reid? 25 - Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? - And why yon melancholious weeds, - Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow? - - ‘What’s yonder floats on the rueful flood? - What’s yonder floats? Oh, dule and sorrow! 30 - Oh! ’tis the comely swain I slew - Upon the duleful banks of Yarrow! - - ‘Wash, oh, wash his wounds in tears, - His wounds in tears of dule and sorrow, - And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, 35 - And lay him on the banks of Yarrow! - - ‘Then build, then build, ye sisters sad, - Ye sisters sad, his tomb wi’ sorrow, - And weep around in waeful wise, - His helpless fate on the braes of Yarrow. 40 - - ‘Curse ye, curse ye his useless shield, - The arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, - The fatal spear that pierced his breast, - His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow. - - ‘Did I not warn thee not to love, 45 - And warn from fight? but, to my sorrow, - Too rashly bold, a stronger arm - Thou met’st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow, - - ‘Sweet smells the birk; green grows the grass, - Yellow on Yarrow’s braes the gowan, 50 - Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, - Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin’. - - ‘Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet flows Tweed, - As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, - As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 55 - The apple from its rocks as mellow. - - ‘Fair was thy love! fair, fair indeed thy love! - In flowery bands thou didst him fetter; - Though he was fair, and well-beloved again, - Than me he never loved thee better. 60 - - ‘Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride, - Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, - Busk ye, and lo’e me on the banks of Tweed, - And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow.’ - - C. ‘How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride, 65 - How can I busk, a winsome marrow? - How lo’e him on the banks of Tweed, - That slew my Love on the braes of Yarrow? - - ‘Oh, Yarrow fields! may never rain, - Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, 70 - For there was basely slain my Love, - My Love, as he had not been a lover! - - ‘The boy put on his robes of green, - His purple vest, ’twas my ain sewin’: - Ah, wretched me! I little, little knew, 75 - He was in these to meet his ruin. - - ‘The boy took out his milk-white steed, - Unmindful of my dule and sorrow; - But, ere the toofal of the night, - He lay a corpse on the banks of Yarrow. 80 - - ‘Much I rejoiced that waeful day, - I sang, my voice the woods returning; - But lang ere night the spear was flown - That slew my Love, and left me mourning. - - ‘What can my barbarous father do, 85 - But with his cruel rage pursue me? - My lover’s blood is on thy spear; - How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? - - ‘My happy sisters may be proud; - With cruel and ungentle scoffing 90 - May bid me seek on Yarrow’s braes - My lover nailèd in his coffin. - - ‘My brother Douglas may upbraid, - And strive with threatening words to move me; - My lover’s blude is on thy spear, 95 - How canst thou ever bid me love thee? - - ‘Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, - With bridal-sheets my body cover; - Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, - Let in the expected husband-lover! 100 - - ‘But who the expected husband is? - His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. - Ah me! what ghastly spectre’s yon, - Comes in his pale shroud bleeding after? - - ‘Pale as he is, here lay him down, 105 - Oh, lay his cold head on my pillow! - Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, - And crown my careful head with willow. - - ‘Pale though thou art, yet best beloved, - Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee! 110 - Yet lie all night between my breasts; - No youth lay ever there before thee. - - ‘Pale, pale indeed, O lovely youth! - Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, - And lie all night between my breasts; 115 - No youth shall ever lie there after.’ - - A. Return, return, O mournful bride! - Return, and dry thy useless sorrow: - Thy lover heeds naught of thy sighs; - He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow! 120 - _William Hamilton._ - - - - -CLVI - -_AULD ROBIN GRAY._ - - - When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, - And a’ the warld to rest are gane, - The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers frae my e’e, - While my gudeman lies sound by me. - - Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; 5 - But saving a croun he had naething else beside: - To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; - And the croun and the pund were baith for me. - - He hadna been awa’ a week but only twa, - When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; 10 - My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea-- - And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin’ me. - - My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; - I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; - Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi’ tears in his e’e 15 - Said, Jennie, for their sakes, oh marry me! - - My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; - But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; - His ship it was a wrack--why didna Jamie dee? - Or why do I live to cry, Wae’s me? 20 - - My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; - But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break: - They gi’ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; - Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. - - I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 25 - When mournfu’ as I sat on the stane at the door, - I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna think it he-- - Till he said, I’m come hame to marry thee. - - O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; - We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away: 30 - I wish that I were dead, but I’m no like to dee; - And why was I born to say, Wae’s me! - - I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; - I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; - But I’ll do my best a gude wife aye to be 35 - For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. - _Lady Anne Lindsay._ - - - - -CLVII - -_THE PROGRESS OF POESY._ - -A PINDARIC ODE. - - - Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, - And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. - From Helicon’s harmonious springs - A thousand rills their mazy progress take: - The laughing flowers, that round them blow, 5 - Drink life and fragrance as they flow, - Now the rich stream of music winds along, - Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, - Through verdant vales, and Ceres’ golden reign: - Now rolling down the steep amain, 10 - Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: - The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. - - O Sovereign of the willing soul, - Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, - Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares 15 - And frantic Passions hear thy soft control: - On Thracia’s hills the Lord of War - Has curbed the fury of his car, - And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command. - Perching on the sceptred hand 20 - Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king - With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: - Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie - The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. - - Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 25 - Tempered to thy warbled lay; - O’er Idalia’s velvet-green - The rosy-crownèd Loves are seen - On Cytherea’s day, - With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 30 - Frisking light in frolic measures; - Now pursuing, now retreating, - Now in circling troops they meet: - To brisk notes in cadence beating - Glance their many-twinkling feet. 35 - Slow-melting strains their Queen’s approach declare: - Where’er she turns, the Graces homage pay: - With arms sublime that float upon the air, - In gliding state she wins her easy way: - O’er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 40 - The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. - - Man’s feeble race what ills await, - Labour and penury, the racks of pain, - Disease, and sorrow’s weeping train, - And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! 45 - The fond complaint, my song, disprove, - And justify the laws of Jove. - Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? - Night, and all her sickly dews, - Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 50 - He gives to range the dreary sky; - Till down the eastern cliffs afar - Hyperion’s march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. - - In climes beyond the solar road, - Where shaggy forms o’er ice-built mountains roam, 55 - The Muse has broke the twilight gloom, - To cheer the shivering native’s dull abode. - And oft, beneath the odorous shade - Of Chili’s boundless forests laid, - She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 60 - In loose numbers wildly sweet, - Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. - Her track, where’er the Goddess roves, - Glory pursue, and generous Shame, - The unconquerable Mind, and Freedom’s holy flame. 65 - - Woods that wave o’er Delphi’s steep, - Isles that crown the Ægean deep, - Fields that cool Ilissus laves, - Or where Mæander’s amber waves - In lingering labyrinths creep, 70 - How do your tuneful echoes languish, - Mute, but to the voice of anguish? - Where each old poetic mountain - Inspiration breathed around; - Every shade and hallowed fountain 75 - Murmured deep a solemn sound: - Till the sad Nine, in Greece’s evil hour, - Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. - Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, - And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 80 - When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, - They sought, O Albion, next thy sea-encircled coast. - - Far from the sun and summer-gale, - In thy green lap was Nature’s darling laid, - What time, where lucid Avon strayed, 85 - To him the mighty Mother did unveil - Her awful face: the dauntless Child - Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled. - ‘This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear - Richly paint the vernal year: 90 - Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! - This can unlock the gates of joy; - Of horror that, and thrilling fears, - Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.’ - - Nor second he, that rode sublime 95 - Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, - The secrets of the abyss to spy. - He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: - The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, - Where angels tremble while they gaze, 100 - He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, - Closed his eyes in endless night. - Behold, where Dryden’s less presumptuous car, - Wide o’er the fields of glory bear - Two coursers of ethereal race, 105 - With necks in thunder clothed, and long resounding pace. - - Hark, his hands the lyre explore! - Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o’er, - Scatters from her pictured urn - Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 110 - But ah! ’tis heard no more-- - O lyre divine, what daring spirit - Wakes thee now? Though he inherit - Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, - That the Theban Eagle bear, 115 - Sailing with supreme dominion - Through the azure deep of air: - Yet oft before his infant eyes would run - Such forms as glitter in the Muse’s ray - With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun: 120 - Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way - Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, - Beneath the good how far!--but far above the great. - _Thomas Gray._ - - - - -CLVIII - -_SONNET._ - - - When I behold thee, blameless Williamson, - Wrecked like an infant on a savage shore, - While others round on borrowed pinions soar, - My busy fancy calls thy thread misspun; - Till Faith instructs me the deceit to shun, 5 - While thus she speaks,--‘Those wings that from the store - Of virtue were not lent, howe’er they bore - In this gross air, will melt when near the sun. - The truly’ ambitious wait for nature’s time, - Content by certain, though by slow, degrees 10 - To mount above the reach of vulgar flight; - Nor is that man confined to this low clime, - Who but the extremest skirts of glory sees, - And hears celestial echoes with delight.’ - _Benjamin Stillingfleet._ - - - - -CLIX - -_TO THE RIVER LODON._ - - - Ah! what a weary race my feet have run, - Since first I trod thy banks with alders crowned, - And thought my way was all through fairy ground, - Beneath thy azure sky and golden sun; - Where first my Muse to lisp her notes begun! 5 - While pensive Memory traces back the round - Which fills the varied interval between, - Much pleasure, more of sorrow, marks the scene. - Sweet native stream! those skies and suns so pure - No more return, to cheer my evening road; 10 - Yet still one joy remains--that not obscure, - Nor useless, all my vacant days have flowed, - From youth’s gay dawn to manhood’s prime mature, - Nor with the Muse’s laurel unbestowed. - _Thomas Warton._ - - - - -CLX - -_TO MARY UNWIN._ - - - Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, - Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew, - An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new - And undebased by praise of meaner things, - That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 5 - I may record thy worth with honour due, - In verse as musical as thou art true, - And that immortalizes whom it sings:-- - But thou hast little need. There is a Book - By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 10 - On which the eyes of God not rarely look, - A chronicle of actions just and bright-- - There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; - And since thou own’st that praise, I spare thee mine. - _William Cowper._ - - - - -CLXI - -_TO THE SAME._ - - - The twentieth year is well nigh past, - Since first our sky was overcast; - Ah would that this might be the last, - My Mary! - - Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 5 - I see thee daily weaker grow-- - ’Twas my distress that brought thee low, - My Mary! - - Thy needles, once a shining store, - For my sake restless heretofore, 10 - Now rust disused, and shine no more, - My Mary! - - For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil - The same kind office for me still, - Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 15 - My Mary! - - But well thou play’dst the housewife’s part, - And all thy threads with magic art - Have wound themselves about this heart, - My Mary! 20 - - Thy indistinct expressions seem - Like language uttered in a dream; - Yet me they charm, whate’er the theme, - My Mary! - - Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 25 - Are still more lovely in my sight - Than golden beams of orient light, - My Mary! - - For could I view nor them nor thee, - What sight worth seeing could I see? 30 - The sun would rise in vain for me, - My Mary! - - Partakers of thy sad decline, - Thy hands their little force resign; - Yet gently pressed, press gently mine, 35 - My Mary! - - Such feebleness of limbs thou prov’st - That now at every step thou mov’st - Upheld by two; yet still thou lov’st, - My Mary! 40 - - And still to love, though pressed with ill, - In wintry age to feel no chill, - With me is to be lovely still, - My Mary! - - But ah! by constant heed I know 45 - How oft the sadness that I show - Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, - My Mary! - - And should my future lot be cast - With much resemblance of the past, 50 - Thy worn-out heart will break at last-- - My Mary! - _William Cowper._ - - - - -CLXII - -_TO THE EARL OF WARWICK, ON THE DEATH OF ADDISON._ - - - If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stayed, - And left her debt to Addison unpaid, - Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, - And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. - What mourner ever felt poetic fires! 5 - Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires: - Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, - Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. - Can I forget the dismal night that gave - My soul’s best part for ever to the grave! 10 - How silent did his old companions tread, - By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, - Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, - Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings! - What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; 15 - The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; - The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid; - And the last words that dust to dust conveyed! - While speechless o’er thy closing grave we bend, - Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. 20 - Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu; - And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague. - To strew fresh laurels let the task be mine, - A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine; - Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, 25 - And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. - If e’er from me thy loved memorial part, - May shame afflict this alienated heart; - Of thee forgetful if I form a song, - My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue, 30 - My grief be doubled, from thy image free, - And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee. - Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, - Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown, - Along the walls where speaking marbles show 35 - What worthies form the hallowed mould below; - Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; - In arms who triumphed; or in arts excelled; - Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood; - Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; 40 - Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; - And saints who taught, and led, the way to heaven. - Ne’er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, - Since their foundation, came a nobler guest; - Nor e’er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed 45 - A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. - In what new region, to the just assigned, - What new employments please the unbodied mind? - A wingèd Virtue, through the ethereal sky, - From world to world unwearied does he fly? 50 - Or curious trace the long laborious maze - Of Heaven’s decrees, where wondering angels gaze? - Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell - How Michael battled, and the dragon fell; - Or, mixed with milder cherubim, to glow 55 - In hymns of love, not ill essayed below? - Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, - A task well suited to thy gentle mind? - Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, - To me thy aid, thou guardian Genius, lend! 60 - When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, - When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, - In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, - And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart; - Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, 65 - Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more. - That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree, - Must still be loved and still deplored by me, - In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, - Or, roused by Fancy, meets my waking eyes. 70 - If business calls, or crowded courts invite, - The unblemished statesman seems to strike my sight; - If in the stage I seek to soothe my care, - I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there; - If pensive to the rural shades I rove, 75 - His shape o’ertakes me in the lonely grove; - ’Twas there of just and good he reasoned strong, - Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song: - There patient showed us the wise course to steer, - A candid censor, and a friend severe; 80 - There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high - The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. - Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures grace, - Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick’s noble race, - Why, once so loved, whene’er thy bower appears, 85 - O’er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears! - How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, - Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air! - How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, - Thy noon-tide shadow, and thy evening breeze! 90 - His image thy forsaken bowers restore; - Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; - No more the summer in thy glooms allayed, - Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade. - From other ills, however Fortune frowned; 95 - Some refuge in the Muse’s art I found: - Reluctant now I touch the trembling string, - Bereft of him who taught me how to sing; - And these sad accents, murmured o’er his urn, - Betray that absence they attempt to mourn. 100 - Oh must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds, - And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds) - The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong, - And weep a second in the unfinished song! - These works divine, which, on his death-bed laid, 105 - To thee, O Craggs, the expiring sage conveyed, - Great, but ill-omened, monument of fame, - Nor he survived to give, nor thou to claim. - Swift after him thy social spirit flies, - And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies. 110 - Blest pair! whose union future bards shall tell - In future tongues: each other’s boast! farewell, - Farewell! whom joined in fame, in friendship tried, - No chance could sever, nor the grave divide. - _Thomas Tickell._ - - - - -CLXIII - -_ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF AN UNFORTUNATE LADY._ - - - What beckoning ghost, along the moonlight shade, - Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? - ’Tis she!--but why that bleeding bosom gored, - Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? - Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, 5 - Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well? - To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, - To act a lovers, or a Roman’s part? - Is there no bright reversion in the sky, - For those who greatly think, or bravely die? 10 - Why bade ye else, ye Powers! her soul aspire - Above the vulgar flight of low desire? - Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes: - The glorious fault of angels and of gods: - Thence to their images on earth it flows, 15 - And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows. - Most souls, ’tis true, but peep out once an age, - Dull sullen prisoners in the body’s cage: - Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years, - Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres; 20 - Like eastern kings a lazy state they keep, - And, close confined to their own palace, sleep. - From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die) - Fate snatched her early to the pitying sky. - As into air the purer spirits flow, 25 - And separate from their kindred dregs below; - So flew the soul to its congenial place, - Nor left one virtue to redeem her race. - But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, - Thou, mean deserter of thy brother’s blood! 30 - See on these ruby lips the trembling breath, - These cheeks now fading at the blast of death; - Cold is that breast which warmed the world before, - And those love-darting eyes must roll no more. - Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball, 35 - Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall; - On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, - And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates; - There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, - (While the long funerals blacken all the way) 40 - Lo! these were they, whose souls the Furies steeled, - And curst with hearts unknowing how to yield. - Thus unlamented pass the proud away, - The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day! - So perish all, whose breast ne’er learned to glow 45 - For others’ good, or melt at others’ woe. - What can atone (O ever injured shade!) - Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid? - No friend’s complaint, no kind domestic tear, - Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier: 50 - By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, - By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, - By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned, - By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned! - What though no friends in sable weeds appear; 55 - Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, - And bear about the mockery of woe - To midnight dances, and the public show? - What though no weeping Loves thy ashes grace, - Nor polished marble emulate thy face? 60 - What though no sacred earth allow thee room, - Nor hallowed dirge be muttered o’er thy tomb? - Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest, - And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast: - There shall the Morn her earliest tears bestow, 65 - There the first roses of the year shall blow; - While angels with their silver wings o’ershade - The ground now sacred by thy relics made. - So, peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, - What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. 70 - How loved, how honoured once, avails thee not, - To whom related, or by whom begot; - A heap of dust alone remains of thee; - ’Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! - Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung, 75 - Deaf the praised ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. - Even he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays, - Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays; - Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, - And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart, 80 - Life’s idle business at one gasp be o’er, - The Muse forgot, and thou beloved no more! - _Alexander Pope._ - - - - -CLXIV - -_ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET_, - -A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. - - - Condemned to Hope’s delusive mine, - As on we toil from day to day, - By sudden blasts, or slow decline, - Our social comforts drop away. - - Well tried through many a varying year, 5 - See Levet to the grave descend, - Officious, innocent, sincere, - Of every friendless name the friend. - - Yet still he fills affection’s eye, - Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind; 10 - Nor, lettered Arrogance, deny - Thy praise to merit unrefined. - - When fainting nature called for aid, - And hovering death prepared the blow, - His vigorous remedy displayed 15 - The power of art without the show. - - In Misery’s darkest cavern known, - His useful care was ever nigh, - Where hopeless Anguish poured his groan, - And lonely Want retired to die. 20 - - No summons mocked by chill delay, - No petty gain disdained by pride, - The modest wants of every day - The toil of every day supplied. - - His virtues walked their narrow round, 25 - Nor made a pause, nor left a void; - And sure the Eternal Master found - The single talent well employed. - - The busy day--the peaceful night, - Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; 30 - His frame was firm, his powers were bright, - Though now his eightieth year was nigh. - - Then with no fiery throbbing pain, - No cold gradations of decay, - Death broke at once the vital chain, 35 - And freed his soul the nearest way. - _Samuel Johnson._ - - - - -CLXV - -_HIGHLAND MARY._ - - - Ye banks and braes and streams around - The castle o’ Montgomery, - Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, - Your waters never drumlie! - There simmer first unfauld her robes, 5 - And there the langest tarry; - For there I took the last fareweel - O’ my sweet Highland Mary. - - How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, - How rich the hawthorn’s blossom, 10 - As underneath their fragrant shade - I clasped her to my bosom! - The golden hours on angel wings - Flew o’er me and my dearie; - For dear to me as light and life 15 - Was my sweet Highland Mary. - - Wi’ mony a vow and locked embrace - Our parting was fu’ tender; - And pledging aft to meet again, - We tore oursels asunder; 20 - But, oh! fell Deaths untimely frost, - That nipt my flower sae early! - Now green’s the sod, and cauld’s the clay, - That wraps my Highland Mary! - - O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 25 - I aft hae kissed sae fondly! - And closed for aye the sparkling glance - That dwelt on me sae kindly; - And mouldering now in silent dust - That heart that lo’ed me dearly! 30 - But still within my bosom’s core - Shall live my Highland Mary. - _Robert Burns_ - - - - -CLXVI - -_THE CAST-AWAY._ - - - Obscurest night involved the sky; - The Atlantic billows roared, - When such a destined wretch as I, - Washed headlong from on board, - Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 5 - His floating home for ever left. - - No braver chief could Albion boast, - Than he, with whom he went, - Nor ever ship left Albion’s coast - With warmer wishes sent. 10 - He loved them both, but both in vain, - Nor him beheld, nor her again. - - Not long beneath the whelming brine, - Expert to swim, he lay: - Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 15 - Or courage die away; - But waged with death a lasting strife, - Supported by despair of life. - - He shouted; nor his friends had failed - To check the vessel’s course, 20 - But so the furious blast prevailed, - That, pitiless perforce, - They left their outcast mate behind, - And scudded still before the wind. - - Some succour yet they could afford; 25 - And, such as storms allow, - The cask, the coop, the floated cord, - Delayed not to bestow. - But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, - Whate’er they gave, should visit more. 30 - - Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he - Their haste himself condemn, - Aware that flight, in such a sea, - Alone could rescue them; - Yet bitter felt it still to die 35 - Deserted, and his friends so nigh. - - He long survives, who lives an hour - In ocean, self-upheld: - And so long he, with unspent power, - His destiny repelled: 40 - And ever as the minutes flew, - Entreated help, or cried--‘Adieu!’ - - At length, his transient respite past, - His comrades, who before - Had heard his voice in every blast, 45 - Could catch the sound no more. - For then by toil subdued, he drank - The stifling wave, and then he sank. - - No poet wept him; but the page - Of narrative sincere, 50 - That tells his name, his worth, his age, - Is wet with Anson’s tear. - And tears by bards or heroes shed - Alike immortalize the dead. - - I therefore purpose not, or dream, 55 - Descanting on his fate, - To give the melancholy theme - A more enduring date; - But misery still delights to trace - Its semblance in another’s case. 60 - - No voice divine the storm allayed, - No light propitious shone, - When snatched from all effectual aid - We perished, each alone: - But I beneath a rougher sea, 65 - And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. - _William Cowper._ - - - - -CLXVII - -_THE LAND O’ THE LEAL._ - - - I’m wearing awa’, John, - Like snaw when its thaw, John, - I’m wearing awa’ - To the land o’ the leal. - There’s nae sorrow there, John, 5 - There’s neither cauld nor care, John, - The day is aye fair - In the land o’ the leal. - - Ye were aye leal and true, John, - Your task’s ended noo, John, 10 - And I’ll welcome you - To the land o’ the leal. - Our bonnie bairn’s there, John, - She was baith guid and fair, John; - Oh we grudged her right sair 15 - To the land o’ the leal! - - Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, John, - My soul langs to be free, John, - And angels wait on me - To the land o’ the leal. 20 - Now fare ye weel, my ain John, - This warld’s care is vain, John; - We’ll meet and aye be fain - In the land o’ the leal. - _Lady Nairn._ - - - - -CLXVIII - -_ELEGY, WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD._ - - - The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, - The lowing herds wind slowly o’er the lea, - The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, - And leaves the world to darkness and to me. - - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 5 - And all the air a solemn stillness holds, - Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, - And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; - - Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower - The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 - Of such, as wandering near her secret bower, - Molest her ancient solitary reign. - - Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, - Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, - Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15 - The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. - - The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, - The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, - The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, - No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20 - - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, - Or busy housewife ply her evening care: - No children run to lisp their sire’s return, - Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. - - Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 - Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: - How jocund did they drive their team afield! - How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! - - Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, - Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 30 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile - The short and simple annals of the poor. - - The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, - And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, - Await alike the inevitable hour; 35 - The paths of glory lead but to the grave. - - Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, - If memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise, - Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault - The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 40 - - Can storied urn, or animated bust, - Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? - Can Honour’s voice provoke the silent dust, - Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? - - Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 - Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; - Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed, - Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. - - But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, - Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er unroll; 50 - Chill penury repressed their noble rage, - And froze the genial current of the soul. - - Full many a gem of purest ray serene - The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: - Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 55 - And waste its sweetness on the desert air. - - Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast - The little tyrant of his fields withstood; - Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, - Some Cromwell guiltless of his country’s blood. 60 - - The applause of listening senates to command, - The threats of pain and ruin to despise, - To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land, - And read their history in a nation’s eyes, - - Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone 65 - Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, - And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; - - The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, - To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 70 - Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride - With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame. - - Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife, - Their sober wishes never learned to stray; - Along the cool sequestered vale of life 75 - They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. - - Yet e’en these bones from insult to protect - Some frail memorial still erected nigh, - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, - Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 - - Their names, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse, - The place of fame and elegy supply; - And many a holy text around she strews, - That teach the rustic moralist to die. - - For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 85 - This pleasing anxious being e’er resigned, - Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, - Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? - - On some fond breast the parting soul relies, - Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 90 - E’en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, - E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires. - - For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead, - Dost in these lines their artless tales relate; - If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 95 - Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, - - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, - ‘Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, - Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, - To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 100 - - ‘There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, - That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, - His listless length at noontide would he stretch, - And pore upon the brook that babbles by. - - ‘Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 105 - Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; - Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, - Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. - - ‘One morn, I missed him on the customed hill, - Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; 110 - Another came, nor yet beside the rill, - Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; - - ‘The next with dirges due in sad array, - Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne: - Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 115 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.’ - - - THE EPITAPH. - - Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth - A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: - Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, - And Melancholy marked him for her own. 120 - - Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; - Heaven did a recompense as largely send: - He gave to misery all he had, a tear; - He gained from Heaven, ’twas all he wished, a friend. - - No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 - Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, - (There they alike in trembling hope repose;) - The bosom of his Father and his God. - _Thomas Gray._ - - - - -CLXIX - -_WRESTLING JACOB._ - - - Come, O Thou traveller unknown, - Whom still I hold, but cannot see, - My company before is gone, - And I am left alone with Thee; - With Thee all night I mean to stay, 5 - And wrestle till the break of day. - - I need not tell Thee who I am, - My misery or sin declare; - Thyself hast called me by my name; - Look on thy hands, and read it there! 10 - But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou? - Tell me thy Name, and tell me now. - - In vain Thou strugglest to get free, - I never will unloose my hold; - Art Thou the Man that died for me? 15 - The secret of thy love untold. - Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, - Till I thy Name, thy nature know. - - Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal - Thy new, unutterable Name? 20 - Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell: - To know it now, resolved I am: - Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, - Till I thy Name, thy nature know. - - ’Tis all in vain to hold thy tongue, 25 - Or touch the hollow of my thigh; - Though every sinew be unstrung, - Out of my arms Thou shalt not fly: - Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, - Till I thy Name, thy nature know. 30 - - What though my shrinking flesh complain, - And murmur to contend so long? - I rise superior to my pain; - When I am weak, then am I strong: - And when my all of strength shall fail, 35 - I shall with the God-Man prevail. - - My strength is gone; my nature dies; - I sink beneath thy weighty hand; - Faint to revive, and fall to rise; - I fall, and yet by faith I stand: 40 - I stand, and will not let Thee go, - Till I thy Name, thy nature know. - - Yield to me now, for I am weak, - But confident in self-despair; - Speak to my heart, in blessings speak, 45 - Be conquered by my instant prayer! - Speak, or Thou never hence shall move, - And tell me, if thy Name be Love? - - ’Tis Love! ’tis Love! Thou diedst for me! - I hear thy whisper in my heart! 50 - The morning breaks, the shadows flee; - Pure universal Love Thou art! - To me, to all, thy bowels move; - Thy nature and thy Name is Love! - - My prayer hath power with God; the grace 55 - Unspeakable I now receive; - Through faith I see Thee face to face, - I see Thee face to face, and live: - In vain I have not wept and strove; - Thy nature and thy Name is Love. 60 - - I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou art; - Jesus, the feeble sinner’s Friend! - Nor wilt Thou with the night depart, - But stay, and love me to the end! - Thy mercies never shall remove, 65 - Thy nature and thy Name is Love! - - The Sun of Righteousness on me - Hath rose, with healing in his wings; - Withered my nature’s strength, from Thee - My soul its life and succour brings; 70 - My help is all laid up above; - Thy nature and thy Name is Love. - - Contented now upon my thigh - I halt, till life’s short journey end; - All helplessness, all weakness, I 75 - On Thee alone for strength depend; - Nor have I power from Thee to move; - Thy nature and thy Name is Love. - - Lame as I am, I take the prey, - Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o’ercome; 80 - I leap for joy, pursue my way, - And, as a bounding hart, fly home; - Through all eternity to prove, - Thy nature and thy Name is Love! - _Charles Wesley._ - - - - -PART THE FOURTH. - - - - -CLXX - -_TO THE CUCKOO._ - - - O blithe new-comer! I have heard, - I hear thee and rejoice: - O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, - Or but a wandering Voice? - - While I am lying on the grass, 5 - Thy twofold shout I hear; - From hill to hill it seems to pass, - At once far off and near. - - Though babbling only to the vale - Of sunshine and of flowers, 10 - Thou bringest unto me a tale - Of visionary hours. - - Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! - Even yet thou art to me - No bird, but an invisible thing, 15 - A voice, a mystery; - - The same whom in my school-boy days - I listened to; that Cry - Which made me look a thousand ways - In bush, and tree, and sky. 20 - - To seek thee did I often rove - Through woods and on the green; - And thou wert still a hope, a love; - Still longed for, never seen! - - And I can listen to thee yet; 25 - Can lie upon the plain - And listen, till I do beget - That golden time again. - - O blessèd bird! the earth we pace - Again appears to be 30 - An unsubstantial, fairy place - That is fit home for thee! - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CLXXI - -_THE RAINBOW._ - - - Triumphal arch that fill’st the sky, - When storms prepare to part, - I ask not proud Philosophy - To teach me what thou art. - - Still seem, as to my childhood’s sight, 5 - A mid-way station given - For happy spirits to alight, - Betwixt the earth and heaven. - - Can all that optics teach, unfold - Thy form to please me so, 10 - As when I dreamed of gems and gold - Hid in thy radiant bow? - - When Science from Creation’s face - Enchantment’s veil withdraws, - What lovely visions yield their place 15 - To cold material laws! - - And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, - But words of the Most High, - Have told why first thy robe of beams - Was woven in the sky. 20 - - When o’er the green undeluged earth, - Heaven’s covenant thou didst shine, - How came the world’s gray fathers forth - To watch thy sacred sign! - - And when its yellow lustre smiled 25 - O’er mountains yet untrod, - Each mother held aloft her child - To bless the bow of God. - - Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, - The first-made anthem rang 30 - On earth, delivered from the deep, - And the first poet sang. - - Nor ever shall the Muse’s eye, - Unraptured, greet thy beam; - Theme of primeval prophecy, 35 - Be still the poet’s theme! - - The earth to thee her incense yields, - The lark thy welcome sings, - When, glittering in the freshened fields, - The snowy mushroom springs. 40 - - How glorious is thy girdle cast - O’er mountain, tower, and town, - Or mirrored in the ocean vast, - A thousand fathoms down! - - As fresh in yon horizon dark, 45 - As young thy beauties seem, - As when the eagle from the ark - First sported in thy beam. - - For, faithful to its sacred page, - Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 50 - Nor lets the type grow pale with age, - That first spoke peace to man. - _Thomas Campbell._ - - - - -CLXXII - -_THE COMMON LOT._ - - - Once, in the flight of ages past, - There lived a man:--and WHO was HE?-- - Mortal! howe’er thy lot be cast, - That Man resembled thee. - - Unknown the region of his birth, 5 - The land in which he died unknown: - His name has perished from the earth; - This truth survives alone:-- - - That joy and grief, and hope and fear, - Alternate triumphed in his breast; 10 - His bliss and woe,--a smile, a tear!-- - Oblivion hides the rest. - - The bounding pulse, the languid limb, - The changing spirits’ rise and fall, - We know that these were felt by him, 15 - For these are felt by all. - - He suffered,--but his pangs are o’er; - Enjoyed,--but his delights are fled; - Had friends,--his friends are now no more; - And foes,--his foes are dead. 20 - - He loved,--but whom he loved, the grave - Hath lost in its unconscious womb: - Oh she was fair!--but nought could save - Her beauty from the tomb. - - He saw whatever thou hast seen; 25 - Encountered all that troubles thee: - He was--whatever thou hast been; - He is--what thou shalt be. - - The rolling seasons, day and night, - Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, 30 - Erewhile his portion, life, and light, - To him exist in vain. - - The clouds and sunbeams, o’er his eye - That once their shades and glory threw, - Have left in yonder silent sky 35 - No vestige where they flew. - - The annals of the human race, - Their ruins since the world began, - Of HIM afford no other trace - Than this,--THERE LIVED A MAN! 40 - _James Montgomery._ - - - - -CLXXIII - -_THE HOLLY TREE._ - - - O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see - The Holly Tree? - The eye that contemplates it well perceives - Its glossy leaves - Ordered by an Intelligence so wise, 5 - As might confound the atheist’s sophistries. - - Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen - Wrinkled and keen; - No grazing cattle through their prickly round - Can reach to wound; 10 - But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, - Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. - - I love to view these things with curious eyes, - And moralize; - And in this wisdom of the Holly Tree 15 - Can emblems see, - Wherewith perchance to make a pleasant rhyme, - One which may profit in the after-time. - - Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear - Harsh and austere; 20 - To those who on my leisure would intrude, - Reserved and rude;-- - Gentle at home amid my friends I’d be, - Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. - - And should my youth, as youth is apt I know, 25 - Some harshness show, - All vain asperities I day by day - Would wear away, - Till the smooth temper of my age should be - Like the high leaves upon the Holly Tree. 30 - - And as when all the summer trees are seen - So bright and green, - The Holly leaves a sober hue display - Less bright than they; - But when the bare and wintry woods we see, 35 - What then so cheerful as the Holly Tree? - - So serious should my youth appear among - The thoughtless throng; - So would I seem amid the young and gay - More grave than they; 40 - That in my age as cheerful I might be - As the green winter of the Holly Tree. - _Robert Southey._ - - - - -CLXXIV - -_THE SQUIRE’S PEW._ - - - A slanting ray of evening light - Shoots through the yellow pane: - It makes the faded crimson bright, - And gilds the fringe again; - The window’s gothic framework falls 5 - In oblique shadows on the walls. - - And since those trappings first were new, - How many a cloudless day, - To rob the velvet of its hue, - Has come and passed away! 10 - How many a setting sun hath made - That curious lattice-work of shade! - - Crumbled beneath the hillock green - The cunning hand must be, - That carved this fretted door, I ween, 15 - Acorn and fleur-de-lis; - And now the worm hath done her part - In mimicking the chisel’s art. - - In days of yore (as now we call) - When the First James was king, 20 - The courtly knight from yonder Hall - His train did hither bring, - All seated round in order due, - With broidered suit and buckled shoe. - - On damask cushions decked with fringe, 25 - All reverently they knelt; - Prayer-books, with brazen hasp and hinge, - In ancient English spelt, - Each holding in a lily hand, - Responsive to the priest’s command. 30 - - Now, streaming down the vaulted aisle, - The sunbeam, long and lone, - Illumes the characters awhile - Of their inscription-stone: - And there, in marble hard and cold, 35 - The knight with all his train behold. - - Outstretched together are exprest - He and my lady fair, - With hands uplifted on the breast, - In attitude of prayer: 40 - Long-visaged, clad in armour, he-- - With ruffled arm and bodice she. - - Set forth in order as they died, - Their numerous offspring bend, - Devoutly kneeling side by side, 45 - As if they did intend - For past omissions to atone - By saying endless prayers in stone. - - Those mellow days are past and dim, - But generations new 50 - In regular descent from him - Have filled the stately pew, - And in the same succession go - To occupy the vaults below. - - And now the polished modern Squire 55 - And his gay train appear, - Who duly to the Hall retire - A season every year, - And fill the seats with belle and beau, - As ’twas so many years ago; 60 - - Perchance, all thoughtless, as they tread - The hollow-sounding floor, - Of that dark house of kindred dead, - Which shall, as heretofore, - In turn receive to silent rest 65 - Another and another guest: - - The feathered hearse and sable train, - In all their wonted state, - Shall wind along the village lane, - And stand before the gate, 70 - Brought many a distant county through, - To join the final rendezvous. - - And when the race is swept away, - All to their dusty beds, - Still shall the mellow evening ray 75 - Shine gaily o’er their heads; - While other faces, fresh and new, - Shall fill the Squire’s deserted pew. - _Jane Taylor._ - - - - -CLXXV - -_A DREAM._ - - - Once a dream did weave a shade - O’er my angel-guarded bed, - That an emmet lost its way - Where on grass methought I lay. - - Troubled, ’wildered, and forlorn, 5 - Dark, benighted, travel-worn, - Over many a tangled spray, - All heart-broke, I heard her say: - - ‘Oh, my children! do they cry, - Do they hear their father sigh? 10 - Now they look abroad to see, - Now return and weep for me.’ - - Pitying, I dropped a tear: - But I saw a glowworm near, - Who replied, ‘What wailing wight 15 - Calls the watchman of the night? - - ‘I am set to light the ground, - While the beetle goes his round. - Follow now the beetle’s hum, - Little wanderer, hie thee home!’ 20 - _William Blake._ - - - - -CLXXVI - -_DECEMBER MORNING._ - - - I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light, - Winter’s pale dawn; and as warm fires illume, - And cheerful tapers shine around the room, - Through misty windows bend my musing sight, - Where, round the dusky lawn, the mansions white 5 - With shutters closed peer faintly through the gloom, - That slow recedes; while yon grey spires assume, - Rising from their dark pile, an added height - By indistinctness given--Then to decree - The grateful thoughts to God, ere they unfold 10 - To friendship or the Muse, or seek with glee - Wisdom’s rich page. O hours more worth than gold, - By whose blest use we lengthen life, and, free - From drear decays of age, outlive the old! - _Anna Seward._ - - - - -CLXXVII - -_THE THRUSH’S NEST._ - - - Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, - That overhung a molehill large and round, - I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush - Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound - With joy--and oft, an unintruding guest, 5 - I watched her secret toils from day to day; - How true she warped the moss to form her nest, - And modelled it within with wood and clay. - And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, - There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, 10 - Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue: - And there I witnessed in the summer hours - A brood of nature’s minstrels chirp and fly, - Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky. - _John Clare._ - - - - -CLXXVIII - -_TIME._ - - - O Time! who know’st a lenient hand to lay - Softest on sorrow’s wound, and slowly thence, - Lulling to sad repose the weary sense, - The faint pang stealest unperceived away; - On thee I rest my only hope at last, 5 - And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear - That flows in vain o’er all my soul held dear, - I may look back on every sorrow past - And meet life’s peaceful evening with a smile; - As some lone bird, at day’s departing hour, 10 - Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower - Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while; - Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure, - Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure. - _William Lisle Bowles._ - - - - -CLXXIX - -_FANCY IN NUBIBUS._ - - - Oh, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, - Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, - To make the shifting clouds be what you please, - Or let the easily-persuaded eyes - Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould 5 - Of a friend’s fancy; or, with head bent low, - And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold, - ’Twixt crimson banks; and then a traveller go - From mount to mount, through Cloudland, gorgeous land! - Or, listening to the tide with closèd sight, 10 - Be that blind Bard, who on the Chian strand, - By those deep sounds possessed with inward light, - Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee - Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. - _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ - - - - -CLXXX - -_EVENING._ - - - It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; - The holy time is quiet as a nun - Breathless with adoration; the broad sun - Is sinking down in its tranquillity; - The gentleness of heaven is on the sea: 5 - Listen! the mighty Being is awake, - And doth with his eternal motion make - A sound like thunder--everlastingly. - Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, - If thou appear’st untouched by solemn thought, 10 - Thy nature is not therefore less divine: - Thou liest in Abraham’s bosom all the year; - And worshipp’st at the temple’s inner shrine, - God being with thee when we know it not. - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CLXXXI - -_THE WALL-FLOWER._ - - - I will not praise the often-flattered rose, - Or, virgin-like, with blushing charms half seen, - Or when, in dazzling splendour, like a queen, - All her magnificence of state she shows; - No, nor that nun-like lily which but blows 5 - Beneath the valley’s cool and shady screen; - Nor yet the sun-flower, that with warrior mien - Still eyes the orb of glory where it glows; - But thou, neglected Wall-flower! to my breast - And Muse art dearest, wildest, sweetest flower! 10 - To whom alone the privilege is given - Proudly to root thyself above the rest; - As Genius does, and from thy rocky tower - Lend fragrance to the purest breath of heaven. - _Thomas Doubleday._ - - - - -CLXXXII - -_THE SEA-CAVE._ - - Hardly we breathe, although the air be free: - How massively doth awful Nature pile - The living rock, like some cathedral aisle, - Sacred to Silence and the solemn Sea. - How that clear pool lies sleeping tranquilly, 5 - And under its glassed waters seems to smile, - With many hues, a mimic grove the while - Of foliage submarine, shrub, flower, and tree. - Beautiful scene! and fitted to allure - The printless footsteps of some sea-born maid, 10 - Who here, with her green tresses disarrayed, - ’Mid the clear bath, unfearing and secure, - May sport at noontide in the caverned shade-- - Cold as the shadow--as the waters pure. - _Thomas Doubleday._ - - - - -CLXXXIII - -_HOLY THURSDAY._ - - - ’Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, - The children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green; - Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, - Till into the high dome of Paul’s, they like Thames’ waters flow. - - O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town, 5 - Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own: - The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, - Thousands of little boys and girls, raising their innocent hands. - - Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, 9 - Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: - Beneath them sit the agèd men, wise guardians of the poor. - Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. - _William Blake._ - - - - -CLXXXIV - -_ON AN ANTIQUE GEM BEARING THE HEADS OF PERICLES AND ASPASIA._ - - - This was the ruler of the land, - When Athens was the land of fame; - This was the light that led the band, - When each was like a living flame; - The centre of earth’s noblest ring-- 5 - Of more than men the more than king! - - Yet not by fetter, nor by spear, - His sovereignty was held or won: - Feared--but alone as freemen fear, - Loved--but as freemen love alone, 10 - He waved the sceptre o’er his kind - By nature’s first great title--mind! - - Resistless words were on his tongue-- - Then eloquence first flashed below; - Full armed to life the portent sprung-- 15 - Minerva from the Thunderer’s brow! - And his the sole, the sacred hand - That shook her ægis o’er the land. - - And throned immortal by his side, - A woman sits with eye sublime,-- 20 - Aspasia, all his spirit’s bride; - But, if their solemn love were crime, - Pity the Beauty and the Sage-- - Their crime was in their darkened age. - - He perished, but his wreath was won-- 25 - He perished in his height of fame; - Then sunk the cloud on Athens’ sun, - Yet still she conquered in his name. - Filled with his soul, she could not die; - Her conquest was posterity 30 - _George Croly._ - - - - -CLXXXV - -_LOVE._ - - - All thoughts, all passions, all delights, - Whatever stirs this mortal frame, - All are but ministers of Love, - And feed his sacred flame. - - Oft in my waking dreams do I 5 - Live o’er again that happy hour, - When midway on the mount I lay, - Beside the ruined tower. - - The moonshine stealing o’er the scene, - Had blended with the lights of eve; 10 - And she was there, my hope, my joy, - My own dear Genevieve! - - She leaned against the armèd man, - The statue of the armèd knight; - She stood and listened to my lay, 15 - Amid the lingering light. - - Few sorrows hath she of her own, - My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! - She loves me best, whene’er I sing - The songs that make her grieve. 20 - - I played a soft and doleful air, - I sang an old and moving story-- - An old rude song, that suited well - That ruin wild and hoary. - - She listened with a flitting blush, 25 - With downcast eyes, and modest grace; - For well she knew, I could not choose - But gaze upon her face. - - I told her of the Knight that wore - Upon his shield a burning brand; 30 - And that for ten long years he wooed - The Lady of the Land. - - I told her how he pined: and ah! - The deep, the low, the pleading tone - With which I sang another’s love, 35 - Interpreted my own. - - She listened with a flitting blush, - With downcast eyes, and modest grace; - And she forgave me, that I gazed - Too fondly on her face. 40 - - But when I told the cruel scorn - That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, - And that he crossed the mountain-woods, - Nor rested day nor night; - - That sometimes from the savage den, 45 - And sometimes from the darksome shade, - And sometimes starting up at once - In green and sunny glade,-- - - There came and looked him in the face - An angel beautiful and bright; 50 - And that he knew it was a fiend, - This miserable Knight! - - And that unknowing what he did, - He leaped amid a murderous band, - And saved from outrage worse than death 55 - The Lady of the Land;-- - - And how she wept, and clasped his knees, - And how she tended him in vain; - And ever strove to expiate - The scorn that crazed his brain;-- 60 - - And that she nursed him in a cave; - And how his madness went away, - When on the yellow forest-leaves - A dying man he lay;-- - - His dying words--but when I reached 65 - That tenderest strain of all the ditty, - My faltering voice and pausing harp - Disturbed her soul with pity! - - All impulses of soul and sense - Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 70 - The music and the doleful tale, - The rich and balmy eve; - - And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, - An undistinguishable throng, - And gentle wishes long subdued, 75 - Subdued and cherished long! - - She wept with pity and delight, - She blushed with love and virgin shame; - And like the murmur of a dream, - I heard her breathe my name. 80 - - Her bosom heaved--she stepped aside, - As conscious of my look she stept-- - Then suddenly, with timorous eye, - She fled to me and wept - - She half enclosed me with her arms, 85 - She pressed me with a meek embrace; - And bending back her head, looked up, - And gazed upon my face. - - ’Twas partly love, and partly fear, - And partly ’twas a bashful art, 90 - That I might rather feel, than see, - The swelling of her heart. - - I calmed her fears, and she was calm, - And told her love with virgin pride; - And so I won my Genevieve, 95 - My bright and beauteous Bride. - _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ - - - - -CLXXXVI - -_SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY._ - - - She walks in beauty, like the night - Of cloudless climes and starry skies; - And all that’s best of dark and bright - Meet in her aspect and her eyes: - Thus mellowed to that tender light 5 - Which heaven to gaudy day denies. - - One shade the more, one ray the less, - Had half impaired the nameless grace, - Which waves in every raven tress, - Or softly lightens o’er her face; 10 - Where thoughts serenely sweet express, - How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. - - And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, - So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, - The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 15 - But tell of days in goodness spent, - A mind at peace with all below, - A heart whose love is innocent! - _Lord Byron._ - - - - -CLXXXVII - -_SONG._ - - - Oh welcome, bat and owlet gray, - Thus winging low your airy way! - And welcome, moth and drowsy fly, - That to mine ear come humming by! - And welcome, shadows dim and deep, 5 - And stars that through the pale sky peep! - O welcome all! to me ye say, - My woodland Love is on her way. - - Upon the soft wind floats her hair; - Her breath is in the dewy air; 10 - Her steps are in the whispered sound, - That steals along the stilly ground. - O dawn of day, in rosy bower, - What art thou to this witching hour? - O noon of day, in sunshine bright, 15 - What art thou to the fall of night? - _Joanna Baillie._ - - - - -CLXXXVIII - -_THE LONELY._ - - - She was a queen of noble Nature’s crowning, - A smile of her’s was like an act of grace; - She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, - Like daily beauties of the vulgar race; - But if she smiled, a light was on her face, 5 - A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam - Of peaceful radiance, silvering o’er the stream - Of human thought with unabiding glory; - Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, - A visitation, bright and transitory. 10 - - But she is changed,--hath felt the touch of sorrow; - No love hath she, no understanding friend; - Oh grief! when heaven is forced of earth to borrow - What the poor niggard earth has not to lend; - But when the stalk is snapt, the rose must bend. 15 - The tallest flower that skyward rears its head, - Grows from the common ground, and there must shed - Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, - That they should find so base a bridal bed, - Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely! 20 - - She had a brother, and a tender father; - And she was loved, but not as others are, - From whom we ask return of love,--but rather - As one might love a dream; a phantom-fair - Of something exquisitely strange and rare, 25 - Which all were glad to look on, men and maids, - Yet no one claimed--as oft, in dewy glades - The peering primrose, like a sudden gladness, - Gleams on the soul, yet unregarded fades;-- - The joy is ours, but all its own the sadness. 30 - - ’Tis vain to say--her worst of grief is only - The common lot, which all the world have known; - To her ’tis more, because her heart is lonely, - And yet she hath no strength to stand alone;-- - Once she had playmates, fancies of her own, 35 - And she did love them. They are past away, - As fairies vanish at the break of day; - And like a spectre of an age departed, - Or unsphered angel wofully astray, - She glides along--the solitary-hearted. - _Hartley Coleridge._ - - - - -CLXXXIX - -_PROUD MAISIE._ - - - Proud Maisie is in the wood, - Walking so early; - Sweet Robin sits on the bush, - Singing so rarely. - - ‘Tell me, thou bonny bird, 5 - When shall I marry me?’ - --‘When six braw gentlemen - Kirkward shall carry ye.’ - - ‘Who makes the bridal bed, - Birdie, say truly?’ 10 - --‘The gray-headed sexton - That delves the grave duly. - - ‘The glowworm o’er grave and stone - Shall light thee steady; - The owl from the steeple sing, 15 - Welcome, proud lady.’ - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - - - -CXC - -_AN HOUR WITH THEE._ - - - An hour with thee!--When earliest day - Dapples with gold the eastern gray, - Oh, what can frame my mind to bear - The toil and turmoil, cark and care, - New griefs, which coming hours unfold, 5 - And sad remembrance of the old?-- - One hour with thee. - - One hour with thee!--When burning June - Waves his red flag at pitch of noon; - What shall repay the faithful swain 10 - His labour on the sultry plain; - And more than cave or sheltering bough, - Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow?-- - One hour with thee. - - One hour with thee!--When sun is set, 15 - Oh, what can teach me to forget - The thankless labours of the day, - The hopes, the wishes, flung away, - The increasing wants, and lessening gains, - The master’s pride, who scorns my pains?-- 20 - One hour with thee. - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - - - -CXCI - -_THE FUGITIVES._ - - - The waters are flashing, - The white hail is dashing, - The lightnings are glancing, - The hoar-spray is dancing-- - Away! 5 - The whirlwind is rolling, - The thunder is tolling, - The forest is swinging, - The minster bells ringing-- - Come away! 10 - The earth is like ocean, - Wreck-strewn and in motion: - Bird, beast, man, and worm, - Have crept out of the storm-- - Come away! 15 - - ‘Our boat has one sail, - And the helmsman is pale;--A bold pilot I trow, - Who should follow us now,’ - Shouted He-- 20 - And She cried: ‘Ply the oar, - Put off gaily from shore!’ - As she spoke bolts of death, - Mixed with hail, specked their path - O’er the sea. 25 - And from isle, tower, and rock, - The blue beacon-cloud broke, - Though dumb in the blast, - The red cannon flashed fast - From the lee. 30 - - ‘And fear’st thou, and fear’st thou? - And see’st thou, and hear’st thou? - And drive we not free - O’er the terrible sea, - I and thou?’ 35 - One boat-cloak did cover - The loved and the lover-- - Their blood beats one measure, - They murmur proud pleasure - Soft and low;-- 40 - While around the lashed ocean, - Like mountains in motion, - Is withdrawn and uplifted, Sunk, - shattered, and shifted, - To and fro. 45 - - In the court of the fortress, - Beside the pale portress, - Like a bloodhound well beaten - The bridegroom stands, eaten - By shame: 50 - On the topmost watch turret, - As a death-boding spirit, - Stands the gray tyrant father, - To his voice the mad weather - Seems tame; 55 - And with curses as wild - As e’er clung to child, - He devotes to the blast - The best, loveliest, and last, - Of his name! 60 - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CXCII - -_LUCY._ - - - She dwelt among the untrodden ways - Beside the springs of Dove; - A maid whom there were none to praise, - And very few to love. - - A violet by a mossy stone 5 - Half-hidden from the eye! - --Fair as a star, when only one - Is shining in the sky. - - She lived unknown, and few could know - When Lucy ceased to be; 10 - But she is in her grave, and oh! - The difference to me! - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CXCIII - -_ODE TO PSYCHE._ - - - O Goddess, hear these tuneless numbers, wrung - By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, - And pardon that thy secrets should be sung, - Even into thine own soft-conchèd ear: - Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see 5 - The wingèd Psyche with awakened eyes? - I wandered in a forest thoughtlessly, - And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, - Saw two fair creatures, couchèd side by side - In deepest grass, beneath the whispering roof 10 - Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran - A brooklet, scarce espied: - ’Mid hushed, cool-rooted flowers fragrant-eyed, - Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, - They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass; 15 - Their arms embracèd, and their pinions too; - Their lips touched not, but had not bade adieu, - As if disjoinèd by soft-handed slumber, - And ready still past kisses to outnumber - At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love: 20 - The wingèd Boy I knew; - But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? - His Psyche true! - - O latest-born and loveliest vision far - Of all Olympus’ faded hierarchy! 25 - Fairer than Phœbe’s sapphire-regioned star! - Or Vesper, amorous glowworm of the sky; - Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, - Nor altar heaped with flowers; - Nor Virgin-choir to make delicious moan 30 - Upon the midnight hours; - No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet - From chain-swung censer teeming; - No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat - Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming. 35 - O brightest! though too late for antique vows, - Too, too late for the fond believing lyre, - When holy were the haunted forest boughs, - Holy the air, the water, and the fire; - Yet even in these days so far retired 40 - From happy pieties, thy lucent fans, - Fluttering among the faint Olympians, - I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired. - So let me be thy choir, and make a moan - Upon the midnight hours; 45 - Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet - From swingèd censer teeming: - Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat - Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming. - - Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane 50 - In some untrodden region of my mind, - Where branchèd thoughts, new-grown with pleasant pain, - Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: - Far, far around shall those dark-clustered trees - Fledge the wild-ridgèd mountains steep by steep; 55 - And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, - The moss-lain Dryads shall be lulled to sleep; - And in the midst of this wide quietness - A rosy sanctuary will I dress - With the wreathed trellis of a working brain, 60 - With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, - With all the gardener Fancy e’er could feign, - Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same: - And there shall be for thee all soft delight - That shadowy thought can win, 65 - A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, - To let the warm Love in! - _John Keats._ - - - - -CXCIV - -_THE SUNFLOWER._ - - - Ah Sunflower! weary of time, - Who countest the steps of the sun; - Seeking after that sweet golden clime - Where the traveller’s journey is done; - Where the Youth pined away with desire, 5 - And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow, - Arise from their graves, and aspire - Where my Sunflower wishes to go. - _William Blake._ - - - - -CXCV - -_REGRETS._ - - - Too true it is, my time of power was spent - In idly watering weeds of casual growth, - That wasted energy to desperate sloth - Declined, and fond self-seeking discontent; - That the huge debt for all that Nature lent 5 - I sought to cancel, and was nothing loth - To deem myself an outlaw, severed both - From duty and from hope,--yea, blindly sent - Without an errand, where I would to stray:-- - Too true it is, that, knowing now my state, 10 - I weakly mourn the sin I ought to hate, - Nor love the law I yet would fain obey: - But true it is, above all law and fate - Is Faith, abiding the appointed day. - _Hartley Coleridge._ - - - - -CXCVI - -_TO A LOFTY BEAUTY, FROM HER POOR KINSMAN._ - - - Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries, - Nor seen thy girlish, sweet vicissitude, - Thy mazy motions, striving to elude, - Yet wooing still a parents watchful eyes, - Thy humours, many as the opal’s dyes, 5 - And lovely all;--methinks thy scornful mood, - And bearing high of stately womanhood,-- - Thy brow, where Beauty sits to tyrannize - O’er humble love, had made me sadly fear thee; - For never sure was seen a royal bride, 10 - Whose gentleness gave grace to so much pride-- - My very thoughts would tremble to be near thee: - But when I see thee at thy father’s side, - Old times unqueen thee, and old loves endear thee. - _Hartley Coleridge._ - - - - -CXCVII - -_THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE CRICKET._ - - - Green little vaulter on the sunny grass, - Catching your heart up at the feel of June, - Sole voice that’s heard amidst the lazy noon, - When ev’n the bees lag at the summoning brass; - And you, warm little housekeeper, who class 5 - With those who think the candles come too soon, - Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune - Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; - O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, - One to the fields, the other to the hearth, 10 - Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong - At your clear hearts, and both seem given to earth - To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song, - In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. - _Leigh Hunt._ - - - - -CXCVIII - -_TO A BIRD THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LAKEN IN THE WINTER._ - - - O melancholy bird!--a winter’s day - Thou standest by the margin of the pool, - And, taught by God, dost thy whole being school - To patience, which all evil can allay; - God has appointed thee the fish thy prey; 5 - And given thyself a lesson to the fool - Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule, - And his unthinking course by thee to weigh. - There need not schools, nor the professor’s chair, - Though these be good, true wisdom to impart; 10 - He, who has not enough for these to spare - Of time or gold, may yet amend his heart, - And teach his soul by brooks and rivers fair; - Nature is always wise in every part. - _Lord Thurlow._ - - - - -CXCIX - -_THE SYLVAN LIFE._ - - - When in the woods I wander all alone, - The woods that are my solace and delight, - Which I more covet than a prince’s throne, - My toil by day and canopy by night; - (Light heart, light foot, light food, and slumber light, 5 - These lights shall light me to old age’s gate, - While monarchs, whom rebellious dreams affright, - Heavy with fear, death’s fearful summons wait;) - Whilst here I wander, pleased to be alone, - Weighing in thought the world’s no-happiness, 10 - I cannot choose but wonder at its moan, - Since so plain joys the woody life can bless: - Then live who may where honied words prevail, - I with the deer, and with the nightingale! - _Lord Thurlow._ - - - - -CC - -_SPRING._ - - - Again the violet of our early days - Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun, - And kindles into fragrance at his blaze; - The streams, rejoiced that winter’s work is done, - Talk of to-morrow’s cowslips, as they run. 5 - Wild apple! thou art bursting into bloom; - Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn! - Wake, buried lily! spirit, quit thy tomb; - And thou, shade-loving hyacinth, be born. 9 - Then haste, sweet rose! sweet woodbine, hymn the morn, - Whose dew-drops shall illume with pearly light - Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands - From sea to sea, while daisies infinite - Uplift in praise their little glowing hands - O’er every hill that under heaven expands. 15 - _Ebenezer Elliot._ - - - - -CCI - -_THE POETRY OF EARTH_ - - - The poetry of earth is never dead: - When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, - And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run - From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; - That is the grasshopper’s--he takes the lead 5 - In summer luxury,--he has never done - With his delights, for when tired out with fun, - He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. - The poetry of earth is ceasing never: - On a lone winter evening, when the frost 10 - Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills - The cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever, - And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, - The grasshopper’s among some grassy hills. - _John Keats._ - - - - -CCII - -_SONNET._ - - - Lady, I bid thee to a sunny dome, - Ringing with echoes of Italian song: - Henceforth to thee these magic halls belong, - And all the pleasant place is like a home. - Hark, on the right with full piano tone 5 - Old Dante’s voice encircles all the air: - Hark yet again, like flute-tones mingling rare, - Comes the keen sweetness of Petrarca’s moan. - Pass thou the lintel freely; without fear - Feast on the music. I do better know thee, 10 - Than to suspect this pleasure thou dost owe me - Will wrong thy gentle spirit, or make less dear - That element whence thou must draw thy life-- - An English maiden, and an English wife. - _Arthur Henry Hallam._ - - - - -CCIII - -_THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB._ - - - The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, - And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; - And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, - When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. - - Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 5 - That host with their banners at sunset were seen: - Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, - That host on the morrow lay withered and strown: - - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, - And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; 10 - And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, - And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! - - And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; - And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 15 - And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf, - - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, - With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; - And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, - The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown: 20 - - And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, - And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; - And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, - Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! - _Lord Byron._ - - - - -CCIV - -_THRASYMENE._ - - - Is this the spot where Rome’s eternal foe - Into his snares the mighty legions drew, - Whence from the carnage, spiritless and few, - A remnant scarcely reached her gates of woe? - Is this the stream, thus gliding soft and slow, 5 - That, from the gushing wounds of thousands, grew - So fierce a flood, that waves of crimson hue - Rushed on the bosom of the lake below? - The mountains that gave back the battle-cry - Are silent now;--perchance yon hillocks green 10 - Mark where the bones of those old warriors lie! - Heaven never gladdened a more peaceful scene; - Never left softer breeze a fairer sky - To sport upon thy waters, Thrasymene. - _Charles Strong._ - - - - -CCV - -_THE BATTLE OF NASEBY._ - -BY OBADIAH -BIND-THEIR-KINGS-IN-CHAINS-AND-THEIR-NOBLES-WITH-LINKS-OF-IRON, SERJEANT -IN IRETON’S REGIMENT. - - - Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, - With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red? - And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout? - And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread? - - Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, 5 - And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod; - For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, - Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God. - - It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, 9 - That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses shine, - And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair, - And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine. - - Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, - The General rode along us to form us to the fight, - When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a shout, 15 - Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant’s right. - - And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore, - The cry of battle rises along their charging line! - For God! for the Cause! for the Church! for the Laws! - For Charles King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine! 20 - - The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, - His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall; - They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks; - For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. - - They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone! 25 - Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast, - O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right! - Stand back to back, in God’s name, and fight it to the last. - - Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground: - Hark! hark!--What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear? 30 - Whose banner do I see, boys? ’Tis he, thank God, ’tis he, boys. - Bear up another minute: brave Oliver is here. - - Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, - Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes, - Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst, 35 - And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. - - Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide - Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar: - And he--he turns, he flies:--shame on those cruel eyes - That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war. 40 - - Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain, - First give another stab to make your search secure, - Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and lockets, - The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. - - Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were - gay and bold, 45 - When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day; - And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks, - Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. - - Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate, - And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades, 50 - Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths, - Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades? - - Down, down, for ever down with the Mitre and the Crown, - With the Belial of the Court, and the Mammon of the Pope; - There is woe in Oxford Halls; there is wail in Durham’s Stalls: 55 - The Jesuit smites his bosom: the Bishop rends his cope. - - And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children’s ills, - And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England’s sword; - And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear - What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word. 60 - _Lord Macaulay._ - - - - -CCVI - -_CAVALIER SONG._ - - - While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, - My true love has mounted his steed and away, - Over hill, over valley, o’er dale, and o’er down; - Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown! - - He has doffed the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear, 5 - He has placed the steel-cap o’er his long-flowing hair, - From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down,-- - Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown! - - For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws, - Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause; 10 - His watchword is honour, his pay is renown,-- - God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown! - - They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all - The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall; - But tell these bold traitors of London’s proud town, 15 - That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. - - There’s Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; - There’s Erin’s high Ormond and Scotland’s Montrose! - Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown, - With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown? 20 - - Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier! - Be his banner unconquered, resistless his spear, - Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown - In a pledge to Fair England, her Church, and her Crown. - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - - - -CCVII - -_THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC._ - - - Of Nelson and the North - Sing the glorious day’s renown, - When to battle fierce came forth - All the might of Denmark’s crown, - And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 5 - By each gun the lighted brand - In a bold determined hand, - And the Prince of all the land - Led them on. - - Like leviathans afloat 10 - Lay their bulwarks on the brine, - While the sign of battle flew - On the lofty British line: - It was ten of April morn by the chime; - As they drifted on their path, 15 - There was silence deep as death, - And the boldest held his breath - For a time. - - But the might of England flushed - To anticipate the scene; 20 - And her van the fleeter rushed - O’er the deadly space between. - ‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried; when each gun - From its adamantine lips - Spread a death-shade round the ships, 25 - Like the hurricane eclipse - Of the sun. - - Again! again! again! - And the havoc did not slack, - Till a feeble cheer the Dane 30 - To our cheering sent us back;-- - Their shots along the deep slowly boom:-- - Then ceased--and all is wail, - As they strike the shattered sail, - Or, in conflagration pale, 35 - Light the gloom. - - Out spoke the victor then, - As he hailed them o’er the wave: - ‘Ye are brothers! ye are men! - And we conquer but to save: 40 - So peace instead of death let us bring; - But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, - With the crews, at England’s feet, - And make submission meet - To our King.’ 45 - - Then Denmark blessed our chief - That he gave her wounds repose; - And the sounds of joy and grief - From her people wildly rose, - As death withdrew his shades from the day; 50 - While the sun looked smiling bright - O’er a wide and woeful sight, - Where the fires of funeral light - Died away. - - Now joy, Old England, raise 55 - For the tidings of thy might, - By the festal cities’ blaze, - Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; - And yet, amidst that joy and uproar, - Let us think of them that sleep 60 - Full many a fathom deep, - By thy wild and stormy steep, - Elsinore! - - Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride - Once so faithful and so true, 65 - On the deck of fame that died, - With the gallant good Riou: - Soft sigh the winds of heaven o’er their grave! - While the billow mournful rolls, - And the mermaid’s song condoles, 70 - Singing glory to the souls - Of the brave! - _Thomas Campbell._ - - - - -CCVIII - -_HOHENLINDEN._ - - - On Linden, when the sun was low, - All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; - And dark as winter was the flow - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. - - But Linden saw another sight, 5 - When the drum beat at dead of night, - Commanding fires of death to light - The darkness of her scenery. - - By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, - Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 10 - And furious every charger neighed - To join the dreadful revelry. - - Then shook the hills, with thunder riven; - Then rushed the steed, to battle driven; - And louder than the bolts of Heaven 15 - Far flashed the red artillery. - - But redder yet that light shall glow - On Linden’s hills of stainèd snow, - And bloodier yet the torrent flow - Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 20 - - ’Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun - Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, - Where furious Frank and fiery Hun - Shout in their sulphurous canopy. - - The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 25 - Who rush to glory, or the grave! - Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, - And charge with all thy chivalry! - - Few, few shall part, where many meet; - The snow shall be their winding-sheet; 30 - And every turf beneath their feet - Shall be a soldier’s sepulchre. - _Thomas Campbell._ - - - - -CCIX - -_ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC._ - - - Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee, - And was the safeguard of the West; the worth - Of Venice did not fall below her birth, - Venice, the eldest child of liberty. - She was a maiden City, bright and free; 5 - No guile seduced, no force could violate; - And when she took unto herself a mate, - She must espouse the everlasting Sea. - And what if she had seen those glories fade, - Those titles vanish, and that strength decay,-- 10 - Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid - When her long life hath reached its final day: - Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade - Of that which once was great has passed away. - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CCX - -_COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802._ - - - Fair Star of Evening, Splendour of the West, - Star of my country!--on the horizon’s brink - Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink - On England’s bosom; yet well pleased to rest, - Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest, 5 - Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, - Should’st be my Country’s emblem; and should’st wink, - Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest - In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot - Beneath thee, that is England; there it lies. 10 - Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, - One life, one glory! I with many a fear - For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, - Among men who do not love her, linger here. - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CCXI - -_NOVEMBER, 1806._ - - - Another year!--another deadly blow! - Another mighty empire overthrown! - And we are left, or shall be left, alone; - The last that dare to struggle with the foe. - ’Tis well! from this day forward we shall know 5 - That in ourselves our safety must be sought; - That by our own right hands it must be wrought; - That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low. - O dastard whom such foretaste doth not cheer! - We shall exult, if they who rule the land 10 - Be men who hold its many blessings dear, - Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile band, - Who are to judge of danger which they fear, - And honour which they do not understand. - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CCXII - -_THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE._ - - - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, - As his corpse to the rampart we hurried; - Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot - O’er the grave where our hero we buried. - - We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5 - The sods with our bayonets turning; - By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light, - And the lantern dimly burning. - - No useless coffin enclosed his breast. - Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; 10 - But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, - With his martial cloak around him. - - Few and short were the prayers we said, - And we spoke not a word of sorrow; - But we stedfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 15 - And we bitterly thought of the morrow. - - We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, - And smoothed down his lonely pillow, - That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head, - And we far away on the billow! 20 - - Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone, - And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him,-- - But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on - In the grave where a Briton has laid him. - - But half of our heavy task was done, 25 - When the clock struck the hour for retiring; - And we heard the distant and random gun - That the foe was sullenly firing. - - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, - From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 30 - We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-- - But we left him alone with his glory. - _Charles Wolfe._ - - - - -CCXIII - -_ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE._ - - - ’Tis done--but yesterday a King! - And armed with Kings to strive-- - And now thou art a nameless thing: - So abject--yet alive! - Is this the man of thousand thrones, 5 - Who strewed our earth with hostile bones, - And can he thus survive? - Since he, miscalled the Morning Star, - Nor man nor fiend hath fall’n so far. - - Ill-minded man! why scourge thy kind 10 - Who bowed so low the knee? - By gazing on thyself grown blind, - Thou taught’st the rest to see. - With might unquestioned,--power to save,-- - Thine only gift hath been the grave, 15 - To those that worshipped thee; - Nor till thy fall could mortals guess - Ambition’s less than littleness! - - Thanks for that lesson--it will teach - To after-warriors more 20 - Than high Philosophy can preach, - And vainly preached before. - That spell upon the minds of men - Breaks, never to unite again, - That led them to adore 25 - Those Pagod things of sabre sway, - With fronts of brass, and feet of clay. - - The triumph, and the vanity, - The rapture of the strife-- - The earthquake voice of Victory, 30 - To thee the breath of life; - The sword, the sceptre, and that sway - Which man seemed made but to obey, - Wherewith renown was rife-- - All quelled!--Dark Spirit! what must be 35 - The madness of thy memory! - - The Desolator desolate! - The Victor overthrown! - The Arbiter of others’ fate - A suppliant for his own! 40 - Is it some yet imperial hope, - That with such change can calmly cope? - Or dread of death alone? - To die a prince--or live a slave-- - Thy choice is most ignobly brave! 45 - - He who of old would rend the oak, - Dreamed not of the rebound: - Chained by the trunk he vainly broke-- - Alone--how looked he round? - Thou, in the sternness of thy strength, 50 - An equal deed hast done at length, - And darker fate hast found: - He fell, the forest prowlers’ prey; - But thou must eat thy heart away! - - The Roman, when his burning heart 55 - Was slaked with blood of Rome, - Threw down the dagger--dared depart, - In savage grandeur, home-- - He dared depart in utter scorn - Of men that such a yoke had borne, 60 - Yet left him such a doom! - His only glory was that hour - Of self-upheld abandoned power. - - The Spaniard, when the lust of sway - Had lost its quickening spell, 65 - Cast crowns for rosaries away, - An empire for a cell; - A strict accountant of his beads, - A subtle disputant on creeds, - His dotage trifled well: 70 - Yet better had he neither known - A bigot’s shrine, nor despot’s throne. - - But thou--from thy reluctant hand - The thunderbolt is wrung-- - Too late thou leav’st the high command 75 - To which thy weakness clung; - All Evil Spirit as thou art, - It is enough to grieve the heart, - To see thine own unstrung; - To think that God’s fair world hath been 80 - The footstool of a thing so mean! - - And Earth hath spilt her blood for him, - Who thus can hoard his own! - And Monarchs bowed the trembling limb, - And thanked him for a throne! 85 - Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear, - When thus thy mightiest foes their fear - In humblest guise have shown. - Oh! ne’er may tyrant leave behind - A brighter name to lure mankind! 90 - - Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, - Nor written thus in vain-- - Thy triumphs tell of fame no more, - Or deepen every stain: - If thou hadst died as honour dies, 95 - Some new Napoleon might arise, - To shame the world again-- - But who would soar the solar height, - To set in such a starless night? - - Weighed in the balance, hero dust 100 - Is vile as vulgar clay: - Thy scales, Mortality, are just - To all that pass away: - But yet methought the living great - Some higher sparks should animate, 105 - To dazzle and dismay: - Nor deemed Contempt could thus make mirth - Of these, the conquerors of the earth. - - And she, proud Austria’s mournful flower, - Thy still imperial bride, 110 - How bears her breast the torturing hour? - Still clings she to thy side? - Must she too bend, must she too share - Thy late repentance, long despair, - Thou throneless Homicide? 115 - If still she loves thee, hoard that gem; - ’Tis worth thy vanished diadem! - - Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle, - And gaze upon the sea; - That element may meet thy smile-- 120 - It ne’er was ruled by thee! - Or trace with thine all-idle hand, - In loitering mood upon the sand, - That Earth is now as free, - That Corinth’s pedagogue hath now 125 - Transferred his by-word to thy brow. - - Thou Timour! in his captive’s cage-- - What thoughts will there be thine, - While brooding in thy prisoned rage? - But one--‘The world _was_ mine!’ 130 - Unless, like he of Babylon, - All sense is with thy sceptre gone, - Life will not long confine - That spirit poured so widely forth-- - So long obeyed--so little worth! 135 - - Or, like the thief of fire from heaven, - Wilt thou withstand the shock? - And share with him, the unforgiven, - His vulture and his rock! - Foredoomed by God--by man accurst, 140 - And that last act, though not thy worst, - The very Fiend’s arch-mock; - He in his fall preserved his pride, - And, if a mortal, had as proudly died! - _Lord Byron._ - - - - -CCXIV - -_SONG._ - -FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND, 1814. - - - O dread was the time, and more dreadful the omen, - When the brave on Marengo lay slaughtered in vain, - And beholding broad Europe bowed down by her foemen, - Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her reign! - Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave spirit 5 - To take for his country the safety of shame; - O then in her triumph remember his merit, - And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. - - Round the husbandman’s head, while he traces the furrow, - The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, 10 - He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow, - And sigh while he fears he has sowed it in vain; - He may die ere his children shall reap in their gladness, - But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his claim; - And their jubilee-shout shall be softened with sadness, 15 - While they hallow the goblet that flows to his name. - - Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, - In foils for our Country preserved by his care, - Though he died ere one ray o’er the nations ascended, - To light the long darkness of doubt and despair; 20 - The storms he endured in our Britain’s December, - The perils his wisdom foresaw and o’ercame, - For her glory’s rich harvest shall Britain remember - And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. - - Nor forget this gray head, who, all dark in affliction, 25 - Is deaf to the tale of our victories won, - And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection, - The shout of his people applauding his son; - By his firmness unmoved in success or disaster, - By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim! 30 - With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his Master, - Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his name. - - Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad measure, - The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, - To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright treasure, 35 - The wisdom that planned, and the zeal that obeyed! - Fill Wellington’s cup till it beam like his glory, - Forget not our own brave Dalhousie and Græme, - A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story, - And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. 40 - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - - - -CCXV - -_TO THE MEMORY OF PIETRO D’ALESSANDRO_, - -SECRETARY TO THE PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT OF SICILY IN 1848, WHO DIED AN -EXILE AT MALTA IN JANUARY 1855. - - - Beside the covered grave - Linger the exiles, though their task is done. - Yes, brethren; from your band one more is gone, - A good man and a brave. - - Scanty the rites, and train; 5 - How many’ of all the storied marbles, set - In all thy churches, City of La Valette, - Hide nobler heart and brain? - - Ah! had his soul been cold, - Tempered to make a sycophant or spy, 10 - To love hard truth less than an easy lie, - His country less than gold,-- - - Then, not the spirit’s strife, - Nor sickening pangs at sight of conquering crime, - Nor anxious watching of an evil time, 15 - Had worn his chords of life: - - Nor here, nor thus with tears - Untimely shed, but there whence o’er the sea - The great Volcano looks, his rest might be, - The close of prosperous years. 20 - - No! Different hearts are bribed; - And therefore, in his cause’s sad eclipse, - Here died he, with ‘Palermo’ on his lips, - A poor man, and proscribed. - - Wrecked all thy hopes, O friend,-- 25 - Hopes for thyself, thine Italy, thine own,-- - High gifts defeated of their due renown,-- - Long toil--and this the end! - - The end? not ours to scan: - Yet grieve not, children, for your father’s worth; 30 - Oh! never wish that in his native earth - He lay, a baser man. - - What to the dead avail - The chance success, the blundering praise of fame? - Oh! rather trust, somewhere the noble aim 35 - Is crowned, though here it fail. - - Kind, generous, true wert thou: - This meed at least to goodness must belong, - That such it was. Farewell; the world’s great wrong - Is righted for thee now. 40 - - Rest in thy foreign grave, - Sicilian! whom our English hearts have loved,-- - Italian! such as Dante had approved,-- - An exile--not a slave! - _Henry Lushington._ - - - - -CCXVI - -_HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI._ - - - Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star - In his steep course? So long he seems to pause - On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc! - The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base - Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! 5 - Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, - How silently! Around thee and above - Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black, - An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it - As with a wedge! But when I look again, 10 - It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, - Thy habitation from eternity! - O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, - Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, - Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 15 - I worshipped the Invisible alone. - Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, - So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, - Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, - Yea, with my life and life’s own secret joy, 20 - Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, - Into the mighty vision passing--there, - As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven! - Awake my soul! not only passive praise - Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 25 - Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, - Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! - Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. - Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale! - Oh, struggling with the darkness all the night, 30 - And visited all night by troops of stars, - Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink: - Companion of the morning star at dawn, - Thyself Earth’s rosy star, and of the dawn - Co-herald: wake, oh wake, and utter praise! 35 - Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? - Who filled thy countenance with rosy light; - Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? - And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad! - Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40 - From dark and icy caverns called you forth, - Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, - For ever shattered and the same for ever? - Who gave you your invulnerable life, - Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45 - Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? - And who commanded (and the silence came,) - Here let the billows stiffen and have rest? - Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain’s brow - Adown enormous ravines slope amain-- 50 - Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, - And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! - Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! - Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven - Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun 55 - Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers - Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-- - God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, - Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! 59 - God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! - Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! - And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, - And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! - Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! - Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle’s nest! 65 - Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm! - Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! - Ye signs and wonders of the elements, - Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! - Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, - Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 71 - Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, - Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast-- - Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou, - That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 75 - In adoration, upward from thy base - Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, - Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, - To rise before me--rise, oh, ever rise, - Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth! 80 - Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, - Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, - Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, - And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, - Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 85 - _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ - - - - -CCXVII - -_THE DANISH BOY._ - - - Between two sister moorland rills - There is a spot that seems to lie - Sacred to flowerets of the hills, - And sacred to the sky. - And in this smooth and open dell 5 - There is a tempest-stricken tree; - A corner-stone by lightning cut, - The last stone of a lonely hut; - And in this dell you see - A thing no storm can e’er destroy, 10 - The shadow of a Danish boy. - - In clouds above the lark is heard, - But drops not here to earth for rest; - Within this lonesome nook the bird - Did never build her nest. 15 - No beast, no bird hath here his home; - Bees, wafted on the breezy air, - Pass high above those fragrant bells - To other flowers; to other dells - Their burdens do they bear. 20 - The Danish boy walks here alone: - The lovely dell is all his own. - - A Spirit of noonday is he, - Yet seems a form of flesh and blood; - Nor piping shepherd shall he be, 25 - Nor herd-boy of the wood. - A regal vest of fur he wears, - In colour like a raven’s wing; - It fears not rain, nor wind, nor dew; - But in the storm ’tis fresh and blue 30 - As budding pines in Spring; - His helmet has a vernal grace, - Fresh as the bloom upon his face. - - A harp is from his shoulder slung; - Resting the harp upon his knee, 35 - To words of a forgotten tongue - He suits its melody. - Of flocks upon the neighbouring hills - He is the darling and the joy; - And often, when no cause appears, 40 - The mountain ponies prick their ears, - --They hear the Danish boy, - While in the dell he sings alone - Beside the tree and corner-stone. - - There sits he: in his face you spy 45 - No trace of a ferocious air; - Nor ever was a cloudless sky - So steady or so fair. - The lovely Danish boy is blest, - And happy in his flowery cove: 50 - From bloody deeds his thoughts are far; - And yet he warbles songs of war, - That seem like songs of love, - For calm and gentle is his mien; - Like a dead boy he is serene. 55 - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CCXVIII - -_ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE._ - - - Five years have passed; five summers, with the length - Of five long winters! and again I hear - These waters, rolling from their mountain springs - With a soft inland murmur.--Once again - Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 5 - Which on a wild secluded scene impress - Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect - The landscape with the quiet of the sky. - The day is come when I again repose - Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10 - These plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts, - Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits, - Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves - Mid groves and copses. Once again I see - These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines 15 - Of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms - Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke - Sent up, in silence, from among the trees - With some uncertain notice, as might seem, - Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20 - Or of some hermit’s cave, where by his fire - The hermit sits alone. - These beauteous forms - Through a long absence have not been to me - As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye: 25 - But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din - Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, - In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, - Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; - And passing even into my purer mind 30 - With tranquil restoration:--feelings too - Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, - As have no slight or trivial influence - On that best portion of a good man’s life, - His little, nameless, unremembered acts 35 - Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, - To them I may have owed another gift, - Of aspect more sublime; that blessèd mood, - In which the burthen of the mystery, - In which the heavy and the weary weight 40 - Of all this unintelligible world, - Is lightened:--that serene and blessèd mood, - In which the affections gently lead us on,-- - Until, the breath of this corporeal frame, - And even the motion of our human blood, 45 - Almost suspended, we are laid asleep - In body, and become a living soul: - While with an eye made quiet by the power - Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, - We see into the life of things. 50 - If this - Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft, - In darkness, and amid the many shapes - Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir - Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, 55 - Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, - How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, - O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer through the woods, - How often has my spirit turned to thee! - And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 60 - With many recognitions dim and faint, - And somewhat of a sad perplexity, - The picture of the mind revives again: - While here I stand, not only with the sense - Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts 65 - That in this moment there is life and food - For future years. And so I dare to hope, - Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first - I came among these hills; when like a roe - I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides 70 - Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, - Wherever Nature led: more like a man - Flying from something that he dreads, than one - Who sought the thing he loved. For Nature then - (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, 75 - And their glad animal movements all gone by,) - To me was all in all.--I cannot paint - What then I was. The sounding cataract - Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, - The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 80 - Their colours and their forms, were then to me - An appetite: a feeling and a love, - That had no need of a remoter charm, - By thought supplied, or any interest - Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, 85 - And all its aching joys are now no more, - And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this - Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts - Have followed, for such loss, I would believe, - Abundant recompense. For I have learned 90 - To look on Nature, not as in the hour - Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes - The still, sad music of humanity, - Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power - To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 95 - A presence that disturbs me with the joy - Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime - Of something far more deeply interfused, - Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, - And the round ocean and the living air, 100 - And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: - A motion and a spirit, that impels - All thinking things, all objects of all thought, - And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still - A lover of the meadows and the woods, 105 - And mountains; and of all that we behold - From this green earth; of all the mighty world - Of eye and ear, both what they half create, - And what perceive; well pleased to recognize - In Nature and the language of the sense, 110 - The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, - The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul - Of all my moral being. - Nor perchance, - If I were not thus taught, should I the more 115 - Suffer my genial spirits to decay: - For thou art with me, here, upon the banks - Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, - My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch - The language of my former heart, and read 120 - My former pleasures in the shooting lights - Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while - May I behold in thee what I was once, - My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make, - Knowing that Nature never did betray 125 - The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege, - Through all the years of this our life, to lead - From joy to joy: for she can so inform - The mind that is within us, so impress - With quietness and beauty, and so feed 130 - With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, - Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, - Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all - The dreary intercourse of daily life, - Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb 135 - Our cheerful faith that all which we behold - Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon - Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; - And let the misty mountain-winds be free - To blow against thee: and, in after years, 140 - When these wild ecstasies shall be matured - Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind - Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms, - Thy memory be as a dwelling-place - For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, 145 - If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, - Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts - Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, - And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance, - If I should be where I no more can hear 150 - Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams - Of past existence, wilt thou then forget - That on the banks of this delightful stream - We stood together; and that I, so long - A worshipper of Nature, hither came, 155 - Unwearied in that service; rather say - With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal - Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget, - That after many wanderings, many years - Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, 160 - And this green pastoral landscape, were to me - More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake. - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CCXIX - -_DEDICATION OF THE REVOLT OF ISLAM TO HIS WIFE._ - - - So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, - And I return to thee, mine own heart’s home; - As to his Queen some victor Knight of Faëry, - Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome; - Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame become 5 - A star among the stars of mortal night, - If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom, - Its doubtful promise thus I would unite - With thy belovèd name, thou Child of love and light. - - The toil which stole from thee so many an hour, 10 - Is ended,--and the fruit is at thy feet! - No longer where the woods to frame a bower - With interlacèd branches mix and meet, - Or where with sound like many voices sweet, - Water-falls leap among wild islands green, 15 - Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat - Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen: - But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been. - - Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first - The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. - I do remember well the hour which burst 21 - My spirit’s sleep: a fresh May-dawn it was, - When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, - And wept, I knew not why; until there rose - From the near school-room voices, that, alas! 25 - Were but one echo from a world of woes-- - The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. - - And then I clasped my hands and looked around-- - But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, - Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground-- - So without shame I spake:--‘I will be wise, 31 - And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies - Such power, for I grow weary to behold - The selfish and the strong still tyrannise - Without reproach or check.’ I then controlled 35 - My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold. - - And from that hour did I with earnest thought - Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore, - Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught - I cared to learn, but from that secret store 40 - Wrought linkèd armour for my soul, before - It might walk forth to war among mankind; - Thus power and hope were strengthened more and more - Within me, till there came upon my mind - A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined. 45 - - Alas, that love should be a blight and snare - To those who seek all sympathies in one!-- - Such once I sought in vain; then black despair, - The shadow of a starless night, was thrown - Over the world in which I moved alone:-- 50 - Yet never found I one not false to me, - Hard hearts, and cold, like weights of icy stone, - Which crushed and withered mine, that could not be - Aught but a lifeless clog, until revived by thee. - - Thou Friend, whose presence on my wintry heart 55 - Fell, like bright spring upon some herbless plain, - How beautiful and calm and free thou wert - In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain - Of Custom thou didst burst and rend in twain, - And walked as free as light the clouds among, 60 - Which many an envious slave then breathed in vain - From his dim dungeon, and my spirit sprung - To meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long. - - No more alone through the world’s wilderness, - Although I trod the paths of high intent, 65 - I journeyed now: no more companionless, - Where solitude is like despair, I went.-- - There is the wisdom of a stern content, - When Poverty can blight the just and good, - When Infamy dares mock the innocent, 70 - And cherished friends turn with the multitude - To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood! - - Now has descended a serener hour, - And, with inconstant fortune, friends return; - Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power 75 - Which says:--Let scorn be not repaid with scorn; - And from thy side two gentle babes are born - To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we - Most fortunate beneath life’s beaming morn; - And these delights, and thou, have been to me 80 - The parents of the Song I consecrate to thee. - - Is it, that now my inexperienced fingers - But strike the prelude of a loftier strain? - Or must the lyre on which my spirit lingers - Soon pause in silence, ne’er to sound again, 85 - Though it might shake the Anarch Custom’s reign, - And charm the minds of men to Truth’s own sway, - Holier than was Amphion’s? I would fain - Reply in hope--but I am worn away, - And Death and Love are yet contending for their prey. - - And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: 91 - Time may interpret to his silent years. - Yet in the paleness of thy thoughtful cheek, - And in the light thine ample forehead wears, - And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears, 95 - And in thy gentle speech, a prophecy - Is whispered, to subdue my fondest fears: - And through thine eyes, even in thy soul I see - A lamp of vestal fire burning internally. - - They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, 100 - Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child: - I wonder not--for one then left this earth, - Whose life was like a setting planet mild, - Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled - Of its departing glory; still her fame 105 - Shines on thee through the tempests dark and wild, - Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim - The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name. - - Truth’s deathless voice pauses among mankind! - If there must be no response to my cry-- 110 - If men must rise and stamp with fury blind - On his pure name who loves them--thou and I, - Sweet Friend! can look from our tranquillity - Like lamps into the world’s tempestuous night,-- - Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by 115 - Which wrap them from the foundering seaman’s sight, - That burn from year to year with unextinguished light. - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CCXX - -_FRANCE: AN ODE, 1797._ - - - Ye clouds! that far above me float and pause, - Whose pathless march no mortal may control! - Ye ocean-waves! that, wheresoe’er ye roll, - Yield homage only to eternal laws! - Ye woods! that listen to the night-birds singing, 5 - Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, - Save when your own imperious branches swinging - Have made a solemn music of the wind! - Where, like a man beloved of God, - Through glooms, which never woodman trod, 10 - How oft, pursuing fancies holy, - My moonlight way o’er flowering weeds I wound, - Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, - By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! - O ye loud waves! and O ye forests high! 15 - And O ye clouds that far above me soared! - Thou rising sun! thou blue rejoicing sky! - Yea, every thing that is and will be free! - Bear witness for me, wheresoe’er ye be, - With what deep worship I have still adored 20 - The spirit of divinest Liberty. - - When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, - And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea, - Stamped her strong foot, and said she would be free, - Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! 25 - With what a joy my lofty gratulation - Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: - And when to whelm the disenchanted nation, - Like fiends embattled by a wizard’s wand, - The Monarchs marched in evil day 30 - And Britain joined the dire array; - Though dear her shores and circling ocean, - Though many friendships, many youthful loves - Had swoln the patriot emotion - And flung a magic light o’er all her hills and groves; 35 - Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat - To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, - And shame too long delayed and vain retreat! - For ne’er, O Liberty! with partial aim - I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame; 40 - But blessed the pæans of delivered France, - And hung my head and wept at Britain’s name. - - ‘And what,’ I said, ‘though Blasphemy’s loud scream - With that sweet music of deliverance strove? - Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove 45 - A dance more wild than e’er was maniac’s dream? - Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, - The sun was rising, though ye hid his light!’ - And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, - The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright; - When France her front deep-scarred and gory 51 - Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory; - When, insupportably advancing, - Her arm made mockery of the warrior’s tramp; - While timid looks of fury glancing, 55 - Domestic Treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp, - Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore; - Then I reproached my fears that would not flee; - ‘And soon,’ I said, ‘shall Wisdom teach her lore - In the low huts of them that toil and groan! 60 - And, conquering by her happiness alone, - Shall France compel the nations to be free, - Till Love and Joy look round, and call the earth their own.’ - - Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams! - I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament, 65 - From bleak Helvetia’s icy caverns sent-- - I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams! - Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished, - And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows - With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished 70 - One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes! - To scatter rage and traitorous guilt, - Where Peace her jealous home had built; - A patriot-race to disinherit - Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; 75 - And with inexpiable spirit - To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer-- - O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, - And patriot only in pernicious toils, - Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind? 80 - To mix with kings in the low lust of sway, - Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; - To’ insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils - From freemen torn? to tempt and to betray? - - The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, 85 - Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game - They burst their manacles and wear the name - Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain! - O Liberty! with profitless endeavour - Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; 90 - But thou nor swell’st the victor’s strain, nor ever - Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. - Alike from all, howe’er they praise thee, - (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) - Alike from Priestcraft’s harpy minions, 95 - And factious Blasphemy’s obscener slaves, - Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, - The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves! - And there I felt thee!--on that sea-cliff’s verge, - Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above, 100 - Had made one murmur with the distant surge! - Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, - And shot my being through earth, sea, and air, - Possessing all things with intensest love, - O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. 105 - _Samuel Taylor Coleridge._ - - - - -CCXXI - -_ODE TO THE WEST WIND._ - - - O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being, - Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead - Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, - Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, - Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, 5 - Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed - The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, - Each like a corpse within its grave, until - Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow - Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill 10 - (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air,) - With living hues and odours plain and hill: - Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; - Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear! - - Thou on whose stream, ’mid the steep sky’s commotion, 15 - Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed, - Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, - Angels of rain and lightning; there are spread - On the blue surface of thine airy surge, - Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 20 - Of some fierce Mænad, ev’n from the dim verge - Of the horizon to the zenith’s height-- - The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge - Of the dying year, to which this closing night - Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 25 - Vaulted with all thy congregated might - Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere - Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: O hear! - - Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams - The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30 - Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, - Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay, - And saw in sleep old palaces and towers - Quivering within the wave’s intenser day, - All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 35 - So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou - For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers - Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below - The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear - The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40 - Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, - And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear! - - If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; - If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; - A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 45 - The impulse of thy strength, only less free - Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even - I were as in my boyhood, and could be - The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, - As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed 50 - Scarce seemed a vision, I would ne’er have striven - As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. - O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! - I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! - A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 55 - One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. - - Make me thy lyre, ev’n as the forest is: - What if my leaves are falling like its own! - The tumult of thy mighty harmonies - Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 60 - Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, - My spirit! be thou me, impetuous One! - Drive my dead thoughts over the universe - Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth; - And, by the incantation of this verse, 65 - Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth - Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! - Be through my lips to unawakened earth - The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, - If winter comes, can spring be far behind? 70 - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CCXXII - -_ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE._ - - - My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains - My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, - Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains - One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: - ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 5 - But being too happy in thy happiness,-- - That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees, - In some melodious plot - Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, - Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 10 - - O for a draught of vintage, that hath been - Cooled a long age in the deep-delvèd earth, - Tasting of Flora and the country-green, - Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth! - O for a beaker full of the warm South, 15 - Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, - With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, - And purple-stainèd mouth; - That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, - And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 20 - - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget - What thou among the leaves hast never known, - The weariness, the fever, and the fret - Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; - Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 - Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; - Where but to think is to be full of sorrow - And leaden-eyed despairs; - Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, - Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30 - - Away! away! for I will fly to thee, - Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, - But on the viewless wings of Poesy, - Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: - Already with thee! tender is the night, 35 - And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, - Clustered around by all her starry Fays; - But here there is no light, - Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown - Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 40 - - I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, - Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, - But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet - Wherewith the seasonable month endows - The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 45 - White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; - Fast-fading violets covered up in leaves; - And mid-May’s eldest child, - The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, - The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 50 - - Darkling I listen; and for many a time - I have been half in love with easeful Death, - Called him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, - To take into the air my quiet breath; - Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 55 - To cease upon the midnight with no pain, - While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad - In such an ecstasy! - Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- - To thy high requiem become a sod. 60 - - Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! - No hungry generations tread thee down; - The voice I hear this passing night was heard - In ancient days by emperor and clown: - Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 65 - Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, - She stood in tears amid the alien corn; - The same that oft-times hath - Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam - Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70 - - Forlorn! the very word is like a bell - To toll me back from thee to my sole self! - Adieu! the Fancy cannot cheat so well - As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. - Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 75 - Past the near meadows, over the still stream, - Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep - In the next valley-glades: - Was it a vision, or a waking dream? - Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? 80 - _John Keats._ - - - - -CCXXIII - -_ODE TO A SKYLARK._ - - - Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! - Bird thou never wert, - That from heaven, or near it - Pourest thy full heart - In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 5 - - Higher still and higher - From the earth thou springest, - Like a cloud of fire; - The blue deep thou wingest, - And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 10 - - In the golden lightning - Of the sunken sun, - O’er which clouds are brightening, - Thou dost float and run, - Like an unbodied Joy whose race is just begun. 15 - - The pale purple even - Melts around thy flight; - Like a star of heaven - In the broad daylight - Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight: 20 - - Keen as are the arrows - Of that silver sphere, - Whose intense lamp narrows - In the white dawn clear, - Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 25 - - All the earth and air - With thy voice is loud, - As, when night is bare, - From one lonely cloud - The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. - - What thou art we know not; 31 - What is most like thee? - From rainbow clouds there flow not - Drops so bright to see - As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 35 - - Like a poet hidden - In the light of thought, - Singing hymns unbidden, - Till the world is wrought - To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: 40 - - Like a high-born maiden - In a palace tower, - Soothing her love-laden - Soul in secret hour - With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: 45 - - Like a glowworm golden - In a dell of dew, - Scattering unbeholden - Its aerial hue - Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: 50 - - Like a rose embowered - In its own green leaves, - By warm winds deflowered, - Till the scent it gives - Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. 55 - - Sound of vernal showers - On the twinkling grass, - Rain-awakened flowers, - All that ever was - Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 60 - - Teach us, sprite or bird, - What sweet thoughts are thine: - I have never heard - Praise of love or wine - That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 65 - - Chorus hymeneal, - Or triumphal chaunt, - Matched with thine, would be all - But an empty vaunt-- - A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 70 - - What objects are the fountains - Of thy happy strain? - What fields, or waves, or mountains? - What shapes of sky or plain? - What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 75 - - With thy clear keen joyance - Languor cannot be: - Shadow of annoyance - Never came near thee: - Thou lovest; but ne’er knew love’s sad satiety. 80 - - Waking or asleep, - Thou of death must deem - Things more true and deep - Than we mortals dream, - Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 85 - - We look before and after, - And pine for what is not: - Our sincerest laughter - With some pain is fraught; - Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. - - Yet if we could scorn 91 - Hate, and pride, and fear; - If we were things born - Not to shed a tear, - I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 95 - - Better than all measures - Of delightful sound, - Better than all treasures - That in books are found, - Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! 100 - - Teach me half the gladness - That thy brain must know, - Such harmonious madness - From my lips would flow, - The world should listen then, as I am listening now! 105 - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CCXXIV - -_‘ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR.’_ - - - ’Tis time this heart should be unmoved, - Since others it hath ceased to move: - Yet, though I cannot be beloved, - Still let me love! - - My days are in the yellow leaf; 5 - The flowers and fruits of love are gone; - The worm, the canker, and the grief - Are mine alone! - - The fire that on my bosom preys - Is lone as some volcanic isle; 10 - No torch is kindled at its blaze-- - A funeral pile. - - The hope, the fear, the jealous care, - The exalted portion of the pain - And power of love, I cannot share, 15 - But wear the chain. - - But ’tis not _thus_--and ’tis not _here_-- - Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor _now_, - Where glory decks the hero’s bier, - Or binds his brow. 20 - - The sword, the banner, and the field, - Glory and Greece, around me see! - The Spartan, borne upon his shield, - Was not more free. - - Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake!) 25 - Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_ - Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, - And then strike home! - - Tread those reviving passions down, - Unworthy manhood!--unto thee 30 - Indifferent should the smile or frown - Of beauty be. - - If thou regret’st thy youth, _why live_? - The land of honourable death - Is here:--up to the field, and give 35 - Away thy breath! - - Seek out-- less often sought than found-- - A soldier’s grave, for thee the best; - Then look around, and choose thy ground, - And take thy rest. 40 - _Lord Byron._ - - - - -CCXXV - -_PESCHIERA._ - - - What voice did on my spirit fall, - Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost? - ‘’Tis better to have fought and lost, - Than never to have fought at all.’ - - The tricolor--a trampled rag 5 - Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track - By sentry boxes yellow-black, - Lead up to no Italian flag. - - I see the Croat soldier stand - Upon the grass of your redoubts; 10 - The eagle with his black wings flouts - The breadth and beauty of your land. - - Yet not in vain, although in vain, - O men of Brescia, on the day - Of loss past hope, I heard you say 15 - Your welcome to the noble pain. - - You said, ‘Since so it is,--good bye - Sweet life, high hope; but whatsoe’er - May be, or must, no tongue shall dare - To tell, “The Lombard feared to die!”’ 20 - - You said, (there shall be answer fit,) - ‘And if our children must obey, - They must; but thinking on this day, - ’Twill less debase them to submit.’ - - You said, (oh, not in vain you said,) 25 - ‘Haste, brothers, haste, while yet we may; - The hours ebb fast of this one day, - When blood may yet be nobly shed.’ - - Ah! not for idle hatred, not - For honour, fame, nor self-applause, 30 - But for the glory of the cause, - You did, what will not be forgot. - - And though the stranger stand, ’tis true, - By force and fortune’s right he stands; - By fortune, which is in God’s hands, 35 - And strength, which yet shall spring in you. - - This voice did on my spirit fall, - Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost, - ‘’Tis better to have fought and lost, - Than never to have fought at all.’ 40 - _Arthur Hugh Clough._ - - - - -CCXXVI - - _LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE IN A STORM, PAINTED - BY SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT._ - - - I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! - Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: - I saw thee every day; and all the while - Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. - - So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! 5 - So like, so very like, was day to day! - Whene’er I looked, thy image still was there; - It trembled, but it never passed away. - - How perfect was the calm! It seemed no sleep, - No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 10 - I could have fancied that the mighty Deep - Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. - - Ah! then, if mine had been the painter’s hand - To express what then I saw; and add the gleam, - The light that never was, on sea or land, 15 - The consecration, and the poet’s dream,-- - - I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, - Amid a world how different from this! - Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; - On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20 - - Thou should’st have seemed a treasure-house divine - Of peaceful years, a chronicle of heaven; - Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine - The very sweetest had to thee been given. - - A picture had it been of lasting ease, 25 - Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; - No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, - Or merely silent Nature’s breathing life. - - Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, - Such picture would I at that time have made; 30 - And seen the soul of truth in every part, - A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. - - So once it would have been,--’tis so no more; - I have submitted to a new control: - A power is gone, which nothing can restore; 35 - A deep distress hath humanized my soul. - - Not for a moment could I now behold - A smiling sea, and be what I have been: - The feeling of my loss will ne’er be old; - This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40 - - Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the friend, - If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, - This work of thine I blame not, but commend; - This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. - - O ’tis a passionate work!--yet wise and well, 45 - Well chosen is the spirit that is here; - That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, - This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! - - And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, - I love to see the look with which it braves, 50 - --Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time-- - The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. - - Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, - Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! - Such happiness, wherever it be known, 55 - Is to be pitied; for ’tis surely blind. - - But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, - And frequent sights of what is to be borne! - Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:-- - Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60 - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -CCXXVII - -_ODE ON A GRECIAN URN._ - - - Thou still unravished bride of quietness! - Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time, - Sylvan historian, who canst thus express - A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: - What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 5 - Of deities or mortals, or of both, - In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? - What men or gods are these? What maidens loath? - What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? - What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? 10 - - Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard - Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; - Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, - Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: - Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 15 - Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; - Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, - Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve; - She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, - For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! 20 - - Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed - Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; - And, happy melodist, unwearièd, - For ever piping songs for ever new; - More happy love! more happy, happy love! 25 - For ever warm and still to be enjoyed, - For ever panting and for ever young; - All breathing human passion far above, - That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, - A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 30 - - Who are these coming to the sacrifice? - To what green altar, O mysterious priest, - Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, - And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? - What little town by river or sea-shore, 35 - Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, - Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? - And, little town, thy streets for evermore - Will silent be; and not a soul to tell - Why thou art desolate, can e’er return. 40 - - O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede - Of marble men and maidens overwrought, - With forest branches and the trodden weed; - Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought - As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! 45 - When old age shall this generation waste, - Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe - Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, - ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’--that is all - Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. 50 - _John Keats._ - - - - -CCXXVIII - -_STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES._ - - - The sun is warm, the sky is clear, - The waves are dancing fast and bright, - Blue isles and snowy mountains wear - The purple noon’s transparent light: - The breath of the moist air is light 5 - Around its unexpanded buds; - Like many a voice of one delight, - The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods, - The City’s voice itself is soft like solitude’s. - - I see the Deep’s untrampled floor 10 - With green and purple sea-weeds strown; - I see the waves upon the shore, - Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: - I sit upon the sands alone; - The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 15 - Is flashing round me, and a tone - Arises from its measured motion-- - How sweet, did any heart now share in my emotion! - - Alas! I have nor hope nor health, - Nor peace within nor calm around, 20 - Nor that content surpassing wealth - The sage in meditation found, - And walked with inward glory crowned-- - Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure; - Others I see whom these surround; 25 - Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; - To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. - - Yet now despair itself is mild, - Even as the winds and waters are; - I could lie down like a tired child, 30 - And weep away the life of care - Which I have borne, and yet must bear, - Till death like sleep might steal on me, - And I might feel in the warm air - My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 35 - Breathe o’er my dying brain its last monotony. - - Some might lament that I were cold, - As I, when this sweet day is gone, - Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, - Insults with this untimely moan; 40 - They might lament--for I am one - Whom men love not, and yet regret; - Unlike this day, which, when the sun - Shall on its stainless glory set, - Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. 45 - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CCXXIX - -_DESPONDENCY REBUKED._ - - - Say not, the struggle nought availeth, - The labour and the wounds are vain, - The enemy faints not, nor faileth, - And as things have been they remain. - - If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 5 - It may be, in yon smoke concealed, - Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers, - And, but for you, possess the field. - - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, - Seem here no painful inch to gain, 10 - Far back, through creeks and inlets making, - Comes silent, flooding in, the main. - - And not by eastern windows only, - When daylight comes, comes in the light; - In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 15 - But westward, look, the land is bright. - _Arthur Hugh Clough._ - - - - -CCXXX - -_THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS._ - - - Oft in the stilly night - Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, - Fond Memory brings the light - Of other days around me: - The smiles, the tears 5 - Of boyhood’s years, - The words of love then spoken; - The eyes that shone, - Now dimmed and gone, - The cheerful hearts now broken! 10 - Thus in the stilly light - Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, - Sad Memory brings the light - Of other days around me. - - When I remember all 15 - The friends so linked together - I’ve seen around me fall - Like leaves in wintry weather, - I feel like one - Who treads alone 20 - Some banquet-hall deserted, - Whose lights are fled, - Whose garlands dead, - And all but he departed! - Thus in the stilly night 25 - Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, - Sad Memory brings the light - Of other days around me. - _Thomas Moore._ - - - - -CCXXXI - -_DIRGE._ - - - If thou wilt ease thine heart - Of love, and all its smart-- - Then sleep, dear, sleep! - And not a sorrow - Hang any tear on your eyelashes; 5 - Lie still and deep, - Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes - The rim o’ the sun to-morrow - In Eastern sky. - - But wilt thou cure thine heart 10 - Of love, and all its smart-- - Then die, dear, die! - ’Tis deeper, sweeter, - Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming - With folded eye; 15 - And then alone, amid the beaming - Of love’s stars, thou’lt meet her - In Eastern sky. - _Thomas Lovell Beddoes._ - - - - -CCXXXII - -_LINES WRITTEN IN MY OWN ALBUM._ - - - Fresh clad from heaven in robes of white, - A young probationer of light, - Thou wert, my soul, an album bright, - - A spotless leaf; but thought, and care, - And friend and foe, in foul and fair, 5 - Have ‘written strange defeatures’ there; - - And Time with heaviest hand of all, - Like that fierce writing on the wall, - Hath stamped sad dates--he can’t recall. - - And error, gilding worst designs-- 10 - Like speckled snake that strays and shines-- - Betrays his path by crooked lines; - - And vice hath left his ugly blot; - And good resolves, a moment hot, - Fairly began--but finished not; 15 - - And fruitless, late remorse doth trace-- - Like Hebrew lore a backward pace-- - Her irrecoverable race. - - Disjointed numbers; sense unknit; - Huge reams of folly; shreds of wit; 20 - Compose the mingled mass of it. - - My scalded eyes no longer brook - Upon this ink-blurred thing to look-- - Go, shut the leaves, and clasp the book. - _Charles Lamb._ - - - - -CCXXXIII - -_SONNET._ - - - October’s gold is dim--the forests rot, - The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day - Is wrapt in damp. In mire of village-way - The hedgerow leaves are stampt, and, all forgot, - The broodless nest sits visible in the thorn. 5 - Autumn, among her drooping marigolds, - Weeps all her garnered fields and empty folds - And dripping orchards, plundered and forlorn. - The season is a dead one, and I die! - No more, no more for me the spring shall make 10 - A resurrection in the earth, and take - The death from out her heart--O God, I die! - The cold throat-mist creeps nearer, till I breathe - Corruption. Drop, stark night, upon my death! - _David Gray._ - - - - -CCXXXIV - -_SONNET._ - - - Die down, O dismal day, and let me live; - And come, blue deeps, magnificently strewn - With coloured clouds--large, light, and fugitive-- - By upper winds through pompous motions blown. - Now it is death in life--a vapour dense 5 - Creeps round my window, till I cannot see - The far snow-shining mountains, and the glens - Shagging the mountain tops. O God! make free - This barren shackled earth, so deadly cold-- - Breathe gently forth thy spring, till winter flies 10 - In rude amazement, fearful and yet bold, - While she performs her customed charities. - I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare-- - O God, for one clear day, a snowdrop, and sweet air! - _David Gray._ - - - - -CCXXXV - -_SONNET._ - - - O Winter, wilt thou never, never, go? - O Summer, but I weary for thy coming, - Longing once more to hear the Luggie flow, - And frugal bees, laboriously humming. - Now the east wind diseases the infirm, 5 - And I must crouch in comers from rough weather; - Sometimes a winter sunset is a charm-- - When the fired clouds, compacted, blaze together, - And the large sun dips red behind the hills. - I, from my window, can behold this pleasure; 10 - And the eternal moon, what time she fills - Her orb with argent, treading a soft measure, - With queenly motions of a bridal mood, - Through the white spaces of infinitude. - _David Gray._ - - - - -CCXXXVI - -_THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER._ - - - When my mother died I was very young, - And my father sold me while yet my tongue - Could scarcely cry, ‘’Weep! ’weep! ’weep! ’weep!’ - So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. - - There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, 5 - That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved; so I said, - ‘Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head’s bare, - You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.’ - - And so he was quiet, and that very night, - As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight; 10 - That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, - Were all of them locked up in coffins of black: - - And by came an angel, who had a bright key, - And he opened the coffins, and set them all free; - Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run, 15 - And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. - - Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, - They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; - And the angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy, - He’d have God for his Father, and never want joy. 20 - - And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, - And got with our bags and our brushes to work; - Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm: - So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. - _William Blake._ - - - - -CCXXXVII - -_TO THE MOON._ - - - Art thou pale for weariness - Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, - Wandering companionless, - Among the stars that have a different birth,-- - And ever changing, like a joyless eye 5 - That finds no object worth its constancy? - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CCXXXVIII - -_SONG._ - - - If I had thought thou could’st have died, - I might not weep for thee; - But I forgot, when by thy side, - That thou could’st mortal be. - It never through my mind had past 5 - That time would e’er be o’er, - And I on thee should look my last, - And thou should’st smile no more! - - And still upon that face I look, - And think ’twill smile again; 10 - And still the thought I will not brook - That I must look in vain. - But when I speak thou dost not say, - What thou ne’er left’st unsaid; - And now I feel, as well I may, 15 - Sweet Mary, thou art dead! - - If thou would’st stay, e’en as thou art, - All cold, and all serene-- - I still might press thy silent heart, - And where thy smiles have been! 20 - While e’en thy chill, bleak corse I have, - Thou seemest still mine own; - But there--I lay thee in thy grave, - And I am now alone! - - I do not think, where’er thou art, 25 - Thou hast forgotten me; - And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, - In thinking still of thee: - Yet there was round thee such a dawn - Of light ne’er seen before, 30 - As fancy never could have drawn, - And never can restore! - _Charles Wolfe._ - - - - -CCXXXIX - -_ON ANOTHER’S SORROW._ - - - Can I see another’s woe, - And not be in sorrow too? - Can I see another’s grief, - And not seek for kind relief? - - Can I see a falling tear, 5 - And not feel my sorrow’s share? - Can a father see his child - Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? - - Can a mother sit and hear - An infant groan, an infant fear? 10 - No, no! never can it be! - Never, never can it be! - - And can He, who smiles on all, - Hear the wren, with sorrows small, - Hear the small bird’s grief and care, 15 - Hear the woes that infants bear? - - And not sit beside the nest, - Pouring pity in their breast? - And not sit the cradle near, - Weeping tear on infant’s tear? 20 - - And not sit both night and day, - Wiping all our tears away? - Oh, no! never can it be! - Never, never can it be! - - He doth give his joy to all: 25 - He becomes an infant small, - He becomes a man of woe, - He doth feel the sorrow too. - - Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, - And thy Maker is not by: 30 - Think not thou canst weep a tear, - And thy Maker is not near. - - Oh! He gives to us his joy, - That our griefs He may destroy: - Till our grief is fled and gone 35 - He doth sit by us and moan. - _William Blake._ - - - - -CCXL - -_A DEAD ROSE._ - - - O Rose, who dares to name thee? - No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet, - But pale and hard and dry as stubble wheat,-- - Kept seven years in a drawer, thy titles shame thee. - - The breeze that used to blow thee 5 - Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away - An odour up the lane to last all day,-- - If breathing now, unsweetened would forgo thee. - - The sun that used to smite thee, - And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn, 10 - Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn,-- - If shining now, with not a hue would light thee. - - The dew that used to wet thee, - And, white first, grow incarnadined because - It lay upon thee where the crimson was,-- 15 - If dropping now, would darken where it met thee. - - The fly that ’lit upon thee, - To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet - Along thy leafs pure edges after heat,-- - If ’lighting now, would coldly overrun thee. 20 - - The bee that once did suck thee, - And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive, - And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive,-- - If passing now, would blindly overlook thee. - - The heart doth recognize thee, 25 - Alone, alone! the heart doth smell thee sweet, - Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, - Perceiving all those changes that disguise thee. - - Yes, and the heart doth owe thee - More love, dead rose, than to’ any roses bold 30 - Which Julia wears at dances smiling cold:-- - Lie still upon this heart which breaks below thee! - _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ - - - - -CCXLI - -_AT THE CHURCH GATE._ - - - Although I enter not, - Yet round about the spot - Ofttimes I hover; - And near the sacred gate - With longing eyes I wait, 5 - Expectant of her. - - The Minster bell tolls out - Above the city’s rout, - And noise and humming: - They’ve hushed the Minster bell: 10 - The organ ’gins to swell: - She’s coming, she’s coming! - - My lady comes at last, - Timid, and stepping fast, - And hastening hither, 15 - With modest eyes downcast: - She comes--she’s here--she’s past-- - May Heaven go with her! - - Kneel, undisturbed, fair Saint! - Pour out your praise or plaint 20 - Meekly and duly; - I will not enter there, - To sully your pure prayer - With thoughts unruly. - - But suffer me to pace 25 - Round the forbidden place, - Lingering a minute, - Like outcast spirits who wait - And see through Heaven’s gate - Angels within it. 30 - _William Makepeace Thackeray._ - - - - -CCXLII - -_ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN._ - - - I saw where in the shroud did lurk - A curious frame of Nature’s work; - A floweret crushèd in the bud, - A nameless piece of Babyhood, - Was in her cradle-coffin lying; 5 - Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying: - So soon to’ exchange the imprisoning womb - For darker closets of the tomb! - She did but ope an eye, and put - A clear beam forth, then straight up shut 10 - For the long dark: ne’er more to see - Through glasses of mortality. - Riddle of destiny, who can show, - What thy short visit meant, or know - What thy errand here below? 15 - Shall we say, that Nature blind - Checked her hand, and changed her mind - Just when she had exactly wrought - A finished, pattern without fault? - Could she flag, or could she tire, 20 - Or lacked she the Promethean fire - (With her nine moons’ long workings sickened) - That should thy little limbs have quickened? - Limbs so firm, they seemed to’ assure - Life of health, and days mature: 25 - Woman’s self in miniature! - Limbs so fair, they might supply - (Themselves now but cold imagery) - The sculptor to make Beauty by. - Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 30 - That babe or mother, one must die; - So in mercy left the stock, - And cut the branch; to save the shock - Of young years widowed, and the pain - When Single State comes back again 35 - To the lone man who, reft of wife, - Thenceforward drags a maimèd life? - The economy of Heaven is dark, - And wisest clerks have missed the mark - Why human buds, like this, should fall 40 - More brief than fly ephemeral - That has his day; while shrivelled crones - Stiffen with age to stocks and stones; - And crabbèd use the conscience sears - In sinners of an hundred years. 45 - --Mother’s prattle, mother’s kiss, - Baby fond, thou ne’er wilt miss: - Rites, which custom does impose, - Silver bells, and baby clothes; - Coral redder than those lips 50 - Which pale death did late eclipse; - Music framed for infant’s glee, - Whistle never tuned for thee; - Though thou want’st not, thou shalt have them, - Loving hearts were they which gave them. 55 - Let not one be missing; nurse, - See them laid upon the hearse - Of infant slain by doom perverse. - Why should kings and nobles have - Pictured trophies to their grave, 60 - And we, churls, to thee deny - Thy pretty toys with thee to lie-- - A more harmless vanity? - _Charles Lamb._ - - - - -CCXLIII - -_ON THE SAME._ - - - Child of a day, thou knowest not - The tears that overflow thine urn, - The gushing eyes that read thy lot; - Nor, if thou knewest, could’st return! - - And why the wish! the pure and blest 5 - Watch like thy mother o’er thy sleep: - O peaceful night! O envied rest! - Thou wilt not ever see her weep. - _Walter Savage Landor._ - - - - -CCXLIV - -_FIRE._ - - - Sweet Maiden, for so calm a life - Too bitter seemed thine end; - But thou hadst won thee, ere that strife, - A more than earthly Friend. - - We miss thee in thy place at school, 5 - And on thine homeward way, - Where violets by the reedy pool - Peep out so shyly gay: - - Where thou, a true and gentle guide, - Wouldst lead thy little band, 10 - With all an elder sister’s pride, - And rule with eye and hand. - - And if _we_ miss, oh, who may speak - What thoughts are hovering round The - pallet where thy fresh young cheek 15 - Its evening slumber found? - - How many a tearful longing look - In silence seeks thee yet, - Where in its own familiar nook - Thy fireside chair is set? 20 - - And oft when little voices dim - Are feeling for the note - In chanted prayer, or psalm, or hymn, - And wavering wildly float, - - Comes gushing o’er a sudden thought 25 - Of her who led the strain, - How oft such music home she brought-- - But ne’er shall bring again. - - O say not so! the springtide air - Is fraught with whisperings sweet; 30 - Who knows but heavenly carols there - With ours may duly meet? - - Who knows how near, each holy hour, - The pure and child-like dead - May linger, where in shrine or bower 35 - The mourner’s prayer is said? - - And He who willed thy tender frame - (O stern yet sweet decree!) - Should wear the martyr’s robe of flame, - He hath prepared for thee 40 - - A garland in that region bright - Where infant spirits reign, Tinged - faintly with such golden light - As crowns his martyr train. - - Nay doubt it not: his tokens sure 45 - Were round her death-bed shown: - The wasting pain might not endure, - ’Twas calm ere life had flown, - - Even as we read of Saints of yore: - Her heart and voice were free 50 - To crave one quiet slumber more - Upon her mother’s knee. - _John Keble._ - - - - -CCXLV - - _ON BEING PRESSED TO GO TO A MASQUED BALL NOT MANY MONTHS AFTER THE - DEATH OF MY CHILD._ - - - Oh, lead me not in Pleasure’s train, - With faltering step and faded brow; - She such a votary would disdain, - And such a homage disavow. - - But art thou sure the goddess leads 5 - Yon motley group that onward press? - Some gaudy phantom-shape precedes, - Arrayed in Pleasure’s borrowed dress. - - When last I saw _her_ smile serene, - And spread her soft enchantments wide, 10 - My lovely child adorned the scene, - And sported by the flowing tide. - - The fairest shells for me to seek, - Intent the little wanderer strayed; - The rose that blossomed on his cheek 15 - Still deepening as the breezes played. - - Exulting in his form and face, - Through the bright veil that beauty wove, - How did my heart delight to trace - A soul--all harmony and love! 20 - - Fair as the dreams by fancy given, - A model of unearthly grace; - Whene’er he raised his eyes to heaven, - He seemed to seek his native place. - - More lovely than the morning ray, 25 - His brilliant form of life and light - Through strange gradations of decay - In sad succession shocked my sight. - - And since that agonizing hour, - That sowed the seed of mourning years, 30 - Beauty has lost its cheering power, - I see it through a mother’s tears. - - Soon was my dream of bliss o’ercast, - And all the dear illusion o’er; - A few dark days of terror past, 35 - And joy and Frederick bloom no more. - _Melesina Trench._ - - - - -CCXLVI - -_THE DEATH BED._ - - - We watched her breathing through the night, - Her breathing soft and low, - As in her breast the wave of life - Kept heaving to and fro. - - So silently we seemed to speak, 5 - So slowly moved about, - As we had lent her half our powers, - To eke her living out. - - Our very hopes belied our fears, - Our fears our hopes belied; 10 - We thought her dying when she slept, - And sleeping when she died. - - For when the morn came dim and sad, - And chill with early showers, - Her quiet eyelids closed--she had 15 - Another morn than ours. - _Thomas Hood._ - - - - -CCXLVII - -_LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCHYARD, YORKSHIRE._ - - - Methinks it is good to be here; - If Thou wilt, let us build--but for whom? - Nor Elias nor Moses appear, - But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, - The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. 5 - - Shall we build to Ambition? oh, no! - Affrighted, he shrinketh away; - For see! they would pin him below, - In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, - To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. 10 - - To Beauty? ah, no!--she forgets - The charms which she wielded before-- - Nor knows the foul worm that he frets - The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, - For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. 15 - - Shall we build to the purple of Pride-- - The trappings which dizen the proud? - Alas! they are all laid aside; - And here’s neither dress nor adornment allowed, - But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. 20 - - To Riches? alas! ’tis in vain; - Who hid, in their turns have been hid: - The treasures are squandered again; - And here in the grave are all metals forbid, - But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin-lid. 25 - - To the pleasures which Mirth can afford-- - The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? - Ah! here is a plentiful board! - But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, - And none but the worm is a reveller here. 30 - - Shall we build to Affection and Love? - Ah, no! they have withered and died, - Or fled with the spirit above; - Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, - Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. 35 - - Unto Sorrow?--The dead cannot grieve; - Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, - Which compassion itself could relieve! - Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, nor fear-- - Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here! 40 - - Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow? - Ah, no! for his empire is known, - And here there are trophies enow! - Beneath--the cold dead, and around--the dark stone, - Are the signs of a Sceptre that none may disown! 45 - - The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, - And look for the sleepers around us to rise; - The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfilled; - And the third to the Lamb of the great Sacrifice, - Who bequeathed us them both when He rose to the skies. 50 - _Herbert Knowles._ - - - - -CCXLVIII - -_TIME._ - - - Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, - Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe - Are brackish with the salt of human tears! - Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow - Claspest the limits of mortality! 5 - And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, - Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore; - Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, - Who shall put forth on thee, - Unfathomable Sea? 10 - _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ - - - - -CCXLIX - -_SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND._ - - - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, - And lovers are round her sighing; - But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, - For her heart in his grave is lying. - - She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, 5 - Every note which he loved awaking;-- - Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, - How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. - - He had lived for his love, for his country he died, - They were all that to life had entwined him; 10 - Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, - Nor long will his Love stay behind him. - - Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, - When they promise a glorious morrow; 14 - They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the West, - From her own loved island of sorrow. - _Thomas Moore._ - - - - -CCL - -_THE LAST MAN._ - - - All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, - The sun himself must die, - Before this mortal shall assume - Its immortality! - I saw a vision in my sleep, 5 - That gave my spirit strength to sweep - Adown the gulf of Time! - I saw the last of human mould, - That shall Creation’s death behold, - As Adam saw her prime! 10 - - The sun’s eye had a sickly glare, - The earth with age was wan, - The skeletons of nations were - Around that lonely man! - Some had expired in fight,--the brands 15 - Still rusted in their bony hands; - In plague and famine some! - Earth’s cities had no sound nor tread; - And ships were drifting with the dead - To shores where all was dumb! 20 - - Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, - With dauntless words and high, - That shook the sere leaves from the wood, - As if a storm passed by-- - Saying, We’ are twins in death, proud Sun, 25 - Thy face is cold, thy race is run, - ’Tis mercy bids thee go; - For thou ten thousand thousand years - Hast seen the tide of human tears, - That shall no longer flow. 30 - - What though beneath thee man put forth - His pomp, his pride, his skill; - And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, - The vassals of his will;-- - Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, 35 - Thou dim discrownèd king of day; - For all those trophied arts - And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, - Healed not a passion or a pang - Entailed on human hearts. 40 - - Go, let oblivion’s curtain fall - Upon the stage of men, - Nor with thy rising beams recall - Life’s tragedy again. - Its piteous pageants bring not back, 45 - Nor waken flesh upon the rack - Of pain anew to writhe; - Stretched in disease’s shapes abhorred, - Or mown in battle by the sword, - Like grass beneath the scythe. 50 - - Even I am weary in yon skies - To watch thy fading fire; - Test of all sumless agonies, - Behold not me expire. - - My lips that speak thy dirge of death-- 55 - Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath - To see thou shalt not boast. - The eclipse of nature spreads my pall,-- - The majesty of darkness shall - Receive my parting ghost! 60 - - This spirit shall return to Him - Who gave its heavenly spark; - Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim, - When thou thyself art dark! - No! it shall live again, and shine, 65 - In bliss unknown to beams of thine, - By Him recalled to breath, - Who captive led captivity, - Who robbed the grave of victory, - And took the sting from death! 70 - - Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up - On nature’s awful waste, - To drink this last and bitter cup - Of grief that man shall taste-- - Go, tell the night that hides thy face, 75 - Thou saw’st the last of Adam’s race, - On earth’s sepulchral clod, - The darkening universe defy - To quench his immortality, - Or shake his trust in God! 80 - _Thomas Campbell._ - - - - -CCLI - -_ROSE AYLMER._ - - - Ah! what avails the sceptred race, - Ah! what the form divine! - What every virtue, every grace! - Rose Aylmer, all were thine. - Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 5 - May weep, but never see, - A night of memories and of sighs - I consecrate to thee. - _Walter Savage Landor._ - - - - -CCLII - -_THE SPRING OF THE YEAR._ - - - Gone were but the winter cold, - And gone were but the snow, - I could sleep in the wild woods - Where primroses blow. - - Cold’s the snow at my head, 5 - And cold at my feet; - And the finger of death’s at my een, - Closing them to sleep. - - Let none tell my father, - Or my mother so dear,-- 10 - I’ll meet them both in heaven - At the spring of the year. - _Allan Cunningham._ - - - - -CCLIII - -_BURIAL OF THE DEAD._ - - - I thought to meet no more, so dreary seemed - Death’s interposing veil, and thou so pure, - Thy place in Paradise - Beyond where I could soar; - - Friend of this worthless heart! but happier thoughts 5 - Spring like unbidden violets from the sod, - Where patiently thou tak’st - Thy sweet and sure repose. - - The shadows fall more soothing, the soft air - Is full of cheering whispers like thine own; 10 - While Memory, by thy grave, - Lives o’er thy funeral day; - - The deep knell dying down; the mourners’ pause, - Waiting their Saviour’s welcome at the gate; - Sure with the words of Heaven 15 - Thy spirit met us there, - - And sought with us along the accustomed way - The hallowed porch, and entering in beheld - The pageant of sad joy, - So dear to Faith and Hope. 20 - - Oh, hadst thou brought a strain from Paradise - To cheer us, happy soul! thou hadst not touched - The sacred springs of grief - More tenderly and true, - - Than those deep-warbled anthems, high and low, 25 - Low as the grave, high as the eternal Throne, - Guiding through light and gloom - Our mourning fancies wild, - - Till gently, like soft golden clouds at eve - Around the western twilight, all subside 30 - Into a placid Faith, - That e’en with beaming eye - - Counts thy sad honours, coffin, bier, and pall: - So many relics of a frail love lost, - So many tokens dear 35 - Of endless love begun. - - Listen! it is no dream: the Apostle’s trump - Gives earnest of the Archangel’s: calmly now, - Our hearts yet beating high - To that victorious lay, 40 - - Most like a warrior’s, to the martial dirge - Of a true comrade, in the grave we trust - Our treasure for a while; - And if a tear steal down, - - If human anguish o’er the shaded brow 45 - Pass shuddering, when the handful of pure earth - Touches the coffin-lid; - If at our brother’s name - - Once and again the thought, ‘For ever gone,’ - Comes o’er us like a cloud; yet, gentle spright, 50 - Thou turnest not away, - Thou know’st us calm at heart. - - One look, and we have seen our last of thee, - Till we too sleep, and our long sleep be o’er: - O cleanse us, ere we view 55 - That countenance pure again, - - Thou, who canst change the heart and raise the dead! - As Thou art by to soothe our parting hour, - Be ready when we meet - With thy dear pardoning words. 60 - _John Keble._ - - - - -CCLIV - -_THE SLEEP._ - - - Of all the thoughts of God that are - Borne inward into souls afar, - Along the Psalmist’s music deep, - Now tell me if that any is - For gift or grace surpassing this-- 5 - ‘He giveth his belovèd, sleep’? - - What would we give to our beloved? - The hero’s heart to be unmoved, - The poet’s star-tuned harp to sweep, - The patriot’s voice to teach and rouse, 10 - The monarch’s crown to light the brows?-- - He giveth his belovèd, sleep. - - What do we give to our beloved? - A little faith all undisproved, - A little dust to overweep, 15 - And bitter memories to make - The whole earth blasted for our sake: - He giveth his belovèd, sleep. - - ‘Sleep soft, beloved!’ we sometimes say, - Who have no tune to charm away 20 - Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep: - But never doleful dream again - Shall break the happy slumber, when - He giveth his belovèd, sleep. - - O earth, so full of dreary noises! 25 - O men, with wailing in your voices! - O delvèd gold, the wailers heap! - O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall! - God strikes a silence through you all, - And giveth his belovèd, sleep. 30 - - His dews drop mutely on the hill, - His cloud above it saileth still, - Though on its slope men sow and reap: - More softly than the dew is shed, - Or cloud is floated overhead, 35 - He giveth his belovèd, sleep. - - Ay, men may wonder while they scan - A living, thinking, feeling man, - Confirmed in such a rest to keep; - But angels say, and through the word 40 - I think their happy smile is heard,-- - ‘He giveth his belovèd, sleep.’ - - For me, my heart that erst did go - Most like a tired child at a show, - That sees through tears the mummers leap, 45 - Would now its wearied vision close, - Would childlike on his love repose, - Who giveth his belovèd, sleep. - - And friends, dear friends, when it shall be - That this low breath is gone from me, 50 - And round my bier ye come to weep, - Let one, most loving of you all, - Say, ‘Not a tear must o’er her fall! - ‘He giveth his belovèd, sleep.’ - _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ - - - - -CCLV - - _TO THE MEMORY OF MY VENERABLE GRANDFATHER-IN-LAW, SAMUEL MARTIN, - WHO WAS TAKEN FROM US IN THE SIXTY-EIGHTH YEAR OF HIS MINISTRY._ - - - Fare well man’s dark last journey o’er the deep, - Thou sire of sires! whose bow in strength hath stood - These threescore years and ten, that thou hast wooed - Men’s souls to heaven. In Jesus fall’n asleep, - Around thy couch three generations weep, 5 - Reared on thy knees with wisdom’s heavenly food, - And by thy counsels taught to choose the good; - Who in thy footsteps press up Zion’s steep, - To reach that temple which but now did ope - And let their father in. O’er _his_ bier wake 10 - No doleful strain, but high the note of hope - And praise uplift to God, who did him make - A faithful shepherd, of his Church a prop; - And of his seed did faithful shepherds take. - _Edward Irving._ - - - - -CCLVI - -_THE EVENING CLOUD._ - - - A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun; - A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; - Long had I watched the glory moving on, - O’er the still radiance of the lake below; - Tranquil its spirit seemed and floated slow; 5 - Even in its very motion there was rest; - While every breath of eve that chanced to blow - Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West. - Emblem, methought, of the departed soul! - To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; 10 - And by the breath of mercy made to roll - Right onward to the golden gates of heaven; - Where to the eye of Faith it peaceful lies, - And tells to man his glorious destinies. - _John Wilson._ - - - - -CCLVII - -_NIGHT AND DEATH._ - - - Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew - Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, - Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, - This glorious canopy of light and blue? - Yet ’neath a curtain of translucent dew, 5 - Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, - Hesperus with the host of heaven came, - And lo! creation widened in man’s view. - Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed - Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find, 10 - Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, - That to such countless orbs thou mad’st us blind! - Why do we then shun death with anxious strife? - If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? - _Blanco White._ - - - - -PART THE FIFTH. - - - - -CCLVIII - -_THE FORSAKEN MERMAN._ - - - Come, dear children, let us away; - Down and away below. - Now my brothers call from the bay; - Now the great winds shorewards blow; - Now the salt tides seawards flow; 5 - Now the wild white horses play, - Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. - Children dear, let us away. - This way, this way. - - Call her once before you go. 10 - Call once yet, - In a voice that she will know: - ‘Margaret! Margaret!’ - Children’s voices should be dear - (Call once more) to a mother’s ear: 15 - Children’s voices, wild with pain: - Surely she will come again. - Call her once, and come away. - This way, this way. - ‘Mother dear, we cannot stay.’ 20 - The wild white horses foam and fret. - Margaret! Margaret! - - Come, dear children, come away down. - Call no more. - One last look at the white-walled town, 25 - And the little gray church on the windy shore, - Then come down. - She will not come, though you call all day. - Come away, come away. - - Children dear, was it yesterday 30 - We heard the sweet bells over the bay? - In the caverns where we lay, - Through the surf and through the swell, - The far-off sound of a silver bell? - Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35 - Where the winds are all asleep; - Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; - Where the salt weed sways in the stream; - Where the sea-beasts ranged all round - Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 40 - Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, - Dry their mail, and bask in the brine; - Where great whales come sailing by, - Sail and sail, with unshut eye, - Round the world for ever and aye? 45 - When did music come this way? - Children dear, was it yesterday? - - Children dear, was it yesterday - (Call yet once) that she went away? - Once she sate with you and me, 50 - On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, - And the youngest sate on her knee. - She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well, - When down swung the sound of the far-off bell. 54 - She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea; - She said; ‘I must go, for my kinsfolk pray - In the little gray church on the shore to-day. - ’Twill be Easter-time in the world--ah me! - And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.’ - I said; ‘Go up, dear heart, through the waves. 60 - Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves.’ - She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. - Children dear, was it yesterday? - - Children dear, were we long alone? - ‘The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan. 65 - Long prayers,’ I said, ‘in the world they say. - Come,’ I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. - We went up the beach, by the sandy down - Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town. - Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70 - To the little gray church on the windy hill. - From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, - But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. - We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, - And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. - She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: 76 - ‘Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. - Dear heart,’ I said, ‘we are long alone. - The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.’ - But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 - For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. - ‘Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.’ - Come away, children, call no more. - Come away, come down, call no more. - - Down, down, down. 85 - Down to the depths of the sea. - She sits at her wheel in the humming town, - Singing most joyfully. - Hark, what she sings; ‘O joy, O joy, - For the humming street, and the child with its toy, 90 - For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well, - For the wheel where I spun, - And the blessèd light of the sun.’ - And so she sings her fill, - Singing most joyfully, 95 - Till the shuttle falls from her hand, - And the whizzing wheel stands still. - She steals to the window, and looks at the sand; - And over the sand at the sea; - And her eyes are set in a stare; 100 - And anon there breaks a sigh, - And anon there drops a tear, - From a sorrow-clouded eye, - And a heart sorrow-laden, - A long, long sigh, 105 - For the cold strange eyes of a little mermaiden, - And the gleam of her golden hair. - - Come away, away, children, - Come, children, come down. - The hoarse wind blows colder, 110 - Lights shine in the town. - She will start from her slumber - When gusts shake the door; - She will hear the winds howling, - Will hear the waves roar. 115 - We shall see, while above us - The waves roar and whirl, - A ceiling of amber, - A pavement of pearl, - Singing, ‘Here came a mortal, 120 - But faithless was she, - And alone dwell for ever - The kings of the sea.’ - - But, children, at midnight, - When soft the winds blow; 125 - When clear falls the moonlight; - When spring-tides are low: - When sweet airs come seaward - From heaths starred with broom; - And high rocks throw mildly 130 - On the blanched sands a gloom: - Up the still, glistening beaches, - Up the creeks we will hie; - Over banks of bright seaweed - The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 - We will gaze, from the sand-hills, - At the white, sleeping town; - At the church on the hill-side-- - And then come back down. - Singing, ‘There dwells a loved one, 140 - But cruel is she; - She left lonely for ever - The kings of the sea.’ - _Matthew Arnold._ - - - - -CCLIX - -_THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN._ - -A CHILD’S STORY. - - - Hamelin Town’s in Brunswick, - By famous Hanover city; - The river Weser, deep and wide, - Washes its wall on the southern side; - A pleasanter spot you never spied; 5 - But, when begins my ditty, - Almost five hundred years ago, - To see the townsfolk suffer so - From vermin was a pity. - - Rats! 10 - They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, - And bit the babies in the cradles, - And ate the cheeses out of the vats, - And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles, - Split open the kegs of salted sprats, 15 - Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats, - And even spoiled the women’s chats, - By drowning their speaking - With shrieking and squeaking - In fifty different sharps and flats. 20 - At last the people in a body - To the Town Hall came flocking: - ‘’Tis clear,’ cried they, ‘our Mayor’s a noddy; - And as for our Corporation--shocking - To think we buy gowns lined with ermine 25 - For dolts that can’t or won’t determine - What’s best to rid us of our vermin! - You hope, because you’re old and obese, - To find in the furry civic robe ease? - Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking 30 - To find the remedy we’re lacking, - Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!’ - At this the Mayor and Corporation - Quaked with a mighty consternation. - - An hour they sate in council, 35 - At length the Mayor broke silence: - ‘For a guilder I’d my ermine gown sell; - I wish I were a mile hence! - It’s easy to bid one rack one’s brain-- - I’m sure my poor head aches again 40 - I’ve scratched it so, and all in vain, - Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!’ - Just as he said this, what should hap - At the chamber door but a gentle tap? - ‘Bless us,’ cried the Mayor, ‘what’s that?’ 45 - (With the Corporation as he sat, - Looking little though wondrous fat; - Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister, - Than a too-long-opened oyster, - Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous 50 - For a plate of turtle green and glutinous), - ‘Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? - Anything like the sound of a rat - Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!’ - - ‘Come in!’--the Mayor cried, looking bigger: 55 - And in did come the strangest figure. - His queer long coat from heel to head - Was half of yellow and half of red; - And he himself was tall and thin, - With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, 60 - And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, - No tuft on cheek, nor beard on chin, - But lips where smiles went out and in-- - There was no guessing his kith and kin! - And nobody could enough admire 65 - The tall man and his quaint attire. - Quoth one: ‘It’s as my great grandsire, - Starting up at the Trump of Doom’s tone, - Had walked this way from his painted tombstone.’ - - He advanced to the council-table: 70 - And, ‘Please your honours,’ said he, ‘I’m able, - By means of a secret charm, to draw - All creatures living beneath the sun, - That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, - After me so as you never saw! 75 - And I chiefly use my charm - On creatures that do people harm, - The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper; - And people call me the Pied Piper.’ - (And here they noticed round his neck 80 - A scarf of red and yellow stripe, - To match with his coat of the self-same cheque; - And at the scarf’s end hung a pipe; - And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying, - As if impatient to be playing 85 - Upon this pipe, as low it dangled - Over his vesture so old-fangled.) - ‘Yet,’ said he, ‘poor Piper as I am, - In Tartary I freed the Cham, - Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; 90 - I eased in Asia the Nizam - Of a monstrous brood of vampyre bats: - And, as for what your brain bewilders, - If I can rid your town of rats - Will you give me a thousand guilders?’ 95 - ‘One? fifty thousand!’--was the exclamation - Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. - - Into the street the Piper stept, - Smiling first a little smile, - As if he knew what magic slept 100 - In his quiet pipe the while; - Then, like a musical adept, - To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, - And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, - Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; 105 - And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, - You heard as if an army muttered; - And the muttering grew to a grumbling; - And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; - And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. 110 - Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, - Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, - Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, - Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, - Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, 115 - Families by tens and dozens, - Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- - Followed the Piper for their lives. - From street to street he piped advancing - And step for step they followed dancing, 120 - Until they came to the river Weser, - Wherein all plunged and perished - --Save one, who, stout as Julius Cæsar, - Swam across and lived to carry - (As he the manuscript he cherished) 125 - To Rat-land home his commentary, - Which was, ‘At the first shrill notes of the pipe, - I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, - And putting apples, wondrous ripe, - Into a cider-press’s gripe; 130 - And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, - And a leaving ajar of conserve cupboards, - And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, - And a breaking the hoops of butter casks; - And it seemed as if a voice 135 - (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery - Is breathed) called out, Oh! rats, rejoice! - The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! - So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, - Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! 140 - And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, - All ready staved, like a great sun shone - Glorious scarce an inch before me, - Just as methought it said, Come, bore me! - --I found the Weser rolling o’er me.’ 145 - - You should have heard the Hamelin people - Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. - ‘Go,’ cried the Mayor, ‘and get long poles! - Poke out the nests and block up the holes! - Consult with carpenters and builders, 150 - And leave in our town not even a trace - Of the rats!’--when suddenly up the face - Of the Piper perked in the market-place, - With a, ‘First, if you please, my thousand guilders!’ - - A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; 155 - So did the Corporation too. - For council dinners made rare havock - With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; - And half the money would replenish - Their cellar’s biggest butt with Rhenish. 160 - To pay this sum to a wandering fellow - With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! - ‘Beside,’ quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, - ‘Our business was done at the river’s brink; - We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, 165 - And what’s dead can’t come to life, I think. - So, friend, we’re not the folks to shrink - From the duty of giving you something for drink, - And a matter of money to put in your poke; - But, as for the guilders, what we spoke 170 - Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. - Beside, our losses have made us thrifty; - A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!’ - - The Piper’s face fell, and he cried, - ‘No trifling! I can’t wait, beside! 175 - I’ve promised to visit by dinner-time - Bagdad, and accept the prime - Of the Head Cook’s pottage, all he’s rich in, - For having left, in the Caliph’s kitchen, - Of a nest of scorpions no survivor-- 180 - With him I proved no bargain-driver, - With you, don’t think I’ll bate a stiver! - And folks who put me in a passion - May find me pipe to another fashion.’ - - ‘How?’ cried the Mayor, ‘d’ye think I’ll brook 185 - Being worse treated than a Cook? - Insulted by a lazy ribald - With idle pipe and vesture piebald? - You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, - Blow your pipe there till you burst!’ 190 - - Once more he stept into the street; - And to his lips again - Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; - And ere he blew three notes (such sweet - Soft notes as yet musician’s cunning 195 - Never gave the enraptured air), - There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling - Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, - Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, - Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, 200 - And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, - Out came the children running. - All the little boys and girls, - With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, - And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls. 205 - Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after - The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. - - The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood - As if they were changed into blocks of wood, - Unable to move a step, or cry 210 - To the children merrily skipping by-- - And could only follow with the eye - That joyous crowd at the Piper’s back. - But how the Mayor was on the rack, - And the wretched Council’s bosoms beat, 215 - As the Piper turned from the High Street - To where the Weser rolled its waters - Right in the way of their sons and daughters! - However he turned from South to West, - And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, 220 - And after him the children pressed; - Great was the joy in every breast. - ‘He never can cross that mighty top! - He’s forced to let the piping drop, - And we shall see our children stop!’ 225 - When lo! as they reached the mountain’s side, - A wondrous portal opened wide, - As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; - And the Piper advanced and the children followed, - And when all were in to the very last, 230 - The door in the mountain-side shut fast. - Did I say all? No! one was lame, - And could not dance the whole of the way; - And in after years, if you would blame - His sadness, he was used to say,-- 235 - ‘It’s dull in our town since my playmates left; - I can’t forget that I’m bereft - Of all the pleasant sights they see, - Which the Piper also promised me; - For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, 240 - Joining the town and just at hand, - Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, - And flowers put forth a fairer hue, - And everything was strange and new; - The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, 245 - And their dogs outran our fallow deer, - And honey-bees had lost their stings; - And horses were born with eagle’s wings; - And just as I became assured - My lame foot would be speedily cured, 250 - The music stopped, and I stood still, - And found myself outside the Hill, - Left alone against my will, - To go now limping as before, - And never hear of that country more!’ 255 - - Alas, alas for Hamelin! - There came into many a burgher’s pate - A text which says, that Heaven’s Gate - Opes to the rich at as easy rate - As the needle’s eye takes a camel in! 260 - The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, - To offer the Piper by word of mouth, - Wherever it was men’s lot to find him, - Silver and gold to his heart’s content, - If he’d only return the way he went, 265 - And bring the children behind him. - But when they saw ’twas a lost endeavour, - And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, - They made a decree that lawyers never - Should think their records dated duly, 270 - If, after the day of the month and year, - These words did not as well appear, - ‘And so long after what happened here - On the twenty-second of July, - Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:’ 275 - And the better in memory to fix - The place of the children’s last retreat, - They called it, the Pied Piper’s Street-- - Where anyone playing on pipe or tabor, - Was sure for the future to lose his labour. 280 - Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern - To shock with mirth a street so solemn; - But opposite the place of the cavern - They wrote the story on a column, - And on the great church-window painted 285 - The same, to make the world acquainted - How their children were stolen away; - And there it stands to this very day. - And I must not omit to say - That in Transylvania there’s a tribe 290 - Of alien people that ascribe - The outlandish ways and dress, - On which their neighbours lay such stress, - To their fathers and mothers having risen - Out of some subterraneous prison, 295 - Into which they were trepanned - Long time ago in a mighty band - Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, - But how or why they don’t understand. - - So, Willy, let you and me be wipers 300 - Of scores out with all men--especially pipers: - And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, - If we’ve promised them aught, let us keep our promise. - _Robert Browning._ - - - - -CCLX - -_AUTUMN WOODS._ - - - Ere, in the northern gale, - The summer tresses of the trees are gone, - The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, - Have put their glory on. - - The mountains, that infold 5 - In their wide sweep the coloured landscape round, - Seem groups of giant kings, in purple’ and gold, - That guard the enchanted ground. - - I roam the woods that crown - The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, 10 - Where the gay company of trees look down - On the green fields below. - - My steps are not alone - In these bright walks; the sweet south-west at play, - Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown 15 - Along the winding way. - - And far in heaven, the while, - The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, - Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,-- - The sweetest of the year. 20 - - Where now the solemn shade, - Verdure and gloom where many branches meet-- - So grateful, when the noon of summer made - The valleys sick with heat? - - Let in through all the trees 25 - Come the strange rays: the forest depths are bright; - Their sunny-coloured foliage in the breeze - Twinkles, like beams of light. - - The rivulet, late unseen, - Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 30 - Shines with the image of its golden screen, - And glimmerings of the sun. - - But ’neath yon crimson tree, - Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, - Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, 35 - Her blush of maiden shame. - - Oh, Autumn! why so soon - Depart the hues that make thy forests glad; - Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, - And leave thee wild and sad? 40 - - Ah! ’twere a lot too blest, - For ever in thy coloured shades to stray; - Amid the kisses of the soft south-west - To rove and dream for aye; - - And leave the vain low strife 45 - That makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power, - The passions and the cares that wither life, - And waste its little hour. - _William Cullen Bryant._ - - - - -CCLXI - -_LAPSE._ - - - A heavenly Night!--methinks to me - The soul of other times returns; - Sweet as the scents the orange-tree - Drops in the wind-flower’s scarlet urns, - When sunset, like a city, burns 5 - Across the glassy midland sea. - - This night gives back that double day, - Which clothed the earth when I was young! - A light most like some godlike lay - By parted hero-angels sung:-- 10 - It stirred my heart; and through my tongue - It passed, methought,--but passed away. - - The entrancement of that time is o’er, - A calmer, freer soul is here; - I dream not as I dreamed of yore, 15 - Awake to sin, awake to fear; - I own the earth,--I see, I hear, - I feel;--oh, may I dream no more! - - Farewell, wild world of bygone days, - Here let me now more safely tread! 20 - I ask no glory’s vagrant blaze, - To dance around my shining head: - Be peace and hope my crown instead, - With love, God willing, for my praise! - _Thomas Burbidge._ - - - - -CCLXII - -_THE HUMBLE-BEE._ - - - Burly, dozing humble-bee, - Where thou art is clime for me. - Let them sail for Porto Rique, - Far-off heats through seas to seek; - I will follow thee alone, 5 - Thou animated torrid-zone! - Zigzag steerer, desert-cheerer, - Let me chase thy waving lines: - Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, - Singing over shrubs and vines. 10 - - Insect lover of the sun, - Joy of thy dominion! - Sailor of the atmosphere; - Swimmer through the waves of air; - Voyager of light and noon; 15 - Epicurean of June; - Wait, I prithee, till I come - Within earshot of thy hum,-- - All without is martyrdom. - - When the south wind, in May-days, 20 - With a net of shining haze - Silvers the horizon wall, - And, with softness touching all, - Tints the human countenance - With a colour of romance, 25 - And, infusing subtle heats, - Turns the sod to violets, - Thou, in sunny solitudes, - Rover of the underwoods, - The green silence dost displace 30 - With thy mellow, breezy bass. - - Hot midsummer’s petted crone, - Sweet to me thy drowsy tone - Tells of countless sunny hours, - Long days, and solid banks of flowers; 35 - Of gulfs of sweetness without bound, - In Indian wildernesses found; - Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, - Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. - - Aught unsavoury or unclean 40 - Hath my insect never seen; - But violets and bilberry bells, - Maple-sap, and daffodels, - Grass with green flag half-mast high, - Succory to match the sky, 45 - Columbine with horn of honey, - Scented fern, and agrimony, - Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongue, - And brier-roses, dwelt among; - All beside was unknown waste, 50 - All was picture as he passed. - - Wiser far than human seer, - Yellow-breeched philosopher! - Seeing only what is fair, - Sipping only what is sweet, 55 - Thou dost mock at fate and care, - Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. - When the fierce north-western blast - Cools sea and land so far and fast, - Thou already slumberest deep; 60 - Woe and want thou canst outsleep; - Want and woe, which torture us, - Thy sleep makes ridiculous. - _Ralph Waldo Emerson._ - - - - -CCLXIII - -_TO A WATERFOWL._ - - - Whither, midst falling dew, - While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, - Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue - Thy solitary way? - - Vainly the fowler’s eye 5 - Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, - As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, - Thy figure floats along. - - Seek’st thou the plashy brink - Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10 - Or where the rocking billows rise and sink - On the chafed ocean-side? - - There is a Power whose care - Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-- - The desert and illimitable air-- 15 - Lone-wandering, but not lost. - - All day thy wings have fanned, - At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, - Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, - Though the dark night is near. 20 - - And soon that toil shall end, - Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest - And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend - Soon o’er thy sheltered nest. - - Thou’ art gone--the abyss of heaven 25 - Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart - Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, - And shall not soon depart. - - He who, from zone to zone, - Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 - In the long way that I must tread alone, - Will lead my steps aright. - _William Cullen Bryant._ - - - - -CCLXIV - -_ASPIRATION._ - - - Joy for the promise of our loftier homes! - Joy for the promise of another birth! - For oft oppressive unto pain becomes - The riddle of the earth. - - A weary weight it lay upon my youth, 5 - Ere I could tell of what I should complain; - My very childhood was not free, in truth, - From something of that pain. - - Hours of a dim despondency were there, - Like clouds that take its colour from the rose, 10 - Which, knowing not the darkness of the air, - But its own sadness knows. - - Youth grew in strength--to bear a stronger chain; - In knowledge grew--to know itself a slave; - And broke its narrower shells again, again, 15 - To feel a wider grave. - - What woe into the startled spirit sank, - When first it knew the inaudible recall,-- - When first in the illimitable blank - It touched the crystal wall! 20 - - Far spreads this mystery of death and sin, - Year beyond year in gloomy tumult rolls; - And day encircling day clasps closer in - Our solitary souls. - - O for the time when in our seraph wings 25 - We veil our brows before the Eternal Throne-- - The day when drinking knowledge at its springs, - We know as we are known. - _Thomas Burbidge._ - - - - -CCLXV - -_THE PALM-TREE AND THE PINE._ - - - Beneath an Indian palm a girl - Of other blood reposes; - Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl, - Amid that wild of roses. - - Beside a northern pine a boy 5 - Is learning fancy-bound, - Nor listens where with noisy joy - Awaits the impatient hound. - - Cool grows the sick and feverish calm, - Relaxt the frosty twine; 10 - The pine-tree dreameth of the palm, - The palm-tree of the pine. - - As soon shall nature interlace - Those dimly-visioned boughs, - As these young lovers face to face 15 - Renew their early vows. - _Lord Houghton._ - - - - -CCLXVI - -_A SUMMER REMINISCENCE._ - - - I hear no more the locust beat - His shrill loud drum through all the day; - I miss the mingled odours sweet - Of clover and of scented hay. - - No more I hear the smothered song 5 - From hedges guarded thick with thorn: - The days grow brief, the nights are long, - The light comes like a ghost at morn. - - I sit before my fire alone, - And idly dream of all the past: 10 - I think of moments that are flown-- - Alas! they were too sweet to last. - - The warmth that filled the languid noons-- - The purple waves of trembling haze-- - The liquid light of silver moons-- 15 - The summer sunset’s golden blaze. - - I feel the soft winds fan my cheek, - I hear them murmur through the rye, - I see the milky clouds that seek - Some nameless harbour in the sky. 20 - - The stile beside the spreading pine, - The pleasant fields beyond the grove, - The lawn where, underneath the vine, - She sang the song I used to love. - - The path along the windy beach, 25 - That leaves the shadowy linden tree, - And goes by sandy capes that reach - Their shining arms to clasp the sea. - - I view them all, I tread once more - In meadow-grasses cool and deep; 30 - I walk beside the sounding shore, - I climb again the wooded steep. - - Oh, happy hours of pure delight! - Sweet moments drowned in wells of bliss! - Oh, halcyon days so calm and bright-- 35 - Each morn and evening seemed to kiss! - - And that whereon I saw her first, - While angling in the noisy brook, - When through the tangled wood she burst; - In one small hand a glove and book, 40 - - As with the other, dimpled, white, - She held the slender boughs aside, - While through the leaves the yellow light - Like golden water seemed to glide, - - And broke in ripples on her neck, 45 - And played like fire around her hat, - And slid adown her form to fleck - The moss-grown rock on which I sat. - - She standing rapt in sweet surprise, - And seeming doubtful if to turn; 50 - Her novel, as I raised my eyes, - Dropped down amid the tall green fern. - - This day and that--the one so bright, - The other like a thing forlorn; - To-morrow, and the early light 55 - Will shine upon her marriage morn. - - For when the mellow autumn flushed - The thickets where the chestnut fell, - And in the vales the maple blushed, - Another came who knew her well, 60 - - Who sat with her below the pine, - And with her through the meadow moved, - And underneath the purpling vine - She sang to him the song I loved. - _Nathaniel G. Shepherd._ - - - - -CCLXVII - -_SONG._ - - - Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; - The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, - With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; - But O too fond, when have I answered thee? - Ask me no more. 5 - - Ask me no more: what answer should I give? - I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: - Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! - Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; - Ask me no more. 10 - - Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: - I strove against the stream and all in vain: - Let the great river take me to the main: - No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; - Ask me no more. 15 - _Alfred Tennyson._ - - - - -CCLXVIII - -_THE VIOLET._ - - - Oh faint, delicious, spring-time violet, - Thine odour, like a key, - Turns noiselessly in memory’s wards to let - A thought of sorrow free. - - The breath of distant fields upon my brow 5 - Blows through that open door, - The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet and low - And sadder than of yore. - - It comes afar, from that belovèd place, - And that belovèd hour, 10 - When life hung ripening in love’s golden grace, - Like grapes above a bower. - - A spring goes singing through its reedy grass, - A lark sings o’er my head, - Drowned in the sky--O pass, ye visions, pass, 15 - I would that I were dead!-- - - Why hast thou opened that forbidden door - From which I ever flee? - O vanished Joy! O Love that art no more, - Let my vexed spirit be! 20 - - O violet! thy odour through my brain - Hath searched, and stung to grief - This sunny day, as if a curse did stain - Thy velvet leaf. - _William W. Story._ - - - - -CCLXIX - -_JOY._ - - - Sweet order hath its draught of bliss - Graced with the pearl of God’s consent, - Ten times ecstatic in that ’tis - Considerate and innocent. - In vain disorder grasps the cup; 5 - The pleasure’s not enjoyed, but spilt; - And, if he stoops to lick it up, - It only tastes of earth and guilt; - His sorry raptures rest destroys; - To live, like comets they must roam; 10 - On settled poles turn solid joys, - And sun-like pleasures shine at home. - _Coventry Patmore._ - - - - -CCLXX - -_THE HAPPY HUSBAND._ - - - He safely walks in darkest ways, - Whose youth is lighted from above, - Where through the senses’ silvery haze - Dawns the veiled moon of nuptial love. - - Who is the happy husband? He, 5 - Who scanning his unwedded life, - Thanks Heaven, with a conscience free, - ’Twas faithful to his future wife. - _Coventry Patmore._ - - - - -CCLXXI - -_THEN._ - - - I give thee treasures hour by hour, - That old-time princes asked in vain, - And pined for in their useless power, - Or died of passion’s eager pain. - - I give thee love as God gives light, 5 - Aside from merit, or from prayer, - Rejoicing in its own delight, - And freer than the lavish air. - - I give thee prayers, like jewels strung - On golden threads of hope and fear; 10 - And tenderer thoughts than ever hung - In a sad angel’s pitying tear. - - As earth pours freely to the sea - Her thousand streams of wealth untold, - So flows my silent life to thee, 15 - Glad that its very sands are gold. - - What care I for thy carelessness? - I give from depths that overflow, - Regardless that their power to bless - Thy spirit cannot sound or know. 20 - - Far lingering on a distant dawn - My triumph shines, more sweet than late; - When from these mortal mists withdrawn, - Thy heart shall know me--I can wait. - _Rose Terry._ - - - - -CCLXXII - -_THE PRINCE OF ORANGE IN 1672._ - - - If the base violence of wicked men - Prevail at last; if Charles, to please his lord, - And Louis, for his glory much concerned, - Must needs snatch from us our sea-rescued plains, - Which soon the tides will make their own again, 5 - When once the strenuous freemen shall have fled, - At whose command they ebbed with angry bark; - If France must needs prevail and we must yield, - Then we will yield our lands, but not ourselves. - Ships we have left that will contain, I judge, 10 - Two hundred thousand steadfast Hollanders; - And ’twixt the realms where our oppressors live - A heaving highway lies, to Dutchmen known, - And to be known hereafter in all lands-- - The highway of the exodus of freedom! 15 - Prepare then for departure, citizens; - And for the little space that yet remains, - Make much of home and of your fatherland; - Visit your fathers’ graves, take note of all - The furniture of your ancestral homes, 20 - And let your hearts take the impression off - To furnish dreams beside the Southern sea; - Fetch home at once your children from the school, - And in the garden turn them loose to play, - Nor let them want for marbles, hoops, and balls, 25 - That in their old age they may tell their boys - Their home in the cold North was not unsweet. - If any skilful painter be among you, - At some resplendent noontide let him sit, - And paint the busiest street in Amsterdam; 30 - Nor let him slur one stain upon a brick, - Nor smoke-dulled slip of greenery in a window; - And every old cathedral let him paint, - The columns ranged as in some grove of pines, - And windows richer than the sunset clouds, 35 - Wherein the Christ for centuries has smiled, - And rich-robed haloed saints regarded Him; - The Colleges of Leyden and Utrecht, - The solemn libraries, with portraits hung - Of Gerard and à Kempis, let him paint, 40 - And let him paint the Liberator’s grave: - The artist that preserves our Holland for us - Shall be much honoured in our Southern home. - So, bearing with us all that can be moved, - We will weigh anchor to the sound of psalms, 45 - And winds from heaven shall waft us to the west, - Between the shores of tyranny on the left, - And the pale cliffs of falsehood on the right; - While looking towards the north, our captains tell - To wondering maidens and exulting boys, 50 - How through the helpless Medway’s mouth they sailed, - And saw the towering Keep of Rochester; - While looking towards the south, another group - Hangs on the lips of some book-learnèd man, - Who tells the tale of Egmont and St. Quentin: 55 - Till the low-lying shores recede from sight, - And ancient Europe hide herself in foam, - Mother of heroes, nurse of beauteous arts, - Of serious letters and high Christian truth, - Rich bower of beauty, garden fenced with men, 60 - And gorgeous with all blooms of womanhood, - Temple inviolate of faith and truth - And liberty--until the iron time. - She for a while shall seem to us far off, - A speck of dimness on the sunbright shield, 65 - A roughness on the fine encircling thread, - Until the horizon show a perfect ring, - And the free nation ride on vaster waves, - Plunge onward into more transparent seas, - Under more deep ambrosial domes of night, 70 - Into that second Holland like the first, - But glad with fuller harvests, richer fruits, - Where neither Frenchmen nor rude seas encroach. - _John Robertson._ - - - - -CCLXXIII - -_THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS._ - - - _Last night_, among his fellow roughs, - He jested, quaffed, and swore; - A drunken private of the Buffs, - Who never looked before. - _To-day_, beneath the foeman’s frown, 5 - He stands in Elgin’s place, - Ambassador from Britain’s crown, - And type of all her race. - - Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, - Bewildered, and alone, 10 - A heart, with English instinct fraught, - He yet can call his own. - Ay, tear his body limb from limb, - Bring cord, or axe, or flame: - He only knows, that not through _him_ 15 - Shall England come to shame. - - Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed, - Like dreams, to come and go; - Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed, - One sheet of living snow; 20 - The smoke, above his father’s door, - In gray soft eddyings hung: - Must he then watch it rise no more, - Doomed by himself, so young? - - Yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel 25 - He put the vision by; - Let dusky Indians whine and kneel; - An English lad must die. - And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, - With knee to man unbent, 30 - Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, - To his red grave he went. - - Vain, mightiest fleets, of iron framed; - Vain, those all-shattering guns; - Unless proud England keep, untamed, 35 - The strong heart of her sons. - So, let his name through Europe ring-- - A man of mean estate, - Who died, as firm as Sparta’s king, - Because his soul was great. 40 - _Sir Francis Hastings Doyle._ - - - - -CCLXXIV - -_ON A PICTURE BY TURNER._ - - - See how the small concentrate fiery force - Is grappling with the glory of the main, - That follows like some grave heroic corse, - Dragged by a sutler from the heap of slain. - Thy solemn presence brings us more than pain,-- 5 - Something which Fancy moulds into remorse, - That we, who of thine honour held the gain, - Should from its dignity thy form divorce. - Yet will we read in thy high vaunting name, - How Britain _did_ what France could only _dare_, 10 - And, while the sunset gilds the darkening air, - We will fill up thy shadowy lines with fame; - And, tomb or temple, hail thee still the same, - Home of great thoughts, memorial Téméraire. - _Lord Houghton._ - - - - -CCLXXV - -_THE RHODORA_: - -ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? - - - In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, - I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, - Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, - To please the desert and the sluggish brook; - The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 5 - Made the black water with their beauty gay; - Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool, - And court the flower that cheapens his array. - Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why - This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, 10 - Dear, tell them that if eyes were made for seeing, - Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: - Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! - I never thought to ask, I never knew; - But, in my simple ignorance, suppose - The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. - _Ralph Waldo Emerson._ - - - - -CCLXXVI - -_THE GOOD PART THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY._ - - - She dwells by Great Kenhawa’s side, - In valleys green and cool, - And all her hope and all her pride - Are in the village school. - - Her soul, like the transparent air 5 - That robes the hills above, - Though not of earth, encircles there - All things with arms of love. - - And thus she walks among her girls - With praise and mild rebukes; 10 - Subduing e’en rude village churls - By her angelic looks. - - She reads to them at eventide - Of One who came to save; - To cast the captives’ chains aside, 15 - And liberate the slave. - - And oft the blessèd time foretells - When all men shall be free; - And musical as silver bells, - Their falling chains shall be. 20 - - And following her belovèd Lord - In decent poverty, - She makes her life one sweet record - And deed of charity. - - For she was rich, and gave up all 25 - To break the iron bands - Of those who waited in her hall, - And laboured in her lands. - - Long since beyond the Southern Sea - Their outbound sails have sped, 30 - While she in meek humility, - Now earns her daily bread. - - It is their prayers which never cease, - That clothe her with such grace: - Their blessing is the light of peace, 35 - That shines upon her face. - _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ - - - - -CCLXXVII - -_IN WAR TIME._ - - - The flags of war like storm-birds fly, - The charging trumpets blow; - Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, - No earthquake strives below. - - And, calm and patient, Nature keeps 5 - Her ancient promise well, - Though o’er her bloom and greenness sweeps - The battle’s breath of hell. - - And still she walks in golden hours - Through harvest-happy farms, 10 - And still she wears her fruits and flowers - Like jewels on her arms. - - What mean the gladness of the plain, - This joy of eve and morn, - The mirth that shakes the beard of grain 15 - And yellow locks of corn? - - Ah! eyes may well be full of tears, - And hearts with hate are hot; - But even-paced come round the years, - And Nature changes not. 20 - - She meets with smiles our bitter grief, - With songs our groans of pain; - She mocks with tint of flower and leaf - The war-field’s crimson stain. - - Still, in the cannon’s pause we hear 25 - Her sweet thanksgiving psalm; - Too near to God for doubt or fear, - She shares the eternal calm. - - She knows the seed lies safe below - The fires that blast and burn; 30 - For all the tears of blood we sow - She waits the rich return. - - She sees with clearer eye than ours - The good of suffering born,-- - The hearts that blossom like her flowers, 35 - And ripen like her corn. - - O, give to us, in times like these, - The vision of her eyes; - And make her fields and fruited trees - Our golden prophecies! 40 - - O, give to us her finer ear! - Above this stormy din, - We too would hear the bells of cheer - Ring peace and freedom in! - _John George Whittier._ - - - - -CCLXXVIII - -_COME UP FROM THE FIELDS, FATHER._ - - - Come up from the fields, father; here’s a letter from our Pete, - And come to the front door, mother; here’s a letter from thy dear son. - Lo, ’tis autumn; - Lo where the fields, deeper green, yellower and redder, - Cool and sweeten Ohio’s villages, with leaves fluttering in the - moderate wind; 5 - Where apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the trellised vines - (Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines? - Smell you the buckwheat, where the bees were lately buzzing?) - - Above all, lo! the sky, so calm, so transparent after the rain and with - wondrous clouds; - Below too all calm, all vital and beautiful--and the farm prospers - well. 10 - - Down in the fields all prospers well; - But now from the fields come, father--come at the daughter’s call; - And come to the entry, mother--to the front door come, right away. - - Fast as she can she hurries--something ominous--her steps trembling; - She does not tarry to smooth her white hair, nor adjust her cap. 15 - - Open the envelope quickly; - Oh this is not our son’s writing, yet his name is signed. - Oh a strange hand writes for our dear son--oh stricken mother’s soul! - All swims before her eyes--flashes with black--she catches the main - words only; - Sentences broken--_gunshot wound in the breast_--_cavalry skirmish, - taken to hospital, 20 - At present low, but will soon be better_. - - Ah! now the single figure to me - Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities and farms, - Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint, - By the jamb of a door leans. 25 - - _Grieve not so, dear mother_ (the just grown daughter speaks - through her sobs; - The little sisters huddle around, speechless and dismayed). - _See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better._ - - Alas, poor boy, he will never be better (nor, may be, needs to - be better, that brave and simple soul). - While they stand at home at the door he is dead already, 30 - The only son is dead. - - But the mother needs to be better; - She, with thin form, presently drest in black; - By day her meals untouched--then at night fitfully sleeping, - often waking, - In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing, 35 - Oh, that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life, escape - and withdraw - To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son. - _Walt Whitman._ - - - - -CCLXXIX - -_SONNET._ - - - Through the night, through the night, - In the saddest unrest, - Wrapt in white, all in white, - With her babe on her breast, - Walks the mother so pale, 5 - Staring out on the gale - Through the night! - - Through the night, through the night, - Where the sea lifts the wreck, - Land in sight, close in sight! 10 - On the surf-flooded deck - Stands the father so brave, - Drawing on to his grave - Through the night! - _Richard Henry Stoddard._ - - - - -CCLXXX - -_A DEDICATION TO CHARLES DICKENS OF THE LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH._ - - - Genius and its rewards are briefly told - A liberal nature and a niggard doom, - A difficult journey to a splendid tomb. - New writ, nor lightly weighed that story old - In gentle Goldsmith’s life I here unfold: 5 - Through other than lone wild or desert gloom, - In its mere joy and pain, its blight and bloom, - Adventurous. Come with me and behold, - O friend with heart as gentle for distress, - As resolute with wise true thoughts to bind 10 - The happiest to the unhappiest of our kind, - That there is fiercer crowded misery - In garret toil and London loneliness - Than in cruel islands mid the far-off sea. - _John Forster._ - - - - -CCLXXXI - -_SONNET._ - - - Sad is our youth, for it is ever going, - Crumbling away beneath our very feet; - Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing - In current unperceived, because so fleet; - Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sowing-- 5 - But tares, self-sown, have over-topped the wheat; - Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing-- - And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet; - And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us - Of that which made our childhood sweeter still; 10 - And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us - A newer good to cure an older ill; - And sweet are all things when we learn to prize them - Not for their sake, but His who grants them or denies them. - _Aubrey De Vere._ - - - - -CCLXXXII - -_THE UGLY PRINCESS._ - - - My parents bow, and lead them forth, - For all the crowd to see-- - Ah well! the people might not care - To cheer a dwarf like me. - - They little know how I could love, 5 - How I could plan and toil, - To swell those drudges’ scanty gains, - Their mites of rye and oil. - - They little know what dreams have been - My playmates, night and day, 10 - Of equal kindness, helpful care, - A mother’s perfect sway. - - Now earth to earth in convent walls, - To earth in churchyard sod: - I was not good enough for man, 15 - And so am given to God. - _Charles Kingsley._ - - - - -CCLXXXIII - -_WEARINESS._ - - - O little feet! that such long years - Must wander on through hopes and fears, - Must ache and bleed beneath your load; - I, nearer to the wayside inn - Where toil shall cease and rest begin, - Am weary, thinking of your road! - - O little hands! that, weak or strong, - Have still to serve or rule so long, - Have still so long to give or ask; - I, who so much with book and pen 10 - Have toiled among my fellow-men, - Am weary, thinking of your task. - - O little hearts! that throb and beat - With such impatient feverish heat, - Such limitless and strong desires; 15 - Mine that so long has glowed and burned - With passions into ashes turned, - Now covers and conceals its fires. - - O little souls! as pure and white - And crystalline as rays of light 20 - Direct from Heaven, their source divine; - Refracted through the mist of years, - How red my setting sun appears, - How lurid looks this soul of mine! - _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow._ - - - - -CCLXXXIV - -_SONG._ - - - ‘O lady, thy lover is dead,’ they cried; - ‘He is dead, but hath slain the foe; - He hath left his name to be magnified - In a song of wonder and woe.’ - - ‘Alas! I am well repaid,’ said she, 5 - ‘With a pain that stings like joy; - For I feared, from his tenderness to me, - That he was but a feeble boy. - - ‘Now I shall hold my head on high, - The queen among my kind. 10 - If ye hear a sound, ’tis only a sigh - For a glory left behind.’ - _George MacDonald._ - - - - -CCLXXXV - -_SONNET._ - - - A hundred wings are dropt as soft as one; - Now ye are lighted--lovely to my sight - The fearful circle of your gentle flight, - Rapid and mute, and drawing homeward soon: - And then the sober chiding of your tone, 5 - As ye sit there from your own roofs arraigning - My trespass on your haunts, so boldly done, - Sounds like a solemn and a just complaining! - O happy, happy race! for though there clings - A feeble fear about your timid clan, 10 - Yet are ye blest! with not a thought that brings - Disquietude, while proud and sorrowing man, - An eagle weary of his mighty wings, - With anxious inquest fills his little span. - _Charles Tennyson._ - - - - -CCLXXXVI - -_SONNET._ - - - The Ocean at the bidding of the Moon - For ever changes with his restless tide: - Flung shoreward now, to be regathered soon - With kingly pauses of reluctant pride, - And semblance of return. Anon from home 5 - He issues forth anew, high-ridged and free-- - The gentlest murmur of his seething foam - Like armies whispering where great echoes be. - O leave me here upon this beach to rove, - Mute listener to that sound so grand and lone; 10 - A glorious sound, deep drawn, and strongly thrown, - And reaching those on mountain heights above, - To British ears, (as who shall scorn to own?) - A tutelar fond voice, a saviour tone of love. - _Charles Tennyson._ - - - - -CCLXXXVII - -_ALMOND BLOSSOM._ - - - Blossom of the almond trees, - April’s gift to April’s bees, - Birthday ornament of spring, - Flora’s fairest daughterling; - Coming when no flowerets dare 5 - Trust the cruel outer air; - When the royal kingcup bold - Dares not don his coat of gold; - And the sturdy black-thorn spray - Keeps his silver for the May;-- 10 - Coming when no flowerets would, - Save thy lowly sisterhood, - Early violets, blue and white, - Dying for their love of light. - Almond blossom, sent to teach us 15 - That the spring-days soon will reach us, - Lest, with longing over-tried, - We die as the violets died-- - Blossom, clouding all the tree - With thy crimson broidery, 20 - Long before a leaf of green - O’er the bravest bough is seen; - Ah! when winter winds are swinging - All thy red bells into ringing, - With a bee in every bell, 25 - Almond bloom, we greet thee well. - _Edwin Arnold._ - - - - -CCLXXXVIII - -_HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD._ - - - Oh to be in England - Now that April’s there, - And whoever wakes in England - Sees, some morning, unaware, - That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf 5 - Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, - While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough, - In England, now! - - And after April, when May follows, - And the whitethroat builds and all the swallows! 10 - Hark where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge - Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover - Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray’s edge-- - That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, - Lest you should think he never could recapture 15 - The first fine careless rapture! - And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, - All will be gay when noontide wakes anew - The buttercups--the little children’s dower,-- - Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower. 20 - _Robert Browning._ - - - - -CCLXXXIX - -_HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA._ - - - Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away; - Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; - Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; - In the dimmest North-east distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; - ‘Here and here did England help me; how can I help England?’ say, - Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, - While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. - _Robert Browning._ - - - - -CCXC - -_JAMES AND JOHN._ - - - Two brothers freely cast their lot - With David’s royal Son; - The cost of conquest counting not, - They deem the battle won. - - Brothers in heart, they hope to gain 5 - An undivided joy; - That man may one with man remain, - As boy was one with boy. - - Christ heard; and willed that James should fall, - First prey of Satan’s rage; 10 - John linger out his fellows all, - And die in bloodless age. - - Now they join hands once more above, - Before the Conqueror’s throne; - Thus God grants prayer, but in his love 15 - Makes times and ways his own. - _John Henry Newman._ - - - - -CCXCI - -_IN MEMORIAM._ - - - Fair ship, that from the Italian shore - Sailest the placid ocean-plains - With my lost Arthur’s loved remains, - Spread thy full wings, and waft him o’er. - - So draw him home to those that mourn 5 - In vain; a favourable speed - Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead - Through prosperous floods his holy urn. - - All night no ruder air perplex - Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright 10 - As our pure love, through early light - Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. - - Sphere all your lights around, above; - Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow; - Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, 15 - My friend, the brother of my love. - - My Arthur! whom I shall not see - Till all my widowed race be run; - Dear as the mother to the son, - More than my brothers are to me. 20 - _Alfred Tennyson._ - - - - -CCXCII - -_IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE HON. EDWARD ERNEST VILLIERS._ - - - A grace though melancholy, manly too, - Moulded his being; pensive, grave, serene, - O’er his habitual bearing and his mien - Unceasing pain, by patience tempered, threw - A shade of sweet austerity. But seen 5 - In happier hours and by the friendly few, - That curtain of the spirit was withdrawn, - And fancy light and playful as a fawn, - And reason imped with inquisition keen, - Knowledge long sought with ardour ever new, 10 - And wit love-kindled, showed in colours true - What genial joys with sufferings can consist; - Then did all sternness melt as melts a mist - Touched by the brightness of the golden dawn, - Aërial heights disclosing, valleys green, 15 - And sunlights thrown the woodland tufts between, - And flowers and spangles of the dewy lawn. - - And even the stranger, though he saw not these, - Saw what would not be willingly passed by. - In his deportment, even when cold and shy, 20 - Was seen a clear collectedness and ease, - A simple grace and gentle dignity, - That failed not at the first accost to please; - And as reserve relented by degrees, - So winning was his aspect and address, 25 - His smile so rich in sad felicities, - Accordant to a voice which charmed no less, - That who but saw him once remembered long, - And some in whom such images are strong - Have hoarded the impression in their heart, 30 - Fancy’s fond dreams and memory’s joys among, - Like some loved relic of romantic song, - Or cherished masterpiece of ancient art. - - His life was private; safely led, aloof - From the loud world,--which yet he understood 35 - Largely and wisely, as no worldling could. - For he by privilege of his nature proof - Against false glitter, from beneath the roof - Of privacy, as from a cave, surveyed - With stedfast eye its flickering light and shade, 40 - And gently judged for evil and for good. - But whilst he mixed not for his own behoof - In public strife, his spirit glowed with zeal, - Not shorn of action, for the public weal,-- - For truth and justice as its warp and woof, 45 - For freedom as its signature and seal. - His life thus sacred from the world, discharged - From vain ambition and inordinate care, - In virtue exercised, by reverence rare - Lifted, and by humility enlarged, 50 - Became a temple and a place of prayer. - In latter years he walked not singly there; - For one was with him ready at all hours - His griefs, his joys, his inmost thoughts to share, - Who buoyantly his burdens helped to bear, 55 - And decked his altars daily with fresh flowers. - - But further may we pass not; for the ground - Is holier than the Muse herself may tread; - Nor would I it should echo to a sound - Less solemn than the service for the dead. 60 - Mine is inferior matter,--my own loss,-- - The loss of dear delights for ever fled, - Of reason’s converse by affection fed, - Of wisdom, counsel, solace, that across - Life’s dreariest tracts a tender radiance shed. 65 - Friend of my youth! though younger, yet my guide, - How much by thy unerring insight clear - I shaped my way of life for many a year! - What thoughtful friendship on thy deathbed died! - Friend of my youth! whilst thou wast by my side 70 - Autumnal days still breathed a vernal breath; - How like a charm thy life to me supplied - All waste and injury of time and tide, - How like a disenchantment was thy death! - _Henry Taylor._ - - - - -CCXCIII - -_FOR CHARLIE’S SAKE._ - - - The night is late, the house is still; - The angels of the hour fulfil - Their tender ministries, and move - From couch to couch, in cares of love. - They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, 5 - The happiest smile of Charlie’s life, - And lay on baby’s lips a kiss, - Fresh from his angel-brother’s bliss; - And, as they pass, they seem to make - A strange, dim hymn, ‘For Charlie’s sake.’ 10 - - My listening heart takes up the strain, - And gives it to the night again, - Fitted with words of lowly praise, - And patience learned of mournful days, - And memories of the dead child’s ways. 15 - - His will be done, his will be done! - Who gave and took away my son, - In the ‘far land’ to shine and sing - Before the Beautiful, the King, - Who every day doth Christmas make, 20 - All starred and belled for Charlie’s sake, - - For Charlie’s sake I will arise; - I will anoint me where he lies, - And change my raiment, and go in - To the Lord’s house, and leave my sin 25 - Without, and seat me at his board, - Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. - For wherefore should I fast and weep, - And sullen moods of mourning keep? - I cannot bring him back, nor he, 30 - For any calling, come to me. - The bond the angel Death did sign, - God sealed--for Charlie’s sake and mine. - - I’m very poor--this slender stone - Marks all the narrow field I own; 35 - Yet, patient husbandman, I till, - With faith and prayers, that precious hill, - Sow it with penitential pains, - And, hopeful, wait the latter rains; - Content if, after all, the spot 40 - Yield barely one forget-me-not-- - Whether or figs or thistles make - My crop, content for Charlie’s sake. - - I have no houses, builded well-- - Only that little lonesome cell, 45 - Where never romping playmates come, - Nor bashful sweethearts, cunning-dumb-- - An April burst of girls and boys, - Their rainbowed cloud of glooms and joys - Born with their songs, gone with their toys; 50 - Nor ever is its stillness stirred - By purr of cat, or chirp of bird, - Or mother’s twilight legend, told - Of Horner’s pie, or Tiddler’s gold, - Or fairy hobbling to the door, 55 - Red-cloaked and weird, banned and poor, - To bless the good child’s gracious eyes, - The good child’s wistful charities, - And crippled changeling’s hunch to make - Dance on his crutch, for good child’s sake. 60 - - How is it with the child? ’Tis well; - Nor would I any miracle - Might stir my sleeper’s tranquil trance, - Or plague his painless countenance: - I would not any seer might place 65 - His staff on my immortal’s face, - Or lip to lip, and eye to eye, - Charm back his pale mortality. - No, Shunamite! I would not break - God’s stillness. Let them weep who wake; 70 - For Charlie’s sake my lot is blest: - No comfort like his mother’s breast, - No praise like hers; no charm expressed - In fairest forms hath half her zest. - For Charlie’s sake this bird’s caressed, 75 - That death left lonely in the nest; - For Charlie’s sake my heart is dressed, - As for its birthday, in its best; - For Charlie’s sake we leave the rest - To Him who gave, and who did take, 80 - And saved us twice, for Charlie’s sake. - _John Williamson Palmer._ - - - - -CCXCIV - -_THE LEGEND OF THE STEPMOTHER._ - - - As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, - Under the grass as I lay so deep, - As I lay asleep in my cotton sirk - Under the shade of Our Lady’s Kirk, - I wakened up in the dead of night, 5 - I wakened up in my death-sirk white, - And I heard a cry from far away, - And I knew the voice of my daughter May. - ‘Mother, mother, come hither to me! - Mother, mother, come hither and see! 10 - Mother, mother, mother dear, - Another mother is sitting here: - My body is bruised, and in pain I cry; - On straw in the dark afraid I lie; - I thirst and hunger for drink and meat, 15 - And, mother, mother, to sleep were sweet!’ - I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, - And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. - - I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, - Up I rose from my grave so deep! 20 - The earth was black, but overhead - The stars were yellow, the moon was red; - And I walked along all white and thin, - And lifted the latch and entered in, - And reached the chamber as dark as night, 25 - And though it was dark, my face was white. - ‘Mother, mother, I look on thee! - Mother, mother, you frighten me! - For your cheeks are thin, and your hair is gray.’ - But I smiled, and kissed her fears away, 30 - I smoothed her hair, and I sang a song, - And on my knee I rocked her long: - ‘O mother, mother, sing low to me; - I am sleepy now, and I cannot see!’ - I kissed her, but I could not weep, 35 - And she went to sleep, she went to sleep. - - As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep, - My May and I, in our grave so deep, - As we lay asleep in the midnight mirk, - Under the shade of Our Lady’s Kirk, 40 - I wakened up in the dead of night, - Though May, my daughter, lay warm and white, - And I heard the cry of a little one, - And I knew ’twas the voice of Hugh my son. - ‘Mother, mother, come hither to me! 45 - Mother, mother, come hither and see! - Mother, mother, mother dear, - Another mother is sitting here: - My body is bruised and my heart is sad, - But I speak my mind and call them bad; 50 - I thirst and hunger night and day, - And were I strong I would fly away!’ - I heard the cry, though my grave was deep, - And awoke from sleep, and awoke from sleep. - - I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep, 55 - Up I rose from my grave so deep; - The earth was black, but overhead - The stars were yellow, the moon was red; - And I walked along all white and thin, - And lifted the latch and entered in. 60 - ‘Mother, mother, and art thou here? - I know your face, and I feel no fear; - Raise me, mother, and kiss my cheek, - For oh I am weary, and sore, and weak.’ - I smoothed his hair with a mother’s joy, 65 - And he laughed aloud, my own brave boy; - I raised and held him on my breast, - Sang him a song and bade him rest. - ‘Mother, mother, sing low to me; - I am sleepy now, and I cannot see!’ 70 - I kissed him, and I could not weep, - As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep. - - As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, - With my girl and boy in my grave so deep, - As I lay asleep, I awoke in fear, 75 - Awoke, but awoke not my children dear, - And heard a cry so low and weak - From a tiny voice that could not speak; - I heard the cry of a little one, - My bairn that could neither talk nor run, 80 - My little little one, uncaressed, - Starving for lack of the milk of the breast; - And I rose from sleep and entered in, - And found my little one pinched and thin, - And crooned a song and hushed its moan, 85 - And put its lips to my white breast-bone; - And the red, red moon that lit the place - Went white to look at the little face, - And I kissed and kissed, and I could not weep, - As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. 90 - - As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep, - I set it down in the darkness deep, - Smoothed its limbs and laid it out, - And drew the curtains around about; - Then into the dark, dark room I hied, 95 - Where he lay awake at the woman’s side, - And, though the chamber was black as night, - He saw my face, for it was so white; - I gazed in his eyes, and he shrieked in pain, - And I knew he would never sleep again, 100 - And back to my grave went silently, - And soon my baby was brought to me; - My son and daughter beside me rest, - My little baby is on my breast; - Our bed is warm, and our grave is deep, 105 - But he cannot sleep, he cannot sleep! - _Robert Buchanan._ - - - - -CCXCV - -_THE SANDS OF DEE._ - - - ‘O Mary, go and call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - And call the cattle home, - Across the sands of Dee;’ - The western wind was wild and dank with foam, 5 - And all alone went she. - - The creeping tide crept up along the sand, - And o’er and o’er the sand, - And round and round the sand, - As far as eye could see. 10 - The blinding mist came down, and hid the land: - And never home came she. - - ‘Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-- - A tress of golden hair, - A drownèd maiden’s hair, - Above the nets at sea? - Was never salmon yet that shone so fair - Among the stakes on Dee.’ - - They rowed her in across the rolling foam, - The cruel crawling foam, 20 - The cruel hungry foam, - To her grave beside the sea: - But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home - Across the sands of Dee. - _Charles Kingsley._ - - - - -CCXCVI - -_A DIRGE._ - - - Softly! she is lying - With her lips apart: - Softly! she is dying - Of a broken heart. - - Whisper! she is going 5 - To her final rest: - Whisper! life is growing - Dim within her breast. - - Gently! she is sleeping, - She has breathed her last: 10 - Gently! while you’ are weeping, - She to Heaven has past. - _Charles Gamage Eastman._ - - - - -CCXCVII - -_DEATH AND LIFE._ - - - Her sufferings ended with the day! - Yet lived she at its close, - And breathed the long long night away - In statuelike repose. - - But when the Sun in all his state 5 - Illumed the eastern skies, - She passed through glory’s morning gate, - And walked in Paradise. - _James Aldrich._ - - - - -CCXCVIII - -_TITHONUS._ - - - The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, - The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, - Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, - And after many a summer dies the swan. - Me only cruel immortality 5 - Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, - Here at the quiet limit of the world, - A white-haired shadow roaming like a dream - The ever-silent spaces of the East, - Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. 10 - - Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man-- - So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, - Who madest him thy chosen, that he seemed - To his great heart none other than a God! - I asked thee, ‘Give me immortality.’ 15 - Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, - Like wealthy men who care not how they give. - But thy strong Hours indignant worked their wills, - And beat me down and marred and wasted me, - And though they could not end me, left me maimed 20 - To dwell in presence of immortal youth, - Immortal age beside immortal youth, - And all I was, in ashes. Can thy love, - Thy beauty, make amends, though even now, - Close over us, the silver star, thy guide, 25 - Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears - To hear me? Let me go: take back thy gift: - Why should a man desire in any way - To vary from the kindly race of men, - Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance 30 - Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? - - A soft air fans the cloud apart; there comes - A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. - Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals - From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, 35 - And bosom beating with a heart renewed. - Thy cheek begins to redden through the gloom, - Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, - Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team - Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise, 40 - And shake the darkness from their loosened manes, - And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. - - Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful - In silence, then before thine answer given - Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek. 45 - - Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, - And make me tremble lest a saying learnt, - In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? - ‘The Gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.’ - - Ay me! ay me! with what another heart 50 - In days far-off, and with what other eyes - I used to watch--if I be he that watched-- - The lucid outline forming round thee; saw - The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; - Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood 55 - Glow with the glow that slowly crimsoned all - Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, - Mouth, forehead, eyelids, growing dewy-warm - With kisses balmier than half-opening buds - Of April, and could hear the lips that kissed 60 - Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, - Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, - While Ilion like a mist rose into towers. - - Yet hold me not for ever in thine East: - How can my nature longer mix with thine? 65 - Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold - Are all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet - Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam - Floats up from those dim fields about the homes - Of happy men that have the power to die, 70 - And grassy barrows of the happier dead. - Release me, and restore me to the ground; - Thou seëst all things, thou wilt see my grave; - Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn; - I earth in earth forget these empty courts, 75 - And thee returning on thy silver wheels. - _Alfred Tennyson._ - - - - -CCXCIX - -_THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE._ - - - ‘Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean: - Tears from the depth of some divine despair - Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, - In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, - And thinking of the days that are no more. 5 - - ‘Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, - That brings our friends up from the underworld, - Sad as the last which reddens over one, - That sinks with all we love below the verge; - So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 10 - - ‘Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns - The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds - To dying ears, when unto dying eyes - The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; - So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 15 - - ‘Dear as remembered kisses after death, - And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned - On lips that are for others; deep as love, - Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; - O Death in Life, the days that are no more.’ 20 - _Alfred Tennyson._ - - - - -CCC - -_SONNET._ - - - Rise, said the Master, come unto the feast: - She heard the call and rose with willing feet; - But thinking it not otherwise than meet - For such a bidding to put on her best, - She is gone from us for a few short hours 5 - Into her bridal closet, there to wait - For the unfolding of the palace gate, - That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers. - We have not seen her yet, though we have been - Full often to her chamber door, and oft 10 - Have listened underneath the postern green, - And laid fresh flowers, and whispered short and soft; - But she hath made no answer, and the day - From the clear west is fading fast away. - _Henry Alford._ - - - - -CCCI - -_THE VOICELESS._ - - - We count the broken lyres that rest - Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, - But o’er their silent sister’s breast - The wild flowers who will stoop to number? - A few can touch the magic string, 5 - And noisy fame is proud to win them; - Alas for those that never sing, - But die with all their music in them! - - Nay, grieve not for the dead alone, - Whose song has told their hearts’ sad story: 10 - Weep for the voiceless, who have known - The cross without the crown of glory! - Not where Leucadian breezes sweep - O’er Sappho’s memory-haunted billow, - But where the glistening night-dews weep 15 - On nameless sorrow’s churchyard pillow. - - O hearts that break, and give no sign, - Save whitening lip and fading tresses, - Till Death pours out his cordial wine, - Slow-dropped from misery’s crushing presses! 20 - If singing breath or echoing chord - To every hidden pang were given, - What endless melodies were poured, - As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! - _Oliver Wendell Holmes._ - - - - -CCCII - -_A THANKSGIVING._ - - - Lord, in this dust thy sovereign voice - First quickened love divine; - I am all thine--thy care and choice, - My very praise is thine. - - I praise Thee, while thy providence 5 - In childhood frail I trace, - For blessings given, ere dawning sense - Could seek or scan thy grace; - - Blessings in boyhood’s marvelling hour, - Bright dreams and fancyings strange; 10 - Blessings, when reason’s awful power - Gave thought a bolder range; - - Blessings of friends, which to my door - Unasked, unhoped, have come; - And choicer still, a countless store 15 - Of eager smiles at home. - - Yet, Lord, in memory’s fondest place - I shrine those seasons sad, - When looking up, I saw thy face - In kind austereness clad. 20 - - I would not miss one sigh or tear, - Heart-pang or throbbing brow; - Sweet was the chastisement severe, - And sweet its memory now. - - Yes! let the fragrant scars abide, 25 - Love-tokens in thy stead, - Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side, - And thorn-encompassed head. - - And such thy tender force be still, - When self would swerve or stray, 30 - Shaping to truth the froward will - Along thy narrow way. - - Deny me wealth; far, far remove - The lure of power or name; - Hope thrives in straits, in weakness love, 35 - And faith in this world’s shame. - _John Henry Newman._ - - - - -CCCIII - -_THE GRAVE._ - - - I stood within the grave’s o’ershadowing vault; - Gloomy and damp it stretched its vast domain; - Shades were its boundary; for my strained eye sought - For other limit to its width in vain. - - Faint from the entrance came a daylight ray, 5 - And distant sound of living men and things; - This, in the encountering darkness passed away, - That, took the tone in which a mourner sings. - - I lit a torch at a sepulchral lamp, - Which shot a thread of light amid the gloom; 10 - And feebly burning ’gainst the rolling damp, - I bore it through the regions of the tomb. - - Around me stretched the slumbers of the dead, - Whereof the silence ached upon mine ear; - More and more noiseless did I make my tread, 15 - And yet its echoes chilled my heart with fear. - - The former men of every age and place, - From all their wanderings gathered; round me lay; - The dust of withered empires did I trace, - And stood ’mid generations past away. 20 - - I saw whole cities, that in flood or fire, - Or famine or the plague, gave up their breath; - Whole armies whom a day beheld expire, - By thousands swept into the arms of Death. - - I saw the old world’s white and wave-swept bones, 25 - A giant heap of creatures that had been; - Far and confused the broken skeletons - Lay strewn beyond mine eye’s remotest ken. - - Death’s various shrines--the Urn, the Stone, the Lamp-- - Were scattered round, confused, amid the dead; 30 - Symbols and Types were mouldering in the damp, - Their shapes were waning, and their meaning fled. - - Unspoken tongues, perchance in praise or woe, - Were charactered on tablets Time had swept; - And deep were half their letters hid below 35 - The thick small dust of those they once had wept. - - No hand was here to wipe the dust away; - No reader of the writing traced beneath; - No spirit sitting by its form of clay; - Nor sigh nor sound from all the heaps of Death. 40 - - One place alone had ceased to hold its prey; - A form had pressed it and was there no more; - The garments of the Grave beside it lay, - Where once they wrapped Him on the rocky floor. - - He only with returning footsteps broke 45 - The eternal calm wherewith the Tomb was bound; - Among the sleeping Dead alone He woke, - And blessed with outstretched hands the host around. - - Well is it that such blessing hovers here, - To soothe each sad survivor of the throng 50 - Who haunt the portals of the solemn sphere, - And pour their woe the loaded air along. - - They to the verge have followed that they love, - And on the insuperable threshold stand; - With cherished names its speechless calm reprove, 55 - And stretch in the abyss their ungrasped hand. - - But vainly there the mourners seek relief - From silenced voice, and shapes, Decay has swept, - Till Death himself shall medicine their grief, - Closing their eyes by those o’er whom they wept. 60 - - All that have died, the Earth’s whole race, repose, - Where Death collects his treasures, heap on heap; - O’er each one’s busy day the nightshades close; - Its Actors, Sufferers, Schools, Kings, Armies--sleep. - - ‘_V._’ - - - - -CCCIV - -_MY PSALM._ - - - I mourn no more my vanished years: - Beneath a tender rain, - An April rain of smiles and tears, - My heart is young again. - - The west winds blow, and singing low, 5 - I hear the glad streams run; - The windows of my soul I throw - Wide open to the sun. - - No longer forward, nor behind, - I look in hope and fear: 10 - But grateful, take the good I find, - The best of now, and here. - - I plough no more a desert land - For harvest, weed and tare; - The manna dropping from God’s hand 15 - Rebukes my painful care. - - I break my pilgrim staff, I lay - Aside the toiling oar; - The angel sought so far away - I welcome at my door. 20 - - The airs of spring may never play - Among the ripening corn, - Nor freshness of the flowers of May - Blow through the autumn morn; - - Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look 25 - Through fringèd lids to heaven, - And the pale aster in the brook - Shall see its image given; - - The woods shall wear their robes of praise, - The south-wind softly sigh, 30 - And sweet calm days in golden haze - Melt down the amber sky. - - Not less shall manly deed and word - Rebuke an age of wrong: - The graven flowers that wreathe the sword 35 - Make not the blade less strong. - - Enough that blessings undeserved - Have marked my erring track, - That wheresoe’er my feet have swerved, - His chastening turned me back; 40 - - That more and more a Providence - Of love is understood, - Making the springs of time and sense - Sweet with eternal good; - - That death seems but a covered way, 45 - Which opens into light, - Wherein no blinded child can stray - Beyond the Father’s sight; - - That care and trial seem at last, - Through memory’s sunset air, 50 - Like mountain ranges overpast - In purple distance fair; - - That all the jarring notes of life - Seem blending in a psalm, - And all the angles of its strife 55 - Slow rounding into calm. - - And so the shadows fall apart, - And so the west winds play: - And all the windows of my heart - I open to this day. 60 - _John Greenleaf Whittier._ - - - - -NOTES. - - -P. 3, No. iii.--There seems no reason to doubt that Sir Walter Raleigh -was the author of this poem, and that the initials W. R. with which it -appears in Davison’s _Rhapsody_ indicate truly the authorship. It is -abundantly worthy of him; there have been seldom profounder thoughts -more perfectly expressed than in the fourth and fifth stanzas. A certain -obscurity in the poem will demand, but will also repay, study; and for -its right understanding we must keep in mind that ‘affection’ is here -used as in our English Bible, where it is the rendering of πἁθος (Rom. -i. 26; Col. 3, 5), and that ‘affection’ and ‘desire’ are regarded as -interchangeable and equivalent. - -P. 4, No. iv.--See Spedding’s _Works of Lord Bacon_, vol. vii. p. 267 -sqq., for the external evidence making it reasonably probable, but -certainly not lifting above all doubt, that the ascription of these -lines to Lord Bacon is a right one. - -P. 6, No. vi.--This very remarkable poem first appeared in the second -edition of Davison’s _Poetical Rhapsody_, 1608; itself a sufficient -disproof of the often-repeated assertion that Raleigh wrote it the night -before his execution, 1618. At the same time this leaves untouched the -question whether he may not at some earlier day have been its author. -There is a certain amount of evidence in favour of this tradition, which -is carefully put together in Hannah’s _Poems by Sir Henry Wotton, Sir -Walter Raleigh, and others_, 1845, pp. 89-98. - -P. 10, No. viii.--The author of these beautiful lines was a minister of -the Scotch Kirk at the close of the sixteenth century. Several stanzas -have been omitted. - -P. 21, No. xviii.--This sonnet is the first among the commendatory poems -prefixed to the original edition of _The Fairy Queen_. As original in -conception as it is grand in execution, it is about the finest -compliment which was ever paid by poet to poet, such as it became -Raleigh to indite and Spenser to receive. Yet it labours under a serious -defect. The great poets of the past lose no whit of their glory because -later poets are found worthy to share it. Petrarch in his lesser, and -Homer in his greater sphere, are just as illustrious since Spenser -appeared as before. - -P. 23, No. xx.--I have marked this poem as anonymous, the evidence which -ascribes it to Sir Walter Raleigh being insufficient to prove him the -author of it. It first appeared in _England’s Helicon_, 1600. In all -known copies of this edition ‘Ignoto’ has been pasted over W. R., the -original signature which the poem bore. This may have arisen from a -discovery on the part of the editor that the poem was not Raleigh’s; but -also may be explained by his unwillingness to have his authorship of it -declared; so that there is here nothing decisive one way or the other. -Other external evidence bearing on the question I believe there is none, -except Izaak Walton’s assertion fifty-three years later (_Complete -Angler_, 1653, p. 64) that it ‘was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his -younger days.’ No doubt then there was a tradition to this effect; -though ‘younger’ must not be pushed too far, as Raleigh was ten years -older than Marlowe, to whose poem this is a reply. All that we can say -is that there is no name in English literature so great, but that the -authorship of these lines, if this could be ascertained, would be an -additional honour to it.--l. 21-24: In the _second_ edition of Walton’s -_Complete Angler_, 1655, this stanza appears--I should say, for the -first time, were not this fact brought into question by its nearly -contemporaneous appearance in a broad-sheet (see _Roxburgh Ballads_, -vol. i. p. 205) which seems by its type to belong, as those expert in -such matters affirm, to the date 1650-55. The stanza there runs, - - ‘What should you talk of dainties then! - Of better meat than serveth men? - All that is vain; this only good, - Which God doth bless and send for food.’ - -While Walton may have made, it is also possible that he may have found -ready made to his hand, this beautiful addition to the poem. - -P. 24, No. xxii.--Of this poem Dr. Guest (_History of English Rhythms_, -vol. ii. p. 273) has said, ‘It appears to me extremely beautiful,’ a -judgment from which none who are capable of recognizing poetry when they -see it will dissent. It is found in Campion’s _Observations on the Art -of English Poesy_, London, 1602. The purpose of the book is mainly to -prove that rhyme is altogether an unnecessary appendage to English -verse; that this does not require, and indeed is better without it. Had -he offered to his readers many lyrics like this, he might have done much -more than by all his arguments he has done to bring them to his opinion. -As it is, the main value which the _Observations_ possess consists in -this exquisite lyric, and, mediately, in the admirable _Apology for -Rhyme_ on Daniel’s part which they called out. - -Pp. 27, 28, No. xxv. xxvi.--Sir Philip Sidney’s sonnets may be ‘vain and -amatorious,’ as Milton has called his prose romance of _The Arcadia_; -but they possess grace, fancy, and a passion which makes itself felt -even under the artificial forms of a Platonic philosophy. They are -addressed to one, who, if the course of true love had run smooth, should -have been his wife. When, however, through the misunderstanding of -parents, or through some other cause, she had become the wife of -another, Platonic as they are, they would far better have remained -unwritten. - -P. 35, No. xli.--Pope somewhere speaks of ‘a very mediocre poet, one -Drayton,’ and it will be remembered that when Goldsmith visited Poets’ -Corner, seeing his monument he exclaimed, ‘Drayton, I never heard of him -before.’ It must be confessed that Drayton, who wrote far too much, -wrote often below himself, and has left not a little to justify the -censure of the one, and to excuse the ignorance of the other. At the -same time only a poet could describe the sun at his rising, - - ‘With rosy robes and crown of flaming gold;’ - -and this heroic ballad has a very genuine and martial tone about it. It -is true that every celebration of Agincourt must show pale and faint -beside Shakespeare’s epic drama, _Henry the Fifth_, and this will as -little endure as any other to be brought even into remote comparison -with that; but for all this it ought not to be forgotten. - -P. 39, No. xlii. l. 9: ‘Clarius,’ a surname of Apollo, derived from his -famous temple at Claros, in Asia Minor.--l. 27-30: Prometheus was -‘Japhet’s line,’ being the son of Iapetus, whom Jonson has not resisted -the temptation of identifying, as others have done, with Japhet the son -of Noah, and calling by his name. According to one legend it was by the -assistance of Minerva, ‘the issue of Jove’s brain,’ that Prometheus -ascended to heaven, and there stole from the chariot of the Sun the fire -which he brought down to earth; to all which there is reference here. - -P. 40, No. xliii.--It would be difficult not to think that we had here -the undeveloped germ of _Il Penseroso_ of Milton, if this were not shown -to be impossible by the fact that Milton’s poem was published two years -previously to this. - -P. 41, No. xliv.--Hallam thinks that Southwell has been of late praised -at least as much as he deserves. This may be so, yet taking into account -the finished beauty of such poems as this and No. 1. of this collection, -poems which, as far as they go, leave nothing to be desired, he has -scarcely been praised _more_ than he deserves. How in earlier times he -was rated the fact that there were twenty-four editions of his poems -will sufficiently testify; though possibly the creed which he professed, -and the death which he died, may have had something to do with this. -Robert Southwell was a seminary priest, and was executed at Tyburn in -the reign of Queen Elizabeth, in conformity with a law, which even the -persistent plottings of too many of these at once against the life of -the Sovereign and the life of the State must altogether fail to justify -or excuse. - -P. 44, No. xlvi.--The judgment of one great poet on another his -contemporary, must always have a true interest for us, and it was with -serious regret that I omitted Ben Jonson’s ever-memorable lines on -Shakespeare. Many things a contemporary sees, as none who belong to a -later time can see them; knows, as none other can know; and even where -he does not tell us much which we greatly care to learn about the other, -he is sure to tell us something, whether he means it or not, about -himself and about his age. English literature possesses many judgments -of this kind. What Ben Jonson did for Shakespeare, Cartwright, a -strong-thoughted writer if not an eminent poet, and more briefly -Cleveland here, have done in turn for Jonson; Denham for Cowley; Cowley -for Crashaw; Carew for Donne; Marvell for Milton; Dryden for Oldham. -There is not one of these which may not be read with profit by the -careful student of English literature; and certainly Cleveland must be -allowed very happily to have seized here some of the main excellences of -Jonson. - -P. 45, No. xlvii.--Another poem on the same subject, in Byrd’s _Psalms, -Sonnets, and Songs_, is as a whole inferior to this, but yields one -stanza which is equal in merit to any here: - - ‘I wish but what I have at will; - I wander not to seek for more; - I like the plain; I climb no hill; - In greatest storms I sit on shore; - And laugh at them that toil in vain - To get what must be lost again.’ - -P. 46, No. xlix.--Shakespeare’s Sonnets are so heavily laden with -meaning, so double-shotted, if one may so speak, with thought, so -penetrated and pervaded with a repressed passion, that, packed as all -this is into narrowest limits, it sometimes imparts no little obscurity -to them; and they often require to be heard or read not once but many -times, in fact to be studied, before they reveal to us all the treasures -of thought and feeling which they contain. It is eminently so with this -one. The subject, the bitter delusion of all sinful pleasures, the -reaction of a swift remorse which inevitably dogs them, Shakespeare must -have most deeply felt, as he has expressed himself upon it most -profoundly. I know no picture of this at all so terrible in its truth as -in _The Rape of Lucrece_ the description of Tarquin after he has -successfully wrought his deed of shame. But this sonnet on the same -theme is worthy to stand by its side. - -P. 48, No. lii.--These lines are appended to the second edition of -Wastell’s _Microbiblion_, 1629; they are not found in the first, -published under another title in 1623. I have not disturbed the -ascription of them to him, although, considering the general -worthlessness of the book, it must be considered very doubtful indeed. -On the question of the authorship of these lines see Hannah, _Poems and -Psalms of Henry King_, 1843, p. cxviii. - -P. 57, No. lxii.--There are at least half-a-dozen texts of this poem -with an infinite variety of readings, these being particularly numerous -in the third stanza, which I must needs think corrupt as it now stands. -The _Reliquiæ Wottonianæ_, in which it was first published, appeared in -1651, some twelve years after Wotton’s death; but much earlier MS. -copies are in existence; thus one in the handwriting of Edward Alleyn, -apparently of date 1616. Ben Jonson visited Drummond of Hawthornden two -or three years later, and is reported by him to have had these lines by -heart. - -P. 58, No. lxiii.--This poem Bishop Percy believes to have been first -printed in a volume of _Miscellaneous Poems by different hands_, -published by David Lewis, 1726. The date and authorship is discussed on -several occasions in _Notes and Queries_, vol. iii. (1st Series) pp. 27, -108, 155, but without much light being thrown upon either. - -P. 60, No. lxv.--Carew is commonly grouped with Waller, and subordinated -to him. He is indeed immensely his superior. Waller never wrote a -love-song in grace and fancy to compare with this; while in many of -Carew’s lighter pieces there is an underlying vein of earnestness, which -is wholly wanting in the other. - -P. 62, No. lxviii.--Waller’s fame has sadly, but not undeservedly, -declined since the time when it used to be taken for granted that he had -virtually invented English poetry, or one might almost say, the English -language; since an editor of his poems (1690) could write that his was -‘a name that carries everything in it that is either great or graceful -in poetry. He was indeed the parent of English verse, and the first that -showed us our tongue had beauty and numbers in it. The tongue came into -his hands like a rough diamond; he polished it first, and to that degree -that all artists since him have admired the workmanship without -pretending to mend it.’ Compare the twenty-two lines devoted to him in -Addison’s _Account of the greatest English Poets_, which includes -Congreve, but not Shakespeare! For myself, I confess that I did not find -it very easy to select from the whole range of his poems one which I -much cared to quote. He appears in this to have had in his eye the -graceful epigram of Rufinus beginning, - - Πἑμπω σοι, Ρυδὁκλεια, τὁδε στἑφος, - -and ending with these lines, - - ταῦτα στεψαμένη, λῆξον μεγδλαυχος ἐοῦσα, - ἀνθεις καἰ λήγεις καἰ σὐ καἰ ό στέφανος. - -P. 63, No. lxx.--Castara, to whom these beautiful lines are addressed, -was a daughter of William Herbert, first Lord Percy, and either was -already, or afterwards became, the wife of the poet. There are no purer -and few more graceful records of a noble attachment than that which is -contained in the poems to which Habington has given the name of the lady -of his happy love. Phillips, writing in 1675, says, ‘His poems are now -almost forgotten.’ How little they deserved this, how finished at times -his versification was, lines such as the following--they are the first -stanza of a poem for which I could not find room--will abundantly prove. -It is headed, _Against them who lay Unchastity to the sex of Women_. - - ‘They meet with but unwholesome springs, - And summers which infectious are, - They hear but when the mermaid sings, - And only see the falling star, - Who ever dare - Affirm no woman chaste and fair.’ - -P. 76, No. lxxviii.--Milton’s English Sonnets are only seventeen in all: - - ‘Soul-animating strains, alas! too few.’ - -They are so far beyond all doubt the greatest in the language that it is -a matter of curious interest to note the utter incapacity of Johnson to -recognize any greatness in them at all. The utmost which he will allow -is that ‘three of them are not bad;’ and he and Hannah More once set -themselves to investigate the causes of their badness, the badness -itself being taken for granted. Johnson’s explanation of this contains -an illustration lively enough to be worth quoting: ‘Why, Madam,’ he -said, ‘Milton’s was a genius that could hew a Colossus out of a rock, -but could not carve heads on cherry-stones.’ - -P. 76, No. lxxix.--I have obtained room for these lines by excluding -another very beautiful poem by the same author, his _Song of the -Emigrants in Bermuda_. To this I was moved in part by the fact that the -_Song_ has found its way into many modern collections; these lines, so -far as I know, into none; in part by my conviction that we have here a -poem which, though less popular than the _Song_, is of a still higher -mood. If after this praise, these lines should, at the first perusal, -disappoint a thoughtful reader, I would ask him to read them a second -time, and, if needful, a third. Sooner or later they will reveal the -depth and riches of meaning which under their unpretending forms lie -concealed. - -P. 78, No. lxxx.--This poem will acquire a profound interest, for those -at least who count there is something better in the world than Art, when -we read it in the light of the fact mentioned by Lord Clarendon in his -_History of the Rebellion_ about its author, namely, that ‘after fifty -years spent with less severity and exactness than it ought to have been, -he died with the greatest remorse for that license, and the greatest -manifestations of Christianity that his best friends could desire;’ so -that in the end the hope which he ventures here timidly to utter was -fulfilled, and one thorn ‘from the dry leafless trunk on Golgotha’ did -prove to him more precious ‘than all the flourishing wreaths by -laureates worn.’ - -P. 82, No. lxxxiv., l. 8: Campbell has transferred ‘the world’s gray -fathers’ into his poem on the Rainbow; but has no more to say for the -author of these exquisite lines and of three other poems as perfect in -form as in spirit which enrich this volume than this, ‘He is one of the -harshest even of the inferior order of the school of conceit, but he has -some few scattered thoughts that meet our eye amid his harsh pages, like -wild flowers on a barren heath.’ - -P. 83, No. lxxxv. l. 133, 134: These lines are very perplexing. Milton’s -lines on Shakespeare abundantly attest that the true character of the -greatness of England’s greatest poet rose distinct and clear before the -mind of him who in greatness approached him the nearest. But in this -couplet can we trace any sense of the same discernment? ‘Fancy’s child’ -may pass, seeing that ‘fancy’ and ‘imagination’ were not effectually -desynonymized when Milton wrote; nay, ‘fancy’ was for him the greater -name (see _Paradise Lost_, v. 100-113). ‘Sweetest’ Shakespeare -undoubtedly was, but then the sweetness is so drawn up into the power, -that this is about the last epithet one would be disposed to use about -him. And then what could Milton possibly have intended by ‘his native -woodnotes wild’--the sort of praise which might be bestowed, though with -no eminent fulness, upon Clare, or a poet of his rank. The _Midsummer -Night’s Dream_ and _As You Like It_ are perhaps the most idyllic of his -plays; but the perfect art controlling at every step the prodigality of -nature, in these as in all his works, takes away all fitness from -language such as this, and I can only wonder that of all the -commentators on Milton not one has cared to explain to us what the poet -here meant. - -P. 87, No. lxxxvi. l. 18: Memnon, king of Ethiopia (nigri Memnonis arma, -Virgil), who according to the cyclic poets was slain before the walls of -Troy by Achilles, is described in the _Odyssey_, xi. 522, as the most -beautiful of the warriors there. A sister of his might therefore be -presumed to be beautiful no less. Milton did not, as some say, invent -the sister. Mention is made of her, her name is Hemera (Ήμἑρα), in -Dictys Cretensis. It is she who pays the last honours to the ashes of -her brother.--l. 19: Cassiopeia, ‘starred’ as having been translated -into the heaven, and become a constellation there. She offended the -Nereids by contesting the prize of beauty with them. Milton concludes -that as an Ethiopian she was black, but this is nowhere said.--l. -108-115: Milton does not introduce Chaucer in his _Allegro_, but in his -_Penseroso_; seeing in him something beside ‘the merry bard,’ which is -all that Addison can see in the most pathetic poet in the English -language.--l. 116-120: Spenser is here alluded to, of course--‘our sage -and serious poet, Spenser,’ as Milton loved to call him. Contrast his -judgment of Spenser’s allegory, as being something - - ‘Where more is meant than meets the ear;’ - -with Addison’s, - - ‘The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, - While the dull moral lies too plain below.’ - -P. 92, No. lxxvii.--Wordsworth in the Preface to an early edition of his -works calls attention to Cotton’s well-nigh forgotten poetry, some of it -abundantly deserving the oblivion into which it has fallen, but some of -a very rare excellence in its kind. This he does, quoting largely from -his _Ode to Winter_, mainly with the purpose of illustrating the -distinction between fancy, of which these poems, in his judgment, have -much, and imagination, of which they have little or none. They have a -merit which certainly strikes me more than any singular wealth of fancy -which I can find in them; and which to Wordsworth also must have -constituted their chief attraction, namely, the admirable English in -which they are written. They are sometimes prosaic, sometimes blemished -by more serious faults; but for homely vigour and purity of language, -for the total absence of any attempt to conceal the deficiency of strong -and high imagination by a false poetic diction--purple rags torn from -other men’s garments, and sewn upon his own--he may take his place among -the foremost masters of the tongue. Coleridge has said as much -(_Biographia Literaria_, vol. ii. p. 96): ‘There are not a few poems in -that volume [the works of Cotton] replete with every excellence of -thought, image, and passion which we expect or desire in the poetry of -the milder Muse, and yet so worded that the reader sees no reason either -in the selection or the order of the words why he may not have said the -very same in an appropriate conversation, and cannot conceive how indeed -he could have expressed such thoughts otherwise, without loss or injury -to his meaning.’ I will add that this poem is drawn out to too great a -length for its own interests, or for my limited space; and several -stanzas toward the close have been omitted. - -P. 95, No. lxxxviii.--Johnson has justly praised the ‘unequalled -fertility of invention’ displayed in this poem, and in its pendant, -_Against Hope_. To estimate _all_ the wonder of them, they should be -read each in the light of the other. In some lines of wretched -criticism, which Addison has called _An Account of the greatest English -Poets_, there is one exception to the shallowness or falseness of most -of his judgments about them, namely in his estimate of Cowley, which is -much higher than that of the present day, though not too high; wherein -too he has well seized his merits and defects, both of which this poem -exemplifies. These are the first six lines: - - ‘Great Cowley then (a mighty genius) wrote, - O’errun with wit, and lavish of his thought; - His turns too closely on the reader press, - He more had pleased us, had he pleased us less; - One glittering thought no sooner strikes our eyes - With silent wonder but new wonders rise.’ - -P. 96, No. lxxxix.--It is evident that in this Prologue and in that -which follows Dryden is on his good behaviour; he has indeed so much -respect for his audience that in all the eighty-five lines which compose -them he has not one profane, and, still more remarkable, not one -indecent allusion. Neither are the compliments which he pays his -hearers, as is too often the case, fulsome and from their exaggeration -offensive, but such as became him to pay and them to receive, and there -is an eminent appropriateness to the time and place in them all. Though -no very accurate scholar, he is yet quite scholar enough to talk with -scholars on no very unequal footing; while the most eminent of those who -heard him must have felt that in strength and opulence of thought, and -in power of clothing this thought in appropriate forms, he immeasurably -surpassed them all. - -P. 99, No. xci.--Barten Holyday, Archdeacon of Oxford, and translator of -Juvenal, published in 1661 his _Survey of the World_, which contains a -thousand independent distiches, of which these are a favourable sample. -Nearly all which I have quoted have more or less point--to my mind the -distinction between the two chief historians of Greece has never been -more happily drawn--and some of them have poetry as well. Yet for all -this the devout prayer of the author in his concluding distich, - - ‘Father of gifts, who to the dust didst give - Life, say to these my meditations, Live,’ - -has not been, and will scarcely now, be fulfilled. - -P. 103, No. xcv.--This is nothing more than a broad-sheet ballad -published in 1641, the year of Strafford’s execution, with the title -_Verses lately written by Thomas Earl of Strafford_. Two copies, of -different issues, but of the same date, and identical in text, exist in -the British Museum, while in _The Topographer_, vol. ii. p. 234, there -is printed another, and in some respects an improved text. The fall of -the great statesman from his pride of place has here kindled one with -perhaps but ordinary gifts for ordinary occasions to a truly poetical -treatment of his theme; as to a certain extent it has roused another, -whose less original ballad in the same year and on the same theme, -bearing the title, _The Ultimum Vale or Last Farewell of Thomas Earl of -Strafford_, yields as its second stanza these nervous lines: - - ‘Farewell, you fading honours which do blind - By your false mists the sharpest-sighted mind; - And having raised him to his height of cares, - Tumble him headlong down the slippery stairs; - How shall I praise or prize your glorious ills, - Which are but poison hid in golden pills?’ - -P. 108, No. xcix.--These spirited lines were found written in an old -hand in a copy of Lovelace’s _Lucasta_, 1679. We have in them no doubt a -Cavalier Song of our Civil Wars. - -P. 108, No. c.--Davenant is scarcely known except by his -strong-thoughted but heavy poem of _Gondibert_; and very little known, I -should suppose, by this. But three of his poems, this and Nos. cvii. and -clii., show that in another vein, that of graceful half play, half -earnest, few have surpassed him. I know nothing in its kind happier than -clii., which by an oversight has been placed somewhat too late in this -volume. - -P. 111, No. ci. l. 43-48: Cicero (_De Nat. Deor._ 3, 28, and elsewhere) -refers to the remarkable story of Jason, tyrant of Pheræe, whom one -would have stabbed, but did in fact only open a dangerous ulcer in his -body.--l. 59: ‘Adamant’ is here used in the sense of loadstone; as in -Shakespeare’s _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, 2, i. - - ‘You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant, - And yet you draw not iron.’ - -P. 112, No. cii.--I have dealt somewhat boldly with this poem, of its -twenty-four triplets omitting all but ten, these ten seeming to me to -constitute a fine poem, which the entire twenty-four altogether fail to -do. Few, I think, will agree with Horace Walpole that ‘the poetry is -most uncouth and inharmonious;’ so far from this, it has a very solemn -and majestic flow. Nor do I doubt that these lines are what they profess -to be, the composition of King Charles; their authenticity is stamped on -every line. We are indebted to Burnet for their preservation. He gives -them in his _Memoirs of the Dukes of Hamilton_, saying, ‘A very worthy -gentleman who had the honour of waiting on him then [at Carisbrook -Castle], and was much trusted by him, copied them out from the original, -who avoucheth them to be a true copy.’--l. 2: A word has evidently -dropped out here, which is manifestly wanted by the metre, and, as it -seems to me, also by the sense. I have enclosed within brackets the -‘earthly’ with which I have ventured to supply the want. - -P. 113, No. ciii.--Marvell showed how well he understood what he was -giving to the world in this ode, one of the least known but among the -grandest which the English language possesses, when he called it -‘Horatian.’ In its whole treatment it reminds us of the highest to which -the greatest Latin Artist in lyrical poetry did, when at his best, -attain. To one unacquainted with Horace, this ode, not perhaps so -perfect as his are in form, and with occasional obscurities of -expression which Horace would not have left, will give a truer notion of -the kind of greatness which he achieved than, so far as I know, could -from any other poem in the language be obtained. - -P. 117, No. cv.--I have taken the liberty of omitting nine out of the -twenty-six stanzas of which this fine hymn is composed; I believe that -it has gained much by the omission. The sense that a poor stanza is not -merely no gain, but a serious injury, to a poem, was not Cowley’s; still -less that willingness to sacrifice parts to the effect of the whole, -which induced Gray to leave out a stanza, in itself as exquisite as any -which remain, from his _Elegy_; which led Milton to omit from the -Spirit’s _Prologue_ in _Comus_ sixteen glorious lines which may still be -seen in his original MSS. at Cambridge, and have been often reprinted in -the notes to later editions of his Poems.--l. 45-56: Johnson has said, -urging the immense improvement in the mechanism of English verse which -we owe to Dryden and the little which had been done before him, ‘if -Cowley had sometimes a finished line, he had it by chance.’ Let Dryden -have all the honour which is justly his due, but not at the expense of -others. There are doubtless a few weak and poor lines in this poem even -as now presented, but what a multitude of others, these twelve for -example, without a single exception, of perfect grace and beauty, and as -satisfying to the ear as to the mind.--l. 68: This line is certainly -perplexing. In all the earlier editions of Cowley which I have examined -it runs thus, - - ‘Of colours mingled, Light, a thick and standing lake.’ - -In the modern, so far as they have come under my eye, it is printed, - - ‘Of colours mingled light a thick and standing lake.’ - -The line seems in neither shape to yield any tolerable sense--not in the -first, with ‘Light’ regarded as a vocative, which, for the line so -pointed, seems the only possible construction; nor yet in the second, -which only acquires some sort of meaning when ‘colours’ is treated as a -genitive plural. I have marked it as such, but am so little satisfied -with the result, that, were this book to print again, I should recur to -the earlier reading, which, however unsatisfactory, should not be -disturbed, unless for such an emendation as carries conviction with it. - -P. 120, No. cvi.--Hallam has said that ‘Cowley upon the whole has had a -reputation more above his deserts than any English poet,’ adding, -however, that ‘some who wrote better had not so fine a genius.’ This may -have been so, but a man’s contemporaries have some opportunities of -judging which subsequent generations are without. They judge him not -only by what he _does_, but by what he _is_; and oftentimes a man _is_ -more than he _does_; leaves an impression of greatness on those who come -in actual contact with him which is only inadequately justified by aught -which he leaves behind him, while yet in one sense it is most true. Many -a man’s embodiment of himself in his writings is below himself; some -men’s, strange to say, is above them, or at all events represents most -transient moments of their lives. But I should be disposed to question -Mr. Hallam’s assertion, judging Cowley merely by what he has left behind -him. With a poem like this before us, so full of thought, so full of -imagination, containing so accurate and so masterly a sketch of the past -history of natural philosophy, we may well hesitate about jumping to the -conclusion that his contemporaries were altogether wrong, rating him so -highly as they did. How they did esteem him lines like these of Denham, -the fragment of a larger poem, not without a worth of their own, will -show: - - ‘Old mother Wit and Nature gave - Shakespeare and Fletcher all they have; - In Spenser and in Jonson Art - Of slower Nature got the start; - But both in him so equal are, - None knows which bears the happiest share. - To him no author was unknown, - Yet what he wrote was all his own, - He melted not the ancient gold, - Nor with Ben Jonson did make bold - To plunder all the Roman stores - Of poets and of orators. - Horace’s wit and Virgil’s state - He did not steal but emulate! - And when he would like them appear, - Their garb, but not their clothes did wear.’ - -l. 19-40: Compare with these the lines, inferior indeed, but themselves -remarkable, and showing how strongly Cowley felt on this matter, which -occur in his _Ode to Dr. Harvey_, the discoverer of the circulation of -the blood: - - ‘Thus Harvey sought for truth in Truth’s own book, - The creatures; which by God Himself was writ, - And wisely thought ’twas fit - Not to read comments only upon it, - But on the original itself to look. - Methinks in art’s great circle others stand, - Locked up together, hand in hand, - Every one leads as he is led, - The same bare path they tread, - And dance like fairies a fantastic round, - But neither change their motion nor their ground.’ - -The same thought reappears, and again remarkably expressed, although -under quite different images, in his _Ode to Mr. Hobbs_. These are a few -lines: - - ‘We break up tombs with sacrilegious hands, - Old rubbish we remove. - To walk in ruins like vain ghosts we love, - And with fond divining wands - We search among the dead - For treasure burièd, - Whilst still the liberal earth does hold - So many virgin mines of undiscovered gold.’ - -Dryden in some remarkable lines addressed to Dr. Charleton expresses the -same sense of the freedom with which Bacon had set free the study of -nature, and the bondage from which he had delivered it: - - ‘The longest tyranny that ever swayed, - Was that wherein our ancestors betrayed - Their freeborn reason to the Stagirite, - And made his torch their universal light. - So truth, while only one supplied the State, - Grew scarce and dear, and yet sophisticate; - Still it was bought, like emp’ric wares or charms, - Hard words, sealed up with Aristotle’s arms.’ - -l. 164-182: It ought not to be forgotten that this poem appeared first -prefixed to Sprat’s _History of the Royal Society of London_, London, -1667. Though not published till the year 1667, the year of Cowley’s -death, the book had in great part been printed, as Sprat informs us, two -years before, which exactly agrees with Cowley’s statement here. The -position which the poem thus occupied should be kept in mind, otherwise -the encomium on Sprat’s _History_ might seem dragged in with no -sufficient motive, and merely out of motives of private friendship. It -may be added that the praise is not at all so exaggerated as those who -know Addison’s ‘tuneful prelate’ only by his verse might suppose. The -book has considerable merits, and Johnson speaks of it as in his day -still keeping its place, and being read with pleasure. I only observed -when it was too late to profit by the observation, that after l. 143, -three lines occur, on this the first publication of the poem, which, by -a strange heedlessness, have dropt out of all subsequent editions. They -are as follows: - - ‘She with much stranger art than his that put - All the Iliads in a nut, - The numerous work of life does into atoms shut.’ - -P. 129, No. cix.--This chorus, or fragment of a chorus, from the -_Thyestes_ of Seneca, beginning - - Me dulcis saturet quies, - -and ending with these remarkable lines, - - Illi mors gravis incubat, - Qui notus nimis omnibus - Ignotus moritur sibi, - -seems to have had much attraction for moralists and poets in the -seventeenth century. Beside this paraphrase of it by Sir Matthew Hale, -prefixed to one of his _Contemplations_, there is a translation by -Cowley, and a third, the best of all, by Marvell, of which these are the -concluding lines: - - ‘Who exposed to others’ eyes, - Into his own heart never pries, - Death’s to him a strange surprise.’ - -P. 130, No. cx.--I have detached these two stanzas from a longer poem of -which they constitute the only valuable portion. George Wither (‘a most -profuse pourer forth of English rhyme’ Phillips calls him) was indeed so -intolerable a proser in verse, so overlaid his good with indifferent or -bad, that one may easily forget how real a gift he possessed, and -sometimes showed that he possessed. - -P. 131, No. cxii.--When Phillips, writing in 1675, styles Quarles ‘the -darling of our plebeian judgments,’ he intimates the circle in which his -popularity was highest, and helps us to understand the extreme contempt -into which he afterwards fell, so that he who had a little earlier been -hailed as - - ‘that sweet seraph of our nation, Quarles,’ - -became a byeword for all that was absurdest and worst in poetry. The -reacquaintance which I have made with him, while looking for some -specimen of his verse worthy to be cited here, has shown me that his -admirers, though they may have admired a good deal too much, had far -better right than his despisers.--l. 25: ‘To vie’ is to put down a -certain sum upon a card; ‘to revie’ is to cover this with a larger, by -which the challenger becomes in turn the challenged. - -P. 132, No. cxiii.--Milton’s lines on Shakespeare cannot properly be -counted an epitaph. But setting those aside, as not fairly coming into -competition, this is, in my judgment, the finest and most affecting -epitaph in the English language. Of Pope’s there is not one which -deserves to be compared with it. His are of art, artful, which this is -no less, but this also of nature and natural. With all this it has -grievous shortcomings. Death and eternity raise other issues concerning -the departed besides those which are dealt with here.--This epitaph -contains two fine allusions to Virgil’s _Æneid_, with which Dryden was -of necessity so familiar. The first, that of l. 7-10 to book v. l. -327-338. At the games with which Æneas celebrates his father’s funeral, -Nisus and his younger friend Euryalus are among the competitors in the -foot-race; Nisus, who is winning, slips, and Euryalus arrives the first -at the goal, and carries off the prize. In the four concluding lines -there is a beautiful allusion to the well-known passage, book vi. l. -860-886, in which the poet deplores the early death of that young -Marcellus, with which so many fair expectations of the imperial family -and of the Roman people perished. - -P. 133, No. cxiv.--Elizabeth, wife of Henry Hastings, fifth Earl of -Huntingdon, is the lady commemorated in this fine epitaph, ‘by him who -says what he saw’--for this is the attestation to the truth of all that -it asserts, which Lord Falkland, mindful of the ordinary untruthfulness -of epitaphs, thinks it good to subscribe. - -P. 136, No. cxix.--The writer of these lines commanded a vessel sent out -in 1631 by some Bristol merchants for the discovery of the North-West -passage. Frozen up in the ice, he passed a winter of frightful suffering -on those inhospitable shores; many of his company sinking beneath the -hardships of the time. The simple and noble manner in which these -sufferings were borne he has himself left on record (Harris’s _Voyages_, -vol. i. pp. 600-606); how too, when at length the day of deliverance -dawned, and the last evening which they should spend on that cruel coast -had arrived--but he shall speak his own words:--‘and now the sun was -set, and the boat came ashore for us, whereupon after evening prayer we -assembled and went up to take a last view of our dead; where leaning -upon my arm on one of their tombs I uttered these lines; which, though -perhaps they may procure laughter in the wiser sort, they yet moved my -young and tender-hearted companions at that time to some compassion.’ To -me they seem to have the pathos, better than any other, of truth. - -P. 137, No. cxxi.--A few lines from this exquisite monody have found -their way, but even these rarely, into some modern selections. The whole -poem, inexpressibly tender and beautiful as it is, is included in -Headley’s _Select Beauties_, 1810, but in no other that I know. Henry -King, afterwards Bishop of Chichester, married Anne, the eldest daughter -of Robert Berkeley; she probably died in 1624, and, as we learn from the -poem itself (see vv. 28, 29), in or about her twenty-fourth year. It -would be interesting to know whether this was the lady, all hope to -whose hand he at one time supposed he must for ever renounce, and did -renounce in those other lines, hardly less beautiful, which he has -called _The Surrender_, and which will be found at p. 65 of this volume. -Henry King’s _Poems_ have been carefully edited by the Rev. T. Hannah, -London, 1843. - -P. 141, No. cxxiii.--A rough rugged piece of verse, as indeed almost -all Donne’s poetry is imperfect in form and workmanship; but it is the -genuine cry of one engaged in that most terrible of all struggles, -wherein, as we are winners or losers, we have won all or lost all. There -is indeed much in Donne, in the unfolding of his moral and spiritual -life, which often reminds us of St. Augustine. I do not mean that, -noteworthy as on many accounts he was, and in the language of Carew, one -of his contemporaries, - - ‘A king who ruled as he thought fit - The universal monarchy of wit,’ - -he at all approached in intellectual or spiritual stature to the great -Doctor of the Western Church. But still there was in Donne the same -tumultuous youth, the same entanglement in youthful lusts, the same -conflict with these, and the same final deliverance from them; and then -the same passionate and personal grasp of the central truths of -Christianity, linking itself as this did with all that he had suffered, -and all that he had sinned, and all through which by God’s grace he had -victoriously struggled. - -P. 142, No. cxxv.--There is a certain residue of truth in Johnson’s -complaint of the blending of incongruous theologies, or rather of a -mythology and a theology, in this poem--Neptune and Phœbus and Panope -and the Fury mixed up with St. Peter and a greater than St. Peter, and a -fierce assault on the Clergy of the Church. At the same time there is a -fusing power in the imagination, when it is in its highest exercise, -which can bring together and chemically unite materials the most -heterogeneous; and the fault of Johnson’s criticism is that he has no -eye for the mighty force of this which in _Lycidas_ is displayed, and -which has brought all or nearly all of its strange assemblage of -materials into harmonious unity--and even where this is not so, hardly -allows us to remember the fact, so wondrous is the beauty and splendour -of the whole. But in weaker hands the bringing together of all which is -here brought together, and the attempt to combine it all in one poem, -would have inevitably issued in failure the most ridiculous.--l. 32-49: -This and more than one other allusion in this poem implies that King -wrote verses, and of an idyllic character, as would seem. In his -brother’s Elegy, contained in the same volume in which _Lycidas_ first -appeared, as much, and indeed a good deal more is said: - - ‘He dressed the Muses in the brav’st attire - That e’er they wore.’ - -If he wrote English verse, and it is difficult to give any other meaning -to these lines, none of it has reached us. A few pieces of Latin poetry -bearing his name are scattered through the volumes of encomiastic verse -which were issued from Cambridge during the time that he, as Fellow and -Tutor of Christ’s, was connected with it. They are only of average -merit.--l. 50: A glorious appropriation of Virgil, _Buc_. x. 9, 10, - - ‘Quæ nemora aut qui vos saltus habuere, puellæ - Naiades, indigno cum Gallus amore peribat?’ - -l. 132: Observe the exquisite art with which Milton manages the -transition from the Christian to the heathen. He assumes that Alpheus -and the Sicilian Muse had shrunk away ashamed while St. Peter was -speaking. In bidding them now to return, he implies that he is coming -down from the spiritual heights to which for a while he had been lifted -up, and entering the region of pastoral poetry once more.--l. 159-164: -These lines were for a long time very obscure. Dr. Todd in his learned -notes, to which I must refer, has done much to dissipate the obscurity, -though I cannot think all is clear even now. - -P. 148, No. cxxvi.--These lines are the short answer to a very long -question, or series of questions, which Davenant has called _The -Philosopher’s Disquisition directed to the dying Christian_. This poem, -than which I know few weightier with thought, unfortunately extends to -nearly four hundred lines--its length, and the fact that it appeals but -to a limited circle of readers, precluding me from finding room for more -than a brief extract from it, and that in this note; but it literally -abounds with lines notable as the following: - - ‘Tradition, Time’s suspected register, - That wears out Truth’s best stories into tales.’ - -I am well aware of the evil report under which Davenant labours, and -there are passages in his poems which seem to bear it out, as for -example this, which appears to call into question the resurrection: - - ‘But ask not bodies doomed to die, - To what abode they go: - Since knowledge is but sorrow’s spy, - It is not safe to know.’ - -At the same time ‘the Philosopher’ here does not so much deny that -there is any truth for man as that he has any organ whereby, of himself, -he may attain this truth. The poem--it is the dying Christian who is -addressed--opens thus: - - ‘Before by death you nearer knowledge gain, - (For to increase your knowledge you must die) - Tell me if all that learning be not vain, - On which we proudly in this life rely. - - Is not the learning which we knowledge call, - Our own but by opinion and in part? - Not made entirely certain, nor to all, - And is not knowledge but disputed art? - - And though a bad, yet ’tis a froward guide, - Who, vexing at the shortness of the day, - Doth, to o’ertake swift time, still onward ride, - While we still follow, and still doubt our way; - - A guide, who every step proceeds with doubt, - Who guessingly her progress doth begin; - And brings us back where first she led us out, - To meet dark midnight at our restless inn. - - It is a plummet to so short a line, - As sounds no deeper than the sounder’s eyes; - The people’s meteor, which not long can shine, - Nor far above the middle region rise. - - This spy from Schools gets ill intelligence, - Where art, imposing rules, oft gravely errs; - She steals to nature’s closet, and from thence - Brings nought but undecyphered characters. - - She doth, like India’s last discoverers, boast - Of adding to old maps; though she has bin - But sailing by some clear and open coast, - Where all is woody, wild, and dark within. - - Of this forbidden fruit since we but gain - A taste, by which we only hungry grow, - We merely toil to find our studies vain, - And trust to Schools for what they cannot know.’ - -P. 150, No. cxxviii.--This poem, apart from its proper beauty, which is -very considerable, has a deeper interest, as containing in the germ -Wordsworth’s still higher strain, namely his _Ode on Intimations of -Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood_. I do not mean that -Wordsworth had ever seen this poem when he wrote his. The coincidences -are so remarkable that it is certainly difficult to esteem them -accidental; but Wordsworth was so little a reader of anything out of the -way, and at the time when his Ode was composed, the _Silex Scintillans_ -was altogether out of the way, a book of such excessive rarity, that an -explanation of the points of contact between the poems must be sought -for elsewhere. The complete forgetfulness into which poetry, which, -though not of the very highest order of all, is yet of a very high one, -may fall, is strikingly exemplified in the fact that as nearly as -possible two centuries intervened between the first and second editions -of Vaughan’s poems. The first edition of the first part of the _Silex -Scintillans_ appeared in 1650, the second edition of the book in 1847. -Oblivion overtook him from the first. Phillips in his _Theatrum -Poetarum_, 1675, just mentions him and no more; and knows him only by -his _Olor Iscanus_, a juvenile production, of comparatively little -worth; yet seeing that it yields such lines as the following--they form -part of a poem addressed to the unfortunate Elizabeth of Bohemia, our -first James’ daughter--it cannot be affirmed to be of none: - - Thou seem’st a rosebud born in snow; - A flower of purpose sprung to bow - To heedless tempests and the rage - Of an incensèd stormy age: - - And yet as balm-trees gently spend - Their tears for those that do them rend, - Thou didst nor murmur nor revile, - But drank’st thy wormwood with a smile.’ - -As a divine Vaughan may be inferior, but as a poet he is certainly -superior, to Herbert, who never wrote anything so purely poetical as -_The Retreat_. Still Vaughan would probably never have written as he -has, if Herbert, whom he gratefully owns as his master, had not shown -him the way. - -P. 154, No. cxxxii.--This poem, so little known, though the work of one -so well known, opens very solemnly and grandly, but does not maintain -itself altogether at the same height to the end. Even as I have given -it, the two concluding strophes are inferior to the others; and this -declension would be felt by the reader still more strongly, if I had not -at once lightened the poem, and brought it within reasonable compass, by -the omission of no less than six strophes which immediately precede -these. It bears date January 14, 1682/3; and was written at season of -great weakness and intense bodily suffering (see his _Life_ edited by -Sylvester, Part III. p. 192); but the actual life of the great -non-conformist divine was prolonged for some eight or nine years more. - -P. 163, No. cxxxviii.--I have gladly found room in this volume, as often -as I fairly could, for poems written by those who, strictly speaking, -were not poets; or who, if poets, have only rarely penned their -inspiration, and, either wanting the accomplishment of verse, or not -caring to use it, have preferred to embody thoughts which might have -claimed a metrical garb in other than metrical forms. Poems from such -authors must always have a special interest for us. To the former of -these classes the author of these manly and high-hearted lines belongs, -and another whose epitaph on his companions left behind in the Arctic -regions is earlier given (see No. cxix.). Bacon (for who can deny to him -a poet’s gifts?) and, before all others as a poet in prose, Jeremy -Taylor, belong to the second. It would be more difficult to affirm of -Bishop Berkeley (see No. cxxxvii.), and of Sir Thomas Browne (see No. -cxxxi.), to which of these classes they ought to be assigned. - -P. 166, No. cxxxix.--These lines, in their wit worthy of Lucian, and -with a moral purpose which oftentimes Lucian is wholly without, are -called A Fable, but manifestly have no right to the name. I have omitted -six lines, but with reluctance, being as in fact they are among the most -moral lines in the whole poem. - -P. 169, No. cxli.--This is a party ballad, and, rightly to understand -it, we must understand the circumstances of which it assumes on our part -a knowledge. In 1727 Admiral Hosier blockaded Porto-Bello with twenty -ships; but was not allowed to attack it, war not having actually broken -out with Spain, and, a peace being patched up, his squadron was -withdrawn. In 1740 Admiral Vernon took Porto-Bello with six ships. It -was apparently a very creditable exploit; but Vernon being an enemy of -Walpole’s, and a member of the Opposition, it was glorified by them -beyond its merits. When they boasted that he with six ships had effected -what Hosier had not been allowed to attempt with twenty, the statement -was a perfectly true one, but in nothing dishonourable to him or to his -employers. Glover is here the mouthpiece of the Opposition, who, while -they exalted Vernon, affected to pity Hosier, who had died, as they -declared, of a broken heart; and of whose losses by disease during the -blockade they did not fail to make the most. It is a fine ballad, and -will do for Glover what his _Leonidas_ would altogether have failed to -do. This we may confidently affirm, whether we quite agree with Lord -Stanhope or not, that it is ‘the noblest song perhaps ever called forth -by any British victory, except Mr. Campbell’s _Battle of the Baltic_.’ - -P. 172, No. cxlii.--This poem was for a while supposed to be old, and an -old line has been worked up into it. This was probably the refrain of an -older as it is of the more modern poem, which has Miss Elliott, -(1727-1805), an accomplished lady of the Minto family, for its -author.--l. 1: ‘lilting,’ singing cheerfully.--l. 3: ‘loaning,’ broad -lane.--l. 5: ‘scorning,’ rallying.--l. 6: ‘dowie’ dreary.--l. 8: -‘leglin,’ milkpail.--l. 9: ‘shearing’ reaping.--l. 10: ‘bandsters,’ -sheaf-binders.--‘lyart,’ inclining to gray.--‘runkled,’ wrinkled.--l. -11: ‘fleeching,’ coaxing.--l. 14: ‘bogle,’ ghost. - -P. 176, No. cxlvi.--One who listens very attentively may catch in these -pretty lines a faint prelude of Wordsworth’s immortal poem addressed to -the same bird. - -P. 177, No. cxlvii.--There can scarcely be a severer trial of the poet’s -power of musical expression, of his command of the arts by which melody -is produced, than the unrhymed lyric, which very seldom perfectly -satisfies the ear. That Collins has so completely succeeded here is -itself a sufficient answer to Gray’s assertion that he ‘had a bad ear,’ -to Johnson’s complaint, ‘his lines commonly are of slow motion; clogged -and impeded with a cluster of consonants.’ Collins, in whom those lines -of Wordsworth found only too literal a fulfilment, - - ‘We poets do begin our lives in gladness, - But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness,’ - -has falsified the prediction of Gray. Writing of him and of Warton, -who both had lately died, Gray passes this judgment upon them, ‘They -both deserve to live some years, but will not.’ Half of this prophecy -has come true; and Warton cannot be said to have lasted to our time; but -Collins has now won a position so assured that instead of the ‘some -years’ which were all that Gray would have allotted to him, we may -confidently affirm that he will live as long as any love for English -poetry survives. - -P. 181, No. cl.--This and the following poem are of the court, courtly. -At the same time a truly poetical treatment may raise _vers de Société_ -such as these are, into a higher sphere than their own; and if I do not -mistake, it has done so here; and may justly claim for these poems that -they be drawn from the absolute oblivion into which they have fallen. -Ambrose Philips, it is true, has a niche in _Johnson’s Poets_; but so -much which is stupid, and so much which is worse than stupid, finds its -place there, that for a minor poet, for all except those mighty ones to -whom admission or exclusion would be a matter of absolute indifference, -who are strong enough to burst any cerements, that collection is rather -a mausoleum of the dead than a temple of the living. These poems with -two or three others of like kind--a singularly beautiful one is quoted -in Palgrave’s _Golden Treasury_--earned for Philips the title of Namby -Pamby, so little were his contemporaries able to appreciate even the -partial return to nature which they display. For a clever travesty of -his style by Isaac Hawkins Browne, beginning, - - ‘Little tube of mighty power, - Charmer of an idle hour,’ - -see Campbell’s _Specimens_, vol. v. p. 361. - -P. 186, No. cliii.--This admirable poem has this in common with another -of scarcely inferior merit, - - ‘And ye shall walk in silk attire,’ - -that they both first appeared as broad-sheets sold in the streets of -Edinburgh; and, justly popular as they both from the first have been, no -one has ever cared to challenge either of them as his own. This, -however, though not claimed by Mickle, nor included by him in an edition -of his poems published by himself, was after his death claimed _for_ -him, and Allan Cunningham thinks the claim to be fairly made out. It -mainly rests on the fact that a copy of the poem with alterations -marking the text as in process of formation was found among his papers -and in his handwriting. Without inspection of the document, it is -impossible to say what value as evidence it possesses. Certainly -everything else which we know of Mickle’s is rather evidence against his -authorship of this exquisite domestic lyric than for it. Still I have -not felt myself at liberty to disturb the ascription of it to him. - -P. 189, No. clv.--The immense superiority of this poem over every other -in the little volume of Hamilton of Bangour’s poems, which was published -at Edinburgh in 1760, some six years after his death, is not easy to -account for. This poem has its faults; that it is a modern seeking to -write in an ancient manner is sometimes too evident; but it is a tragic -story tragically told, the situation boldly conceived, and the treatment -marked by strength and passion throughout. Nothing else in the volume -contains a trace of passion or of power, or is of the slightest value -whatever. The fact that the poet has here come within the circle of the -inspirations of Yarrow cannot of itself be accepted as sufficient to -explain a fact which is certainly a curious one. It is plain from more -than one citation or allusion that Wordsworth, in his _Yarrow Unvisited_ -and _Yarrow Visited_, had this poem quite as much in his eye as the -earlier ballads whose scene is laid on the banks of the same stream. - -P. 199, No. clx.--I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of quoting Mr. -Palgrave’s beautiful criticism of this sonnet, in its own kind of a -beauty so peerless:--‘The Editor knows no sonnet more remarkable than -this which records Cowper’s gratitude to the Lady whose affectionate -care for many years gave what sweetness he could enjoy to a life -radically wretched. Petrarch’s sonnets have a more ethereal grace and a -more perfect finish, Shakespeare’s more passion, Milton’s stand supreme -in stateliness, Wordsworth’s in depth and delicacy. But Cowper’s unites -with an exquisiteness in the turn of thought which the ancients would -have called irony, an intensity of pathetic tenderness peculiar to his -loving and ingenuous nature.’ - -P. 201, No. clxii.--Gray, who esteemed Tickell ‘a poor short-winded -imitator of Addison,’ qualifies his contempt so far that he adds, ‘His -ballad, however, of Colin and Lucy I always thought the prettiest in the -world.’ After some hesitation I have not thought it pretty enough for a -place in this volume. It is otherwise with the poem for which I have -found room. Johnson’s censure of poems, whether praise or blame, carries -no great weight with it; and when he says of this one, ‘nor is a more -sublime or more elegant funeral poem to be found in the whole compass of -English literature,’ the praise is extravagant. Still it has real -merits, and sounds like the genuine utterance of a true regret for one -who had been the poet’s effectual patron and friend. - -P. 204, No. clxiii.--There have been many guesses who the ‘Unfortunate -Lady’ commemorated in these pathetic, but thoroughly pagan, lines may -have been; but the mystery which wraps her story has never been -dispersed. With the ten first lines before us nothing can be idler than -to deny that she was one who had laid violent hands on her own life. - -P. 207, No. clxiv.--Robert Levet lived above twenty years under -Johnson’s roof, a dependant and humble friend, and when under it he died -in 1782, Johnson commemorated his genuine worth in these admirable -lines. He is mentioned several times in Boswell’s _Life_. - -P. 209, No. clxvi.--This is the last original piece which Cowper wrote; -and, as Southey has truly observed, ‘all circumstances considered, one -of the most affecting that ever was composed.’ The incident on which it -rests is related in Anson’s _Voyage round the World_, fifth edition, p. -79. - -P. 212, No. clxviii.--This noblest elegy has a point of contact with an -illustrious event in English history. As the boats were advancing in -silence to that night-assault upon the lines of Quebec which should give -Canada to the English crown, Wolfe repeated these lines in a low voice -to the other officers in his boat, adding at the close of the -recitation, ‘Now, gentlemen, I would rather be the author of that poem -than take Quebec.’ For himself within a few hours that line was to find -its fulfilment, - - ‘The paths of glory lead but to the grave.’ - -We owe to Lord Stanhope (_History of England from the Peace of -Utrecht_, c. 35) this interesting anecdote.--l. 45-72: Gray, who had -read almost everything, may have here had in his eye a remarkable -passage in Philo, _De Sobriet_. § 9. Having spoken of the many who were -inwardly equipped with the highest gifts and faculties, he goes on: τὀ -δἐ κάλλος τῶν ἐν ταῖς διανοίαις ἀγαλμάτων οὐκ ίσχυσαν ἐπιδείξασθαι δ’ἀ -πενίαν ἠ ἀδοξίαν, ἠ νόσον σώματος, ἠ τἀς αλλας κῆρας, όσαι τὀν -ἀνθρώπινον περιπολοῦσι βίον. And then he goes on, exactly as Gray does, -to point out how these outward hindrances have circumscribed not merely -the virtues of some but the crimes of others: πάλιν τοίνυν κατἀ τἀ -ἐναντία μυρίους ἐστἰν ἰδιῖν ἀνάνδρούς, ἀκολάστους, ἀφρονας, ἀδίκους, -ἀσεβεῖς ἐν ταῖς διανοίαις ὑπάρχοντας, τὀ δἐ κακίας ἐκάστης αίσχος -ἀδυνατοῦντας ἐπιδεικνυσθαι δἰ ἀκαιμίαν τῶν εἰς τὀ ἁμαρτάνειν καιρῶν. - -P. 216, No. clxix.--I have not included hymns in this collection, save -only in rare instances when a high poetical treatment of their theme has -given them a value quite independent of that which they derive from -adequately fulfilling the special objects for which they were composed. -It is thus with this noble poem, which, though not eminently adapted for -liturgic use, is yet to my mind quite the noblest among Charles Wesley’s -hymns. It need hardly be said that the key to it, so far as a key can be -found from without and not from within, lies in the study of Gen. xxxii. -24-32.--l. 59: The attempt to break down in English the distinction -between the perfect and the past participle, and because they are -identical in some instances to regard them as identical in all, has -happily been defeated, at least for the present; but it has left its -mark on much of the poetry of the seventeenth and eighteenth century, -and Wesley, who here writes ‘strove’ for ‘striven,’ and l. 68, ‘rose’ -for ‘risen,’ only does what Shakespeare and Milton have done before him. - -P. 241, No. cxci.--Campbell’s _Lord Ullin’s Daughter_ is a poem of -considerable merit, but a comparison of it with this of Shelley (the -motive of the two compositions is identical) at once reveals the -distinction between a poet of first-rate eminence, of ‘imagination all -compact,’ and one of the second order. Both poems are narrative; but the -imagination in one has fused and absorbed the whole action of the story -into itself in a way which is not so much as attempted in the other. - -P. 256, No. ccviii.--In Beattie’s _Life and Letters of Campbell_, vol. -ii. p. 42, we have the original sketch of this poem. It is very -instructive, revealing as it does how one chief secret of success in -poetry may be the daring to omit. As it is there sketched out, extending -as it does to twenty stanzas of six lines each, that is to more than -twice its present length, many of these stanzas being but of secondary -merit, it would have passed as a spirited ballad, and would have -presently been forgotten, instead of taking as it has now done its place -among the noblest lyrics, the trumpet-notes in the language. But indeed -this willingness to sacrifice parts to the interests of the whole is a -condition without which no great poem, least of all a great lyric poem, -which is absolutely dependent for its effects on rapidity of movement, -can be written; and those who would fain escape the inevitable doom of -oblivion which awaits almost all verse will do well to keep ever in -remembrance how immeasurably more in poetry the half will sometimes be -than the whole. - -P. 265, No. ccxiv.--There is a mistake here, into which it is curious -that one who had watched so closely as Scott had done the struggle with -Republican and Imperial France should have fallen. It was not Marengo -(1800) but Austerlitz (1805) which did so much to kill Pitt, and with -which is connected the anecdote of his last days here referred to, and -thus related by Lord Stanhope: ‘On leaving his carriage, as he passed -along the passage to his bedroom [at Putney, which he never left], he -observed a map of Europe which had been drawn down from the wall; upon -which he turned to his niece, and mournfully said, “Roll up that map; it -will not be wanted these ten years.”’ (_Life of Pitt_, vol. iv. p. 369.) - -P. 266, No. ccxv.--After the battle of Novara, which had virtually -decided the conflict for a time, but before peace was signed between -Austria and Piedmont, the inhabitants of Brescia rose against their -Austrian garrison, March 21, 1849. They were crushed after a gallant -struggle, but one which had been hopeless from the first. - -P. 277, No. ccxix.--This poem is full of allusions to the tragical -issues of Shelley’s first rash and ill-considered marriage--issues which -must have filled him ever after with very deep self-reproach. Far too -slight as the expression of this is here--indeed it is hardly here at -all--we know from other sources that the retrospect was one which went -far to darken his whole after life. This serious fault has not hindered -me from quoting these lines, in many respects of an exquisite tenderness -and beauty, and possessing that deep interest which autobiography must -always possess. One stanza has been omitted. - -P. 291, No. ccxxiv.--These lines, written in Greece, and only three -months before his death, are the last which Byron wrote, and, in their -earlier stanzas at least, about the truest. In many of his smaller poems -of passion, and in _Childe Harold_ itself, there is a _falsetto_ which -strikes painfully on the ear of the mind. But it is quite otherwise with -these deeply pathetic lines, in which the spoiled child of this world -passes judgment on that whole life of self-pleasing which he had laid -out for himself, and declares what had been the mournful end of it all. - -P. 315, No. ccxlvii.--This, if I mistake not, is the only poem by -Herbert Knowles which survives. It appeared first in _The Quarterly -Review_, vol. ii. p. 396, with this account of the writer: ‘His life had -been eventful and unfortunate, till his extraordinary merits were -discovered by persons capable of appreciating and willing and able to -assist him. He was then placed under a kind and able instructor, and -arrangements had been made for supporting him at the University; but he -had not enjoyed that prospect many weeks before it pleased God to remove -him to a better world. The reader will remember that they are the verses -of a schoolboy, who had not long been taken from one of the lowest -stations of life, and he will then judge what might have been expected -from one who was capable of writing with such strength and originality -upon the tritest of all subjects.’ It was Southey, I believe, who wrote -thus, in whose estimate of these verses I entirely concur; as it was he -who was prepared to befriend the youthful poet, if he had not passed so -soon beyond the reach and need of human help. - -P. 326, No. cclvii.--It is not a little remarkable that one to whom -English was an acquired language, who can have had little or no -experience in the mechanism of English verse, should yet have left us -what Coleridge does not hesitate to call, ‘the finest and most grandly -conceived sonnet in our language’--words, it is true, which he slightly -modifies by adding, ‘at least it is only in Milton and in Wordsworth -that I remember any rival.’ - -P. 352, No. cclxxii.--This poem is drawn from a small volume with the -title, _David and Samuel, with other Poems_, published in the year 1859. -Much in the volume has no right to claim exemption from the doom which -before very long awaits all verse except the very best. Yet one or two -poems have caught excellently well the tone, half serious, half -ironical, of Goethe’s lighter pieces; while more than one of the more -uniformly serious, this above all, seem to me to have remarkable merit. -It finds its motive, as I need hardly say, in the resolution of the -Dutch, when their struggle with the overwhelming might of Louis XIV. and -his satellite Charles II. seemed hopeless, to leave in mass their old -home, and to found another Holland among their possessions in the -Eastern world. - -P. 354, No. cclxxiii.--During the last Chinese war the following passage -occurred in a letter of the Correspondent of _The Times_: ‘Some Seiks, -and a private of the Buffs, having remained behind with the grog-carts, -fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next morning, they were -brought before the authorities, and commanded to perform the kotou. The -Seiks obeyed; but Moyse, the English soldier, declaring that he would -not prostrate himself before any Chinaman alive, was immediately knocked -upon the head, and his body thrown on a dunghill.’ - -P. 356, No. cclxxiv.--Turner’s fine picture of the Téméraire, a grand -old man-of-war (it had been, as its name indicates, taken from the -French) towed into port by a little ugly steamer, that so, after all its -noble toils, it might there be broken up, is itself a poem of a very -high order, which has here been finely transferred into verse. - -P. 359, No. cclxxviii.--A selection of Walt Whitman’s poetry has very -lately been published in England, the editor of this declaring that in -him American poetry properly so-called begins. I must entirely dissent -from this statement. What he has got to say is a very old story indeed, -and no one would have attended to his version of it, if he had not put -it more uncouthly than others before him. That there is no contradiction -between higher and lower, that there is no holy and no profane, that the -flesh has just as good rights as the spirit--this has never wanted -prophets to preach it, nor people to act upon it; and this is the -sum-total of his message to America and to the world. I was glad to find -in his _Drum-taps_ one little poem which I could quote with real -pleasure. - -P. 379, No. ccxcviii.--_Tithonus_ is a noble variation on Juvenal’s -noble line in the 10th Satire, where, enumerating the things which a -wise man may fitly pray for, he includes among these the mind and -temper, - - Qui spatium vitæ extremum inter munera ponat - Naturæ: - -words which, grand as they are, reappear in still grander form, even -as they are brought into a more intimate connection with this poem in -Dryden’s translation, - - ‘And count it nature’s privilege to die.’ - -P. 386, No. ccciv.--Few readers of this and other choice specimens of -American poetry--some of which have now for the first time found their -way into any English anthology--but will share the admiration which I -cannot refuse to express for many among them. It is true that they are -not always racy of the soil, that sometimes they only do what has been -as well done, though scarcely better, in the old land; but whether we -regard the perfect mechanism of the verse, the purity and harmony of the -diction, the gracious thoughts so gracefully embodied, these poems, by -Whittier, by Bryant, by Holmes, by Emerson and by others, do, so far as -they reach, leave nothing to be desired. - - - - -INDEX OF AUTHORS. - - - NO. - -ALDRICH, James (1810-1856), CCXCVII - -ALFORD, Henry, _b._ 1810, CCC - -ARNOLD, Edwin, _b._ 1831, CCLXXXVII - -ARNOLD, Matthew, _b._ 1822, CCLVIII - -AYTOUN, Sir Robert (1570-1638), XIV - - -BACON, Lord (1561-1616), IV - -BAILLIE, Joanna (1762-1851), CLXXXVII - -BAXTER, Richard (1615-1691), CXXXII - -BEAUMONT (1586-1616) and FLETCHER (1576-1625), XXIV, XXVI, - XXVII, XXVIII, XLIII - -BEAUMONT, Francis (1586-1616), LV - -BEAUMONT, Sir John (1582-1628), LIII - -BEDDOES, Thomas Lovell (1803-1849), CCXXXI - -BERKELEY, George (1684-1753), CXXXVII - -BLACKSTONE, Sir William (1723-1780), CXXXVIII - -BLAKE, William (1757-1828), CLXXV, CLXXXIII, CXCIV, CCXXXVI, CCXXXIX - -BOWLES, William L., (1762-1850), CLXXVIII - -BROWNE, Sir Thomas (1605-1682), CXXXI - -BROWNING, Elizabeth Barrett (1809-1861), CCXL, CCLIV - -BROWNING, Robert, _b._ 1812, CCLIX, CCLXXXVIII, CCLXXXIX - -BRYANT, William Cullen, _b._ 1794, CCLX, CCLXIII - -BUCHANAN, Robert, _b._ 1841, CCXCIV - -BURBIDGE, Thomas, _b._ 1816, CCLXI, CCLXIV - -BURNS, Robert (1759-1796), CXLVIII, CLIV, CLXV - -BYRON, Lord (1788-1824), CLXXXVI, CCIII, CCXIII, CCXXIV - - -CAMPBELL, Thomas (1777-1844), CLXXI, CCVII, CCVIII, CCL - -CAMPION, Thomas, XXII - -CAREW, Thomas (1589-1639), LXV, LXXX, CXX - -CHARLES I. (1600-1649), CII - -CLARE, John (1793-1864), CLXXVII - -CLEVELAND, John (1613-1659), XLVI - -CLOUGH, Arthur Hugh (1819-1861), CCXXV, CCXXIX, CCXXXV - -COLERIDGE, Hartley (1796-1849), CLXXXVIII, CXCV, CXCVI - -COLERIDGE, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), CLXXIX, CLXXXV, CCXVI, CCXX - -COLLINS, William (1720-1756), CXLV, CXLVII - -COTTON, Charles (1630-1687), LXXXVII - -COWLEY, Abraham (1618-1677), LXXXVIII, CV, CVI - -COWPER, William (1731-1800), CLX, CLXI, CLXVI - -CRASHAW, Richard (1600-1650), CXVII - -CROLY, George (1780-1860), CLXXXIV - -CUNNINGHAM, Allan (1784-1842), CCLII - - -DAVENANT, Sir William (1605-1668), C, CVII, CXXVI, CLII - -DE VERE, Aubrey, _b._ 1814, CCLXXXI - -DONNE, John (1573-1631), LXIV, CXXIII, CXXIV - -DOUBLEDAY, Thomas, CLXXXI, CLXXXII - -DOYLE, Sir Francis Hastings, _b._ 1810, CCLXXIII - -DRAYTON, Michael (1563-1631), XXXV, XLI - -DRUMMOND, William (1585-1649), XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, LI - -DRYDEN, John (1631-1700), LXXXIX, XC, CXIII, CXXIV - - -EASTMAN, Charles Gammage, CCXCVI - -ELLIOT, Ebenezer (1781-1841), CC - -ELLIOTT, Jane (1727-1805), CXLII, CC - -EMERSON, Ralph Waldo, _b._ 1803, CCLXII, CCLXXV - - -FALKLAND, Lord (1610-1643), CXIV - -FANSHAWE, Sir Richard (1608-1666), LXIX - -FORSTER, John, _b._ 1812, CCLXXX - - -GAY, John (1688-1732), CXXXIX - -GLEN, William, CXLIII - -GLOVER, Richard (1712-1785), CXLI - -GRAY, David (1838-1861), CCXXXIII, CCXXXIV, CCXXXV - -GRAY, Thomas (1716-1771), CXLIX, CLVII, CLXVIII - -GREENE, Robert (1560-1592), XXI - - -HABINGTON, William (1605-1645), LXX, LXXI - -HALE, Sir Matthew (1609-1676), CIX - -HALLAM, Arthur Henry (1811-1834), CCII - -HAMILTON, William (1704-1754), CLV - -HERBERT, George (1593-1632), LXXXI, CXXVII - -HERRICK, Robert (1591-1674), LXVI, LXXXII - -HOLMES, Oliver Wendell, _b._ 1809, CCCI - -HOLYDAY, Barten (1593-1661), XCI - -HOOD, Thomas (1798-1845), CCXLVI - -HOUGHTON, Lord, _b._ 1809, CCLXV, CCLXXIV - -HUME, Alexander (1560-1607), VIII - -HUNNIS, William, XIII - -HUNT, Leigh (1784-1859), CXCVII - - -IRVING, Edward (1792-1834), CCLV - - -JAMES, Thomas (17th Century), CXIX - -JOHNSON, Samuel (1709-1784), CLXIV - -JONES, Sir William (1746-1794), CXLIV - -JONSON, Ben (1574-1637), XXIII, XL, XLII, XLV - - -KEATS, John (1795-1821), CXCIII, CCI, CCXXII, CCXXVII - -KEBLE, John (1792-1866), CCXLIV, CCLIII - -KING, Henry (1591-1669), LXXII, CVIII, CXXI - -KINGSLEY, Charles, _b._ 1819, CCLXXXII, CCXCV - -KNOWLES, Herbert (1798-1817), CCXLVII - - -LAMB, Charles (1775-1835), CCXXXII, CCXLII - -LANDOR, Walter Savage (1775-1864), CCXLIII, CCLI - -LINDSAY, Lady Anne (1750-1825), CLVI - -LOGAN, John (1748-1788), CXLVI - -LONGFELLOW, Henry Wadsworth, _b._ 1807, CCLXXVI, CCLXXXIII - -LOVELACE, Richard (1618-1658), XCVII, XCVIII - -LUSHINGTON, Henry (1812-1855), CCXV - - -MACAULAY, Lord (1800-1859), CCV - -MACDONALD, George, _b._ 1824, CCLXXXIV - -MARLOWE, Christopher (1562-1593), XIX - -MARVELL, Andrew (1620-1678), LXXIX, CIII, CXXIX - -MICKLE, William Julius (1734-1788), CLIII - -MILTON, John (1608-1674), LXXVIII, LXXXIII, LXXXV, - LXXXVI, CIV, CXVI, CXXV, CCXLIX - -MONTGOMERY, James (1771-1854), CLXXII - -MONTROSE, Marquis of (1612-1651), XCVI - -MOORE, Thomas (1780-1852), CCXXX, CCXLIX - - -NAIRN, Lady (1766-1845), CLXVII - -NEWCASTLE, Duchess of (1624-1673), XCII - -NEWMAN, John Henry, _b._ 1801, CCXC, CCCII - - -OXFORD, Earl of (1534-1604), XI - - -PALMER, John Williamson, CCXCIII - -PATMORE, Coventry, _b._ 1823, CCLXIX, CCLXX - -PHILIPS, Ambrose (1671-1749), CL, CLI - -POPE, Alexander (1688-1744), CXXXV, CLXIII - - -QUARLES, Francis (1592-1644), CXII - - -RALEIGH, Sir Walter (1552-1618), III, XVIII, LIX - -ROBERTSON, John, CCLXXII - - -SCOTT, Sir Walter (1771-1832), CLXXXIX, CXC, CCVI, CCXIV, CCXXVIII - -SEWARD, Anna (1747-1809), CLXXVI - -SHAKESPEARE, William (1594-1616), XXVIII, XXIX, XXX, XLVIII, XLIX, LIV - -SHELLEY, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822), CXCI, CCXIX, - CCXXI, CCXXIII, CCXXXVII, CCXLVIII - -SHEPHERD, Nathaniel G., CCLXVI - -SHIRLEY, James (1596-1666), LVI, LVII - -SIDNEY, Sir Philip (1554-1586), XXV, XXVI - -SOUTHEY, Robert (1774-1843), CLXXIII - -SOUTHWELL, Robert (1560-1593), XLIV, L - -SPENSER, Edmund (1553-1598), XVI, XVII, LX - -STILLINGFLEET, Benjamin, CLVIII - -STIRLING, Earl of (1580-1640), XXVII - -STODDARD, Richard Henry, _b._ 1825, CCLXXIX - -STORY, William, _b._ 1819, CCLXVIII - -STRONG, Charles, CCIV - -SURREY, Earl of (1520-1546), IX, XII - -SWIFT, Jonathan (1667-1745), CXXXVI - -SYLVESTER, Joshua (1563-1618), VII, XLVII - - -TAYLOR, Henry, _b._ 1805, CCXCII - -TAYLOR, Jane (1783-1823), CLXXIV - -TAYLOR, Jeremy (1613-1667), CXXXIII - -TENNYSON, Alfred, _b._ 1809, CCLXVII, CCXCI, CCXCVIII, CCXCIX - -TENNYSON, Charles, CCLXXXV, CCLXXXVI - -TERRY, Rose, CCLXXI - -THACKERAY, William Makepeace (1811-1863), CCXLI - -THOMSON, James (1699-1748), CXL - -THURLOW, Lord (1781-1829), CXCVIII, CXCIX - -TICKELL, Thomas (1686-1720), CLXII - -TRENCH, Melesina (1767-1827), CCXLV - -TYCHBORN, Chidiock ( -1586), LVIII - - -VAUGHAN, Henry (1621-1695), LXXXIV, CXXVIII, CXXX, CXXXIV - - -WALLER, Edmund (1605-1687), LXVIII - -WARTON, Thomas (1728-1790), CLIX - -WASTELL, Simon, LII - -WESLEY, Charles (1708-1788), CLXIX - -WHITE, Blanco (1773-1840), CCLVII - -WHITMAN, Walter, _b._ 1819, CCLXXVIII - -WHITTIER, John Greenleaf, _b._ 1808, CCLXXVII, CCCIV - -WILD, Robert, CXVIII - -WILSON, John (1785-1854), CCLVI - -WITHER, George (1588-1667), XCIII, CX - -WOLFE, Charles (1791-1823), CCXII, CCXXXVIII - -WORDSWORTH, William (1770-1850), CLXX, CLXXX, CXCII, CCIX, - CCX, CCXI, CCXVII, CCXVIII, CCXXVI - -WOTTON, Sir Henry (1568-1639), LXII, XCIV - -WYAT, Sir Thomas (1503-1542), X - - -ANONYMOUS, I, II, V, VI, XV, XX, XXXIX, LXI, LXIII, - LXVII, LXXIII, LXXIV, LXXV, LXXVI, LXXVII, - XCV, XCIX, CI, CXI, CXV, CXXII, CCIV, CCCIII - - - - -INDEX OF FIRST LINES. - - - PAGE - -Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, 137 - -A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, 326 - -Again the violet of our early days, 248 - -A good that never satisfies the mind, 30 - -A grace though melancholy, manly too, 369 - -A heavenly Night! methinks to me, 341 - -Ah Sunflower! weary of time, 245 - -A hundred wings are dropt as soft as one, 365 - -Ah! what a weary race my feet have run, 198 - -Ah! what avails the sceptred race, 320 - -A juggler long through all the town, 166 - -Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines, 31 - -All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 234 - -All travellers at first incline, 160 - -All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 318 - -Although I enter not, 308 - -And are ye sure the news is true?, 186 - -An hour with thee!--When earliest day, 240 - -Another year!--another deadly blow!, 259 - -Art thou pale for weariness, 305 - -As, by some tyrant’s stern command, 163 - -As due by many titles, I resign, 141 - -As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, 374 - -Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea, 349 - -Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 60 - -Ask me why I send you here, 60 - -A slanting ray of evening light, 225 - -As near Porto-Bello lying, 169 - -A steed, a steed of matchless speed, 108 - -Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones, 117 - -Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, 194 - -Away, let nought to love displeasing, 58 - -A wee bird came to our ha’ door, 173 - -Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow, 109 - -Beneath an Indian palm a girl, 346 - -Beside the covered grave, 266 - -Between two sister moorland rills, 270 - -Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy, 81 - -Bloom of beauty, early flower, 181 - -Blossom of the almond trees, 366 - -Burly, dozing humble-bee, 342 - -Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, 189 - - -Can I see another’s woe, 306 - -Can I, who have for others oft compiled, 49 - -Child of a day, thou knowest not, 311 - -Come, dear children, let us away, 327 - -Come live with me, and be my love, 22 - -Come, O Thou traveller unknown, 216 - -Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving, 33 - -Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 28 - -Come up from the fields, father; here’s a letter from our Pete, 359 - -Conceit, begotten by the eyes, 3 - -Condemned to Hope’s delusive mine, 207 - - -Dear Love, let me this evening die, 184 - -Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee, 142 - -Die down, O dismal day, and let me live, 303 - - -E’en such is time; which takes on trust, 53 - -Ere, in the northern gale, 340 - - -Fair maid, had I not heard thy baby cries, 246 - -Fair ship, that from the Italian shore, 368 - -Fair Star of Evening; Splendour of the West, 258 - -Fair stood the wind for France, 35 - -False world, good night, since thou hast brought, 42 - -False world, thou liest; thou canst not lend, 131 - -Fare well man’s dark last journey o’er the deep, 325 - -Farewell, too little and too lately known, 132 - -Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, 49 - -First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come, 117 - -Five years have passed; five summers, with the length, 272 - -Forget not yet the tried intent, 15 - -Fresh clad from heaven in robes of white, 301 - -Friend faber, cast me a round hollow ball, 9 - -From you have I been absent in the spring, 29 - -Genius and its rewards are briefly told, 362 - -Give place, ye lovers, here before, 16 - -Go, empty joys, 103 - -Go, lovely Rose!, 62 - -Gone were but the winter cold, 321 - -Go, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel, 9 - -Go, Soul, the body’s guest, 6 - -Great Monarch of the world, from whose power springs, 112 - -Green little vaulter on the sunny grass, 247 - - -Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!, 176 - -Hail to thee, blithe Spirit, 283 - -Hamelin Town’s in Brunswick, 331 - -Happy the man, whose wish and care, 160 - -Happy those early days, when I, 150 - -Hardly we breathe, although the air be free, 232 - -Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star, 268 - -Heaven, what an age is this! what race, 92 - -Hence, all you vain delights, 40 - -Hence, loathèd Melancholy, 83 - -Hence, vain deluding Joys, 87 - -Here lies a piece of Christ; a star in dust, 135 - -Her sufferings ended with the day!, 378 - -He safely walks in darkest ways, 351 - -Hope, of all ills that men endure, 95 - -How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean, 79 - -How happy is he born and taught, 57 - -How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 175 - -How soon doth man decay!, 149 - -How wisely Nature did decree, 76 - - -I do confess thou ’rt smooth and fair, 18 - -If all the world and Love were young, 23 - -If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 177 - -If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stayed, 201 - -If I had thought thou could’st have died, 305 - -If the base violence of wicked men, 352 - -If thou wilt ease thine heart, 301 - -If to be absent were to be, 107 - -If women could be fair, and yet not fond, 16 - -I give thee treasures hour by hour, 351 - -I hear no more the locust beat, 347 - -I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light, 229 - -I mourn no more my vanished years, 386 - -I’m wearing awa’, John, 211 - -In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 356 - -In this marble buried lies, 134 - -In this marble casket lies, 130 - -In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, 180 - -I press not to the choir, nor dare I greet, 78 - -I saw where in the shroud did lurk, 309 - -Is this the spot where Rome’s eternal foe, 251 - -I stood within the grave’s o’er-shadowing vault, 384 - -I thought to meet no more, so dreary seemed, 321 - -It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, 231 - -It is not beauty I demand, 61 - -It is not growing like a tree, 35 - -I’ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, 172 - -I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile, 294 - -I weigh not fortune’s frown or smile, 45 - -I were unkind unless that I did shed, 136 - -I will not praise the often-flattered rose, 231 - -I wish I were where Helen lies, 67 - - -Jerusalem, my happy home, 54 - -Joy for the promise of our loftier homes, 345 - - -Lady, I bid thee to a sunny dome, 249 - -Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth, 76 - -Last night, among his fellow roughs, 354 - -Lay a garland on my hearse, 34 - -Let him that will, ascend the tottering seat, 129 - -Like as a huntsman after weary chase, 21 - -Like as the damask rose you see, 48 - -Like to Diana in her summer weed, 24 - -Little charm of placid mien, 183 - -Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade, 31 - -Lord, come away, 158 - -Lord, in this dust thy sovereign voice, 383 - - -Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, 199 - -Methinks it is good to be here, 315 - -Methought his royal person did foretell, 101 - -Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, 21 - -Misdeeming eye! that stoopeth to the lure, 41 - -Mortality, behold and fear!, 50 - -Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day, 53 - -My dear and only Love, I pray, 105 - -My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains, 285 - -My once dear Love! hapless that I no more, 65 - -My parents bow, and lead them forth, 363 - -My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, 52 - -My soul, there is a country, 152 - -Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew, 326 - - -Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-west died away, 367 - -Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 259 - -No victor that in battle spent, 125 - - -O blithe new-comer! I have heard, 220 - -Obscurest night involved the sky, 209 - -October’s gold is dim--the forests rot, 302 - -O dread was the time, and more dreadful the omen, 265 - -Of all the thoughts of God that are, 323 - -Of Nelson and the North, 254 - -Oft in the stilly night, 300 - -O Goddess, hear these tuneless numbers, wrung, 243 - -Oh faint, delicious, spring-time violet, 350 - -Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 30 - -Oh, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease, 230 - -Oh, lead me not in Pleasure’s train, 313 - -Oh to be in England, 366 - -Oh welcome, bat and owlet gray, 238 - -Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, 251 - -‘O lady, thy lover is dead,’ they cried, 364 - -O little feet! that such long years, 363 - -O Mary, go and call the cattle home, 377 - -O melancholy bird!--A winter’s day, 247 - -Once a dream did weave a shade, 228 - -Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee, 258 - -Once, in the flight of ages past, 223 - -On Linden, when the sun was low, 256 - -O perfect Light, which shaid away, 10 - -O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see, 224 - -O Rose, who dares to name thee?, 307 - -O Time! who know’st a lenient hand to lay, 230 - -O trifling toys that toss the brains, 1 - -Our life is only death! time that ensu’th, 141 - -Over the mountains, 69 - -O waly, waly up the bank, 66 - -O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being, 283 - -O Winter, wilt thou never, never go?, 303 - - -Philosophy! the great and only heir, 120 - -Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 46 - -Praised be Diana’s fair and harmless light, 34 - -Preserve thy sighs, unthrifty girl, 108 - -Proud Maisie is in the wood, 240 - -Rise, said the Master, come unto the feast, 382 - -River is time in water; as it came, 99 - -Rose-cheeked Laura, come, 24 - -Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 26 - -Rudely thou wrongest my dear heart’s desire, 20 - - -Sad is our youth, for it is ever going, 362 - -Say not, the struggle nought availeth, 299 - -See how the orient dew, 151 - -See how the small concentrate fiery force, 355 - -See the chariot at hand here of Love, 25 - -Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green, 14 - -She dwells by great Kenhawa’s side, 357 - -She dwelt among the untrodden ways, 243 - -She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 317 - -She walks in beauty, like the night, 237 - -She was a queen of noble Nature’s crowning, 233 - -Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part, 32 - -Softly! she is lying, 378 - -So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, 277 - -Stand still, and I will read to thee, 59 - -Still young and fine! but what is still in view, 82 - -Sweet Maiden, for so calm a life, 312 - -Sweet order hath its draught of bliss, 350 - -Sweet spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train, 32 - - -Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, 381 - -The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 250 - -The chief perfection of both sexes joined, 133 - -The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 212 - -The expense of spirit in a waste of shame, 46 - -The fairest pearls that northern seas do breed, 2 - -The flags of war like storm-birds fly, 358 - -The forward youth that would appear, 113 - -The glories of our blood and state, 51 - -The good in graves as heavenly seed are sown, 148 - -The Lady Mary Villiers lies, 137 - -The loppèd tree in time may grow again, 47 - -The lowest trees have tops; the ant her gall, 5 - -The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime, 162 - -The Muses’ fairest light in no dark time, 44 - -The night is come, like to the day, 153 - -The night is late, the house is still, 371 - -The Ocean at the bidding of the Moon, 365 - -The poetry of earth is never dead, 249 - -The sun is warm, the sky is clear, 298 - -The twentieth year is well nigh past, 199 - -The voice which I did more esteem, 130 - -The waters are flashing, 241 - -The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, 379 - -The World and Death one day them cross-disguisèd, 10 - -The world’s a bubble, and the life of man, 4 - -There’s none should places have in Fame’s high court, 101 - -There were twa brothers at the scule, 70 - -There were twa sisters lived in a bouir, 73 - -They are all gone into the world of light, 158 - -This Life, which seems so fair, 47 - -This was the ruler of the land, 233 - -Thou art returned, great light, to that blest hour, 64 - -Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin leaves, 63 - -Though actors cannot much of learning boast, 98 - -Thou still unravished bride of quietness, 296 - -Through the night, through the night, 361 - -’Tis done--but yesterday a King!, 260 - -’Tis time this heart should be unmoved, 291 - -Too true it is, my time of power was spent, 246 - -To these, whom death again did wed, 135 - -To yield to those I cannot but disdain, 28 - -Triumphal arch that fill’st the sky, 221 - -’Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, 232 - -Two brothers freely cast their lot, 368 - - -Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, 317 - - -Vain world, what is in thee?, 154 - -Victorious men of earth, no more, 51 - - -We count the broken lyres that rest, 382 - -Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower, 178 - -Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, 33 - -Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find, 81 - -We saw and wooed each other’s eyes, 63 - -We watched her breathing through the night, 315 - -What beckoning ghost, along the moonlight shade, 204 - -What constitutes a State?, 174 - -What Greece, when learning flourished, only knew, 96 - -What is the existence of man’s life, 128 - -What is the world? tell, worldling, if thou know it, 8 - -What voice did on my spirit fall, 293 - -When Britain first at Heaven’s command, 168 - -When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, 134 - -When first mine eyes did view and mark, 17 - -When I behold thee, blameless Williamson, 198 - -When in the woods I wander all alone, 248 - -When Love with unconfinèd wings, 106 - -When my mother died I was very young, 304 - -When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 193 - -When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, 29 - -Where dost thou careless lie, 39 - -Where, where are now the great reports, 9 - -While that the sun with his beams hot, 19 - -While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, 253 - -Whither, midst falling dew, 344 - -Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, 229 - - -Ye banks and braes and streams around, 208 - -Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, 188 - -Ye clouds! 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