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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graded Poetry: Second Year, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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
+
+
+Title: Graded Poetry: Second Year
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Katherine D. Blake
+        Georgia Alexander
+
+Posting Date: February 16, 2013 [EBook #9542]
+Release Date: December, 2005
+First Posted: October 7, 2003
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SECOND YEAR ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Amy Overmyer and PG
+Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GRADED POETRY
+
+
+SEVENTH YEAR
+
+
+Edited By:
+
+Katherine D. Blake
+Principal, Girls' Department Public School No. 6, New York City
+
+and
+
+Georgia Alexander
+Supervising Principal, Indianapolis, Indiana
+
+
+1906
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+Poetry is the chosen language of childhood and youth. The baby
+repeats words again and again for the mere joy of their sound:
+the melody of nursery rhymes gives a delight which is quite
+independent of the meaning of the words. Not until youth approaches
+maturity is there an equal pleasure in the rounded periods of
+elegant prose. It is in childhood therefore that the young mind
+should be stored with poems whose rhythm will be a present delight
+and whose beautiful thoughts will not lose their charm in later
+years.
+
+The selections for the lowest grades are addressed primarily to
+the feeling for verbal beauty, the recognition of which in the
+mind of the child is fundamental to the plan of this work. The
+editors have felt that the inclusion of critical notes in these
+little books intended for elementary school children would be not
+only superfluous, but, in the degree in which critical comment
+drew the child's attention from the text, subversive of the desired
+result. Nor are there any notes on methods. The best way to teach
+children to love a poem is to read it inspiringly to them.
+The French say: "The ear is the pathway to the heart." A poem
+should be so read that it will sing itself in the hearts of the
+listening children.
+
+In the brief biographies appended to the later books the human
+element has been brought out. An effort has been made to call
+attention to the education of the poet and his equipment for his
+life work rather than to the literary qualities of his style.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+FIRST HALF YEAR
+
+Good Name                                _William Shakespeare_
+From "Love's Labor's Lost".              _William Shakespeare_
+From "Richard II," Act II, Sc. I         _William Shakespeare_
+Jog on, Jog on                           _William Shakespeare_
+The Downfall of Wolsey                   _William Shakespeare_
+The Noble Nature                         _Ben Johnson_
+Song on a May Morning                    _John Milton_
+O God, our Help in Ages Past.            _Isaac Watts_
+The Diverting History of John Gilpin     _William Cowper_
+Bannockburn                              _Robert Burns_
+My Heart's in the Highlands              _Robert Burns_
+The Solitary Reaper                      _William Wordsworth_
+Sonnet                                   _William Wordsworth_
+"Soldier, Rest!"                         _Walter Scott_
+Lochinvar                                _Walter Scott_
+The Star-Spangled Banner                 _Francis Scott Key_
+Hohenlinden                              _Thomas Campbell_
+The Harp that Once through Tara's Halls  _Thomas Moore_
+Childe Harold's Farewell to England      _George Noel Gordon,
+                                            Lord Byron_
+The Night before Waterloo                _George Noel Gordon,
+                                            Lord Byron_
+Abide with Me                            _Henry Francis Lyte_
+Horatius at the Bridge                   _Thomas B. Macauley_
+
+SECOND HALF YEAR
+
+Early Spring                             _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+Sir Galahad                              _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+The Charge of the Light Brigade          _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+Ring out, Wild Bells.
+   From "In Memoriam"                    _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
+A Christmas Hymn                         _Alfred Domett_
+Home Thoughts from Abroad                _Robert Browning_
+Pheidippides                             _Robert Browning_
+A Song of Clover                         _Saxe Holm_
+Song of Love                             _Lewis Carroll_
+Scythe Song                              _Andrew Lang_
+White Butterflies                        _Algernon Charles Swinburne_
+Recessional. A Victorian Ode             _Rudyard Kipling_
+To a Waterfowl                           _William Cullen Bryant_
+The Death of the Flowers                 _William Cullen Bryant_
+Thanatopsis                              _William Cullen Bryant_
+From "Woodnotes"                         _Ralph Waldo Emerson_
+Daybreak                                 _Henry Wadsworth
+                                            Longfellow_
+The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz         _Henry Wadsworth
+                                            Longfellow_
+Hymn to the Night                        _Henry Wadsworth
+                                            Longfellow_
+Longing                                  _James Russell Lowell_
+The Finding of the Lyre                  _James Russell Lowell_
+Waiting                                  _John Burroughs_
+Columbus                                 _Joaquin Miller_
+Evening Songs                            _John Vance Cheney_
+A Vagabond Song                          _Bliss Carman_
+Old Glory                                _James Whitcomb Riley_
+Kavanagh                                 _Henry Wadsworth
+                                            Longfellow_
+
+Biographical Sketches of Authors
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+SEVENTH YEAR--FIRST HALF
+
+
+WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
+ENGLAND, 1564-1616
+
+Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
+Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
+Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
+'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
+But he that filches from me my good name
+Robs me of that which not enriches him
+And makes me poor indeed.
+
+--"OTHELLO," Act II, Sc. 3.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When daisies pied and violets blue,
+And lady-smocks all silver-white,
+And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
+Do paint the meadows with delight.
+
+--"LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST," Act V, Sc. 2.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
+This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
+This other Eden, demi-paradise;
+This fortress built by Nature for herself
+Against infection and the hand of war;
+This happy breed of men, this little world,
+This precious stone set in the silver sea,
+Which serves it in the office of a wall,
+Or as a moat defensive to a house,
+Against the envy of less happier lands;
+This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.
+
+--"RICHARD II," Act II, Sc. 1.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
+And merrily hent the stile-a:
+A merry heart goes all the day,
+Your sad tires in a mile-a.
+
+--From "WINTER'S TALE."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Downfall of Wolsey
+
+Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
+This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
+The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms
+And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;
+The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
+And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
+His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
+And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
+Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
+This many summers in a sea of glory,
+But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
+At length broke under me; and now has left me,
+Weary and old with service, to the mercy
+Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.
+Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:
+I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched
+Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
+There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
+That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
+More pangs and fears than wars or women have:
+And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
+Never to hope again.
+
+--From "HENRY VIII."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BEN JONSON
+ENGLAND, 1574-1637
+
+THE NOBLE NATURE
+
+It is not growing like a tree
+In bulk doth make man 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
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JOHN MILTON
+ENGLAND, 1608-1674
+
+SONG ON A MAY MORNING
+
+Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
+Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
+The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
+The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
+
+Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
+Mirth and youth and warm desire!
+Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
+Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
+Thus we salute thee with our early song,
+And welcome thee, and wish thee long.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ISAAC WATTS
+ENGLAND, 1674-1748
+
+O God, our help in ages past,
+Our hope for years to come,
+Our shelter from the stormy blast,
+And our eternal home:
+
+Before the hills in order stood,
+Or earth received her frame,
+From everlasting Thou art God,
+To endless years the same.
+
+A thousand ages in Thy sight
+Are like an evening gone;
+Short as the watch that ends the night
+Before the rising sun.
+
+Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
+Bears all its sons away;
+They fly forgotten, as a dream
+Dies at the opening day.
+
+O God, our help in ages past,
+Our hope for years to come,
+Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
+And our eternal home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WILLIAM COWPER
+ENGLAND, 1731-1800
+
+THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN
+
+John Gilpin was a citizen,
+Of credit and renown,
+A trainband captain eke was he
+Of famous London town.
+
+John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
+'Though wedded we have been
+These twice ten tedious years, yet we
+No holiday have seen.
+
+"To-morrow is our wedding day,
+And we will then repair
+Unto the Bell at Edmonton
+All in a chaise and pair.
+
+"My sister, and my sister's child,
+Myself, and children three,
+Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
+On horseback after we."
+
+He soon replied, "I do admire
+Of womankind but one,
+And you are she, my dearest dear,
+Therefore it shall be done.
+
+"I am a linendraper bold,
+As all the world doth know,
+And my good friend the calender
+Will lend his horse to go."
+
+Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said;
+And for that wine is dear,
+We will be furnished with our own,
+Which is both bright and clear."
+
+John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;
+O'erjoyed was he to find,
+That, though on pleasure she was bent,
+She had a frugal mind.
+
+The morning came, the chaise was brought,
+But yet was not allow'd
+To drive up to the door, lest all
+Should say that she was proud.
+
+So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,
+Where they did all get in;
+Six precious souls, and all agog
+To dash through thick and thin.
+
+Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
+Were never folks so glad,
+The stones did rattle underneath,
+As if Cheapside were mad.
+
+John Gilpin at his horse's side
+Seized fast the flowing mane,
+And up he got, in haste to ride,
+But soon came down again;
+
+For saddletree scarce reach'd had he
+His journey to begin,
+When, turning round his head, he saw
+Three customers come in.
+
+So down he came; for loss of time,
+Although it grieved him sore,
+Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
+Would trouble him much more.
+
+'Twas long before the customers
+Were suited to their mind,
+When Betty screaming came downstairs,
+"The wine is left behind!"
+
+"Good lack!" quoth he--"yet bring it me,
+My leathern belt likewise,
+In which I bear my trusty sword
+When I do exercise."
+
+Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)
+Had two stone bottles found,
+To hold the liquor that she loved
+And keep it safe and sound.
+
+Then over all, that he might be
+Equipp'd from top to toe,
+His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat,
+He manfully did throw.
+
+Now see him mounted once again
+Upon his nimble steed,
+Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
+With caution and good heed.
+
+But finding soon a smoother road
+Beneath his well-shod feet,
+The snorting beast began to trot,
+Which gall'd him in his seat.
+
+"So, fair and softly," John he cried,
+But John he cried in vain;
+That trot became a gallop soon,
+In spite of curb and rein.
+
+So stooping down, as needs he must
+Who cannot sit upright,
+He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,
+And eke with all his might.
+
+His horse, who never in that sort
+Had handled been before,
+What thing upon his back had got
+Did wonder more and more.
+
+Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
+Away went hat and wig;
+He little dreamt, when he set out,
+Of running such a rig.
+
+The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
+Like streamer long and gay,
+Till, loop and button failing both,
+At last it flew away.
+
+Then might all people well discern
+The bottles he had slung;
+A bottle swinging at each side,
+As hath been said or sung.
+
+The dogs did bark, the children scream'd,
+Up flew the windows all;
+And every soul cried out, "Well done!"
+As loud as he could bawl.
+
+Away went Gilpin--who but he?
+His fame soon spread around,
+"He carries weight! he rides a race!
+'Tis for a thousand pound!"
+
+And still as fast as he drew near,
+'Twas wonderful to view,
+How in a trice the turnpike men
+Their gates wide open threw.
+
+And now, as he went bowing down
+His reeking head full low,
+The bottles twain behind his back
+Were shatter'd at a blow.
+
+Down ran the wine into the road,
+Most piteous to be seen,
+Which made his horse's flanks to smoke
+As they had basted been.
+
+But still he seem'd to carry weight,
+With leathern girdle braced;
+For all might see the bottle necks
+Still dangling at his waist.
+
+Thus all through merry Islington
+These gambols did he play,
+Until he came unto the Wash
+Of Edmonton so gay;
+
+And there he threw the wash about
+On both sides of the way,
+Just like unto a trundling mop,
+Or a wild goose at play.
+
+At Edmonton his loving wife
+From the balcony spied
+Her tender husband, wondering much
+To see how he did ride.
+
+"Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--here's the house,"
+They all at once did cry;
+"The dinner waits, and we are tired:"
+Said Gilpin--"So am I!"
+
+But yet his horse was not a whit
+Inclined to tarry there;
+For why?--his owner had a house
+Full ten miles off, at Ware.
+
+So like an arrow swift he flew,
+Shot by an archer strong;
+So did he fly--which brings me to
+The middle of my song.
+
+Away went Gilpin out of breath,
+And sore against his will,
+Till at his friend the calender's
+His horse at last stood still.
+
+The calender, amazed to see
+His neighbor in such trim,
+Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
+And thus accosted him:
+
+"What news? what news? your tidings tell
+Tell me you must and shall--
+Say why bareheaded you are come,
+Or why you come at all?"
+
+Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
+And loved a timely joke;
+And thus unto the calender
+In merry guise he spoke:
+
+"I came because your horse would come;
+And, if I well forbode,
+My hat and wig will soon be here,
+They are upon the road."
+
+The calender, right glad to find
+His friend in merry pin,
+Return'd him not a single word,
+But to the house went in;
+
+Whence straight he came with hat and wig,
+A wig that flow'd behind,
+A hat not much the worse for wear,
+Each comely in its kind.
+
+He held them up, and in his turn
+Thus show'd his ready wit,
+"My head is twice as big as yours,
+They therefore needs must fit.
+
+"But let me scrape the dirt away
+That hangs upon your face;
+And stop and eat, for well you may
+Be in a hungry case."
+
+Said John, "It is my wedding day,
+And all the world would stare,
+If wife should dine at Edmonton,
+And I should dine at Ware."
+
+So turning to his horse, he said,
+"I am in haste to dine;
+'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
+You shall go back for mine."
+
+Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast!
+For which he paid full dear;
+For, while he spake, a braying ass
+Did sing most loud and clear;
+
+Whereat his horse did snort, as he
+Had heard a lion roar,
+And gallop'd off with all his might,
+As he had done before.
+
+Away went Gilpin, and away
+Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
+He lost them sooner than at first,
+For why?--they were too big.
+
+Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
+Her husband posting down
+Into the country far away,
+She pull'd out half a crown;
+
+And thus unto the youth she said,
+That drove them to the Bell,
+"This shall be yours, when you bring back
+My husband safe and well."
+
+The youth did ride, and soon did meet
+John coming back amain;
+Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
+By catching at his rein;
+
+But not performing what he meant,
+And gladly would have done,
+The frighted steed he frighted more,
+And made him faster run.
+
+Away went Gilpin, and away
+Went postboy at his heels,
+The postboy's horse right glad to miss
+The lumbering of the wheels.
+
+Six gentlemen upon the road,
+Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
+With postboy scampering in the rear,
+They raised the hue and cry:--
+
+"Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!"
+Not one of them was mute;
+And all and each that passed that way
+Did join in the pursuit.
+
+And now the turnpike gates again
+Flew open in short space;
+The toll-men thinking as before,
+That Gilpin rode a race.
+
+And so he did, and won it too,
+For he got first to town;
+Nor stopp'd till where he had got up
+He did again get down.
+
+Now let us sing, "Long live the king,
+And Gilpin long live he;"
+And when he next doth ride abroad,
+May I be there to see!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ROBERT BURNS
+SCOTLAND, 1759-1796
+
+BANNOCKBURN
+
+ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY
+
+Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
+Welcome to your gory bed
+Or to victorie!
+
+Now's the day, and now's the hour;
+See the front o' battle lower;
+See approach proud Edward's power--
+Chains and slaverie!
+
+Wha will be a traitor knave?
+Wha can fill a coward's grave?
+Wha sae base as be a slave?
+Let him turn and flee!
+
+Wha for Scotland's king and law
+Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
+Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
+Let him follow me!
+
+By oppression's woes and pains!
+By your sons in servile chains!
+We will drain our dearest veins,
+But they shall be free!
+
+Lay the proud usurpers low!
+Tyrants fall in every foe!
+Liberty's in every blow!--
+Let us do or die!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS
+
+My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
+My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
+Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
+My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
+Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
+The birthplace of valor, the country of worth:
+Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
+The hills of the Highlands forever I love.
+
+Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
+Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
+Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
+Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
+My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
+My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
+Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
+My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+ENGLAND, 1770-1850
+
+THE SOLITARY REAPER
+
+Behold her, single in the field,
+Yon solitary Highland lass,
+Reaping and singing by herself;
+Stop here, or gently pass!
+Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
+And sings a melancholy strain;
+Oh, listen! for the vale profound
+Is overflowing with the sound.
+
+No nightingale did ever chant
+So sweetly to reposing bands
+Of travelers in some shady haunt
+Among Arabian sands:
+A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
+In springtime from the cuckoo-bird,
+Breaking the silence of the seas
+Among the farthest Hebrides.
+
+Will no one tell me what she sings?
+Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
+For old, unhappy, far-off things,
+And battles long ago:
+Or is it some more humble lay,
+Familiar matter of to-day,
+Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
+That has been, and may be again?
+
+Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
+As if her song could have no ending;
+I saw her singing at her work,
+And o'er the sickle bending.
+I listened motionless and still;
+And, as I mounted up the hill,
+The music in my heart I bore
+Long after it was heard no more.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SONNET
+COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802
+
+Earth has not anything to show more fair:
+Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
+A sight so touching in its majesty:
+This city now doth like a garment wear
+The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
+Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie
+Open unto the fields and to the sky;
+All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
+Never did sun more beautifully steep
+In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill;
+Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
+The river glideth at his own sweet will:
+Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
+And all that mighty heart is lying still!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WALTER SCOTT
+SCOTLAND, 1771-1832
+
+"SOLDIER, REST!"
+
+Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
+Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking;
+Dream of battle-fields no more,
+Days of danger, nights of waking,
+In our isle's enchanted hall,
+Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
+Fairy strains of music fall,
+Every sense in slumber dewing.
+Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
+Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking;
+Dream of battle-fields no more,
+Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
+
+No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
+Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,
+Trump nor pibroch summon here,
+Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
+Yet the lark's shrill fife may come,
+At the daybreak from the fallow,
+
+And the bittern sound his drum,
+Booming from the sedgy shallow.
+Ruder sounds shall none be near,
+Guards nor warders challenge here;
+Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
+Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.
+
+Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
+While our slumb'rous spells assail ye,
+Dream not with the rising sun,
+Bugles here shall sound reveille.
+Sleep! the deer is in his den;
+Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
+Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
+How thy gallant steed lay dying.
+Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
+Think not of the rising sun,
+For at dawning to assail ye,
+Here no bugle sounds reveille.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LOCHINVAR
+
+Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west;
+Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
+And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none;
+He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
+So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
+There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
+
+He stayed not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
+He swam the Eske River where ford there was none;
+But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
+The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
+For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
+Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
+
+So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
+Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
+Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
+(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
+"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
+Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"--
+
+"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;--
+Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide--
+And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
+To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
+There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
+That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
+
+The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
+He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
+She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
+With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
+He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,--
+"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.
+
+So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
+That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
+While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
+And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
+And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'Twere better by far,
+To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
+
+One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
+When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near:
+So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
+So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
+"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
+They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
+
+There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
+Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
+There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
+But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
+So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
+Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FRANCIS SCOTT KEY
+AMERICA, 1780-1843
+
+THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER[1]
+
+O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
+What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last  gleaming--
+Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the  clouds of the fight
+O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!
+And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
+Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
+O! say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave
+O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
+
+On that shore dimly see through the mists of the deep
+Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
+What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
+As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
+Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
+In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
+'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
+O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
+
+And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
+That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
+A home and a country should leave us no more?
+Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
+No refuge could save the hireling and slave
+From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
+And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
+O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
+
+O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
+Between their loved homes and war's desolation!
+Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
+Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
+Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
+And this be our motto--"_In God is our trust_:"
+And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
+O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Footnote:1. The song is taken as it appears in Stedman and Hutchinson's
+_Library of American Literature_, vol. iv. p. 419. The text, slightly
+different from the common one, corresponds to the facsimile of
+a copy made by Mr. Key in 1840.]
+
+THOMAS CAMPBELL
+SCOTLAND, 1777-1844
+
+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
+When the drum beat, at dead of night,
+Commanding fires of death to light
+The darkness of her scenery.
+
+By torch and trumpet fast array'd
+Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
+And furious every charger neigh'd,
+To join the dreadful revelry.
+
+Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
+Then rush'd the steed to battle driven,
+And louder than the bolts of heaven
+Far flash'd the red artillery.
+
+But redder yet that light shall glow
+On Linden's hills of stained snow,
+And darker yet shall be the flow
+Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
+
+'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid 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,
+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,
+And every turf beneath their feet
+Shall be a soldier's sepulcher.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THOMAS MOORE
+IRELAND, 1779-1852
+
+THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS
+
+The Harp that once through Tara's Halls
+The soul of music shed,
+Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
+As if that soul were fled.
+So sleeps the pride of former days,
+So glory's thrill is o'er,
+And hearts that once beat high for praise,
+Now feel that pulse no more.
+
+No more to chiefs and ladies bright
+The harp of Tara swells:
+The chord alone that breaks at night,
+Its tale of ruin tells.
+Thus freedom now so seldom wakes,
+The only throb she gives
+Is when some heart indignant breaks,
+To show that still she lives.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD BYRON
+ENGLAND, 1788-1824
+
+CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND
+
+Adieu, adieu! my native shore
+Fades o'er the waters blue;
+The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
+And shrieks the wild sea mew.
+Yon sun that sets upon the sea,
+We follow in his flight;
+Farewell awhile to him and thee,
+My native land--Good-night.
+
+A few short hours and he will rise
+To give the morrow birth;
+And I shall hail the main and skies,
+But not my mother earth.
+Deserted is my own good hall,
+Its hearth is desolate;
+Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
+My dog howls at the gate.
+
+"Come hither, hither, my little page!
+Why dost thou weep and wail?
+Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
+Or tremble at the gale?
+But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
+Our ship is swift and strong;
+Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
+More merrily along."
+
+"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
+I fear not wave nor wind:
+Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
+Am sorrowful in mind;
+For I have from my father gone,
+A mother whom I love,
+And have no friends, save thee alone,
+But thee--and One above.
+
+"My father blessed me fervently,
+Yet did not much complain;
+But sorely will my mother sigh
+Till I come back again."--
+"Enough, enough, my little lad!
+Such tears become thine eye;
+If I thy guileless bosom had,
+Mine own would not be dry."
+
+       *       *      *       *       *
+
+THE NIGHT BEFORE WATERLOO
+
+There was a sound of revelry by night,
+And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
+Her beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
+The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
+A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
+Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
+Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
+And all went merry as a marriage bell;
+But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!
+
+Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind,
+Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
+On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
+No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
+To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.
+But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,
+As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
+And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
+Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!
+
+Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
+And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
+And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
+Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
+And there were sudden partings, such as press
+The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
+Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess
+If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
+Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!
+
+And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
+The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
+Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
+And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
+And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;
+And near, the beat of the alarming drum
+Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
+While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
+Or whispering with white lips--"The foe!
+They come! they come!"
+
+Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
+Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
+The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
+The morn the marshaling in arms--the day
+Battle's magnificently stern array!
+The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
+The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,
+Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent,
+Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent!
+
+--From "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HENRY FRANCIS LYTE
+ENGLAND, 1793-1847
+
+ABIDE WITH ME
+
+Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide;
+The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide:
+When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
+Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
+
+Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
+Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
+Change and decay in all around I see;
+O Thou who changest not, abide with me.
+
+I need Thy presence every passing hour;
+What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
+Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
+Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.
+
+I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless:
+Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
+Where is Death's sting? Where, Grave, thy victory?
+I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.
+
+Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,
+Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
+Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
+In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+THOMAS B. MACAULAY
+ENGLAND, 1800-1859
+
+HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE
+
+The consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low,
+And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe.
+"Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down;
+And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?"
+Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate:
+"To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late.
+Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may;
+I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.
+In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three.
+
+Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?"
+Then out spake Spurius Lartius--a Ramnian proud was he--
+"Lo! I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee."
+And out spake strong Herminius--of Titian blood was he--
+"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee."
+"Horatius," quoth the consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be."
+And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless three.
+Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see
+On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three.
+And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood,
+The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood.
+But meanwhile ax and lever have manfully been plied,
+And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide.
+"Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cried the fathers all;
+"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!"
+Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back;
+And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack;
+But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore
+Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more.
+But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam,
+And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream.
+And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome,
+As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam.
+
+And, like a horse unbroken, when first he feels the rein,
+The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane,
+And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free,
+And battlement, and plank, and pier whirled headlong to the sea.
+
+Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind;
+Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind.
+"Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face.
+"Now yield thee!" cried Lars Porsena, "now yield thee to our grace!"
+
+Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see;
+Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he;
+But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home,
+And he spoke to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome:
+"O Tiber! Father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray,
+A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!"
+So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side,
+And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide.
+
+No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank;
+But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank,
+And when above the surges they saw his crest appear,
+Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer.
+
+But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain:
+And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain,
+And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows:
+And oft they thought him sinking--but still again he rose.
+
+Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case,
+Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place:
+But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,
+And our good Father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.
+
+"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown?
+But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town!"
+"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena; "and bring him safe to shore;
+For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."
+
+And now he feels the bottom;--now on dry earth he stands;
+Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands.
+And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud,
+He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd.
+
+
+
+
+SEVENTH YEAR--SECOND HALF
+
+
+ALFRED TENNYSON
+ENGLAND, 1809-1892
+
+EARLY SPRING
+
+Once more the Heavenly Power
+Makes all things new,
+And domes the red-plow'd hills
+With loving blue;
+The blackbirds have their wills,
+The throstles too.
+
+Opens a door in Heaven;
+From skies of glass
+A Jacob's ladder falls
+On greening grass,
+And o'er the mountain-walls
+Young angels pass.
+
+Before them fleets the shower,
+And bursts the buds,
+And shine the level lands,
+And flash the floods;
+The stars are from their hands
+Flung thro' the woods.
+
+The woods with living airs
+How softly fann'd,
+Light airs from where the deep,
+All down the sand,
+Is breathing in his sleep,
+Heard by the land.
+
+O follow, leaping blood,
+The season's lure!
+O heart, look down and up
+Serene, secure.
+Warm as the crocus cup,
+Like snowdrops, pure!
+
+Past, Future, glimpse and fade
+Thro' some slight spell,
+A gleam from yonder vale,
+Some far blue fell,
+And sympathies, how frail,
+In sound and smell.
+
+Till at thy chuckled note,
+Thou twinkling bird,
+The fairy fancies range,
+And, lightly stirr'd,
+Ring little bells of change
+From word to word.
+
+For now the Heavenly Power
+Makes all things new,
+And thaws the cold, and fills
+The flower with dew;
+The blackbirds have their wills,
+The poets too.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SIR GALAHAD
+
+My good blade carves the casques of men,
+My tough lance thrusteth sure,
+My strength is as the strength of ten,
+Because my heart is pure.
+The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
+The hard brands shiver on the steel,
+The splintered spear shafts crack and fly,
+The horse and rider reel;
+They reel, they roll in clanging lists,
+And when the tide of combat stands,
+Perfume and flowers fall in showers,
+That lightly rain from ladies' hands.
+
+How sweet are looks that ladies bend
+On whom their favors fall!
+For them I battle till the end,
+To save from shame and thrall;
+But all my heart is drawn above,
+My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine:
+I never felt the kiss of love,
+Nor maiden's hand in mine.
+More bounteous aspects on me beam,
+Me mightier transports move and thrill;
+So keep I fair through faith and prayer
+A virgin heart in work and will.
+
+When down the stormy crescent goes,
+A light before me swims,
+Between dark stems the forest glows,
+I hear a noise of hymns:
+Then by some secret shrine I ride;
+I hear a voice, but none are there;
+The stalls are void, the doors are wide,
+The tapers burning fair.
+Fair gleams the snowy altar cloth,
+The silver vessels sparkle clean,
+The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,
+And solemn chants resound between.
+
+Sometimes on lonely mountain meres
+I find a magic bark;
+I leap on board: no helmsman steers:
+I float till all is dark.
+A gentle sound, an awful light!
+Three angels bear the Holy Grail;
+With folded feet, in stoles of white,
+On sleeping wings they sail.
+Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
+My spirit beats her mortal bars,
+As down dark tides the glory slides,
+And starlike mingles with the stars.
+
+When on my goodly charger borne
+Through dreaming towns I go,
+The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,
+The streets are dumb with snow.
+The tempest crackles on the leads,
+And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;
+But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
+And gilds the driving hail.
+I leave the plain, I climb the height;
+No branchy thicket shelter yields;
+But blessed forms in whistling storms
+Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.
+
+A maiden knight--to me is given
+Such hope, I know not fear;
+I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
+That often meet me here.
+I muse on joy that will not cease,
+Pure spaces clothed in living beams,
+Pure lilies of eternal peace,
+Whose odors haunt my dreams,
+And, stricken by an angel's hand,
+This mortal armor that I wear,
+This weight and size, this heart and eyes,
+Are touched, are turned to finest air.
+
+The clouds are broken in the sky,
+And through the mountain walls
+A rolling organ-harmony
+Swells up, and shakes and falls.
+Then move the trees, the copses nod,
+Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
+"O just and faithful knight of God!
+Ride on! the prize is near."
+So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;
+By bridge and ford, by park and pale,
+All armed I ride, whate'er betide,
+Until I find the Holy Grail.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
+
+Half a league, half a league,
+Half a league onward,
+All in the valley of death
+Rode the six hundred.
+
+"Forward, the Light Brigade!
+Charge for the guns!" he said;
+Into the valley of death
+Rode the six hundred.
+
+"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
+Was there a man dismayed?
+Not though the soldier knew
+Some one had blundered;
+Theirs not to make reply,
+Theirs not to reason why,
+Theirs but to do and die:
+Into the valley of death
+Rode the six hundred.
+
+Cannon to right of them,
+Cannon to left of them,
+Cannon in front of them
+Volleyed and thundered;
+Stormed at with shot and shell,
+Boldly they rode and well,
+Into the jaws of death,
+Into the mouth of hell
+Rode the six hundred.
+
+Flashed all their sabers bare,
+Flashed as they turned in air
+Sabring the gunners there,
+Charging an army, while
+All the world wondered.
+Plunged in the battery smoke,
+Right through the line they broke;
+Cossack and Russian
+Reeled from the saber-stroke--
+Shattered and sundered.
+Then they rode back, but not--
+Not the six hundred.
+
+Cannon to right of them,
+Cannon to left of them,
+Cannon behind them
+Volleyed and thundered;
+Stormed at with shot and shell,
+While horse and hero fell,
+They that had fought so well
+Came through the jaws of death,
+Back from the mouth of hell,
+All that was left of them,
+Left of six hundred.
+
+When can their glory fade?
+Oh, the wild charge they made!
+All the world wondered.
+Honor the charge they made,
+Honor the Light Brigade,
+Noble six hundred!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+RING OUT, WILD BELLS
+
+Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
+The flying cloud, the frosty light;
+The year is dying in the night:
+Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
+
+Ring out the old, ring in the new,
+Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
+The year is going, let him go;
+Ring out the false, ring in the true.
+
+Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
+For those that here we see no more;
+Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
+Ring in redress to all mankind.
+
+Ring out a slowly dying cause,
+And ancient forms of party strife;
+Ring in the nobler modes of life,
+With sweeter manners, purer laws.
+
+Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
+The faithless coldness of the times;
+Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
+But ring the fuller minstrel in.
+
+Ring out false pride in place and blood,
+The civic slander and the spite;
+Ring in the love of truth and right,
+Ring in the common love of good.
+
+Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
+Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
+Ring out the thousand wars of old,
+Ring in the thousand years of peace.
+
+Ring in the valiant man and free,
+The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
+Ring out the darkness of the land,
+Ring in the Christ that is to be.
+
+--From "IN MEMORIAM."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ALFRED DOMETT
+ENGLAND, 1811-1887
+
+A CHRISTMAS HYMN
+
+It was the calm and silent night!
+Seven hundred years and fifty-three
+Had Rome been growing up to might,
+And now was queen of land and sea.
+No sound was heard of clashing wars;
+Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain:
+Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars
+Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
+In the solemn midnight,
+Centuries ago.
+
+'Twas in the calm and silent night!
+The senator of haughty Rome,
+Impatient, urged his chariot's flight,
+From lordly revel rolling home;
+Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell.
+His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;
+What recked the Roman what befell
+A paltry province far away,
+In the solemn midnight,
+Centuries ago.
+
+Within that province far away
+Went plodding home a weary boor
+A streak of light before him lay,
+Fallen through a half-shut stable-door
+Across his path. He passed--for naught
+Told what was going on within;
+How keen the stars, his only thought;
+The air how calm and cold and thin,
+In the solemn midnight,
+Centuries ago!
+
+Oh, strange indifference! low and high
+Drowsed over common joys and cares;
+The earth was still--but knew not why;
+The world was listening, unawares.
+How calm a moment may precede
+One that shall thrill the world for ever!
+To that still moment none would heed,
+Man's doom was linked no more to sever--
+In the solemn midnight,
+Centuries ago!
+
+It is the calm and solemn night!
+A thousand bells ring out, and throw
+Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
+The darkness--charmed and holy now!
+The night that erst no name had worn,
+To it a happy name is given;
+For in that stable lay, new-born,
+The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven,
+In the solemn midnight,
+Centuries ago!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ROBERT BROWNING
+ENGLAND, 1812-1889
+
+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 brushwood sheaf
+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!
+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
+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!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+PHEIDIPPIDES
+
+First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock!
+Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all!
+Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise
+--Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear!
+Also ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer,
+Now, henceforth and forever,--O latest to whom I upraise
+Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock!
+Present to help, potent to save, Pan--patron I call!
+
+Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return!
+See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks!
+Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you,
+"Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid!
+Persia has come, we are here, where is She?" Your command I obeyed,
+Ran and raced: like stubble, some field which a fire runs through
+Was the space between city and city; two days, two nights did I burn
+
+Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks.
+Into their midst I broke: breath served but for "Persia has come!
+Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth;
+Razed to the ground is Eretria--but Athens, shall Athens sink,
+Drop into dust and die--the flower of Hellas utterly die,
+Die with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the stander-by?
+Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er
+destruction's brink?
+How--when? No care for my limbs!--there's lightning in all and some--
+Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!"
+
+O my Athens--Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond?
+Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust,
+Malice,--each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate!
+Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood
+Quivering,--the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from dry wood:
+"Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate?
+Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond
+Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them 'Ye must'!"
+
+No bolt launched from Olympos! Lo, their answer at last!
+"Has Persia come,--does Athens ask aid,--may Sparta befriend?
+Nowise precipitate judgment--too weighty the issue at stake!
+Count we no time lost time which lags thro' respect to the Gods!
+Ponder that precept of old, 'No warfare, whatever the odds
+In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take
+Full-circle her state in the sky!' Already she rounds to it fast:
+Athens must wait, patient as we--who judgment suspend."
+
+Athens,--except for that sparkle,--thy name, I had moldered to ash!
+That sent a blaze thro' my blood; off, off and away was I back,
+--Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile!
+Yet "O Gods of my land!" I cried, as each hillock and plain,
+Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again,
+"Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you erewhile?
+Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash
+Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack!
+
+"Oak and olive and bay,--I bid you cease to enwreathe
+Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot,
+You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave!
+Rather I hail thee, Parnes,--trust to thy wild waste tract!
+Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked
+My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave
+No deity deigns to drape with verdure?--at least I can breathe,
+Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!"
+Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge;
+Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar
+Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way.
+Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across:
+"Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse?
+Athens to aid? Tho' the dive were thro' Erebos, thus I obey--
+Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge
+Better!"--when--ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are?
+
+There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he--majestical Pan!
+Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof;
+All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly--the curl
+Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe
+As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw.
+"Halt, Pheidippides!"--halt I did, my brain of a whirl:
+"Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?" he gracious began:
+"How is it,--Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof?
+
+"Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast!
+Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old?
+Aye, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me!
+Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith
+In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, 'The Goat-God saith:
+When Persia--so much as strews not the soil--is cast in the sea,
+Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least,
+Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the bold!'
+
+"Say Pan saith: 'Let this, foreshowing the place, be the pledge!'"
+(Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear
+--Fennel,--I grasped it a-tremble with Dew--whatever it bode),
+"While, as for thee ..." But enough! He was gone. If I ran hitherto--
+Be sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew.
+Parnes to Athens--earth no more, the air was my road;
+Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge!
+Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare!
+
+Then spoke Miltiades. "And then, best runner of Greece,
+Whose limbs did duty indeed,--what gift is promised thyself?
+Tell it us straightway,--Athens the mother demands of her son!"
+Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length
+His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his strength
+Into the utterance--"Pan spoke thus: 'For what thou hast done
+Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release
+From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!'
+
+"I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind!
+Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may grow,--
+Pound--Pan helping us--Persia to dust, and, under the deep,
+Whelm her away forever; and then,--no Athens to save,--
+Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave,--
+Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall creep
+Close to my knees,--recount how the God was awful yet kind,
+Promised their sire reward to the full--rewarding him--so!"
+
+Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day:
+So, when Persia was dust, all cried "To Akropolis!
+Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due!
+'Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout!" He flung down his shield,
+Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field
+And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through,
+Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine thro' clay,
+Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died--the bliss!
+
+So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute
+Is still "Rejoice!"--his word which brought rejoicing indeed.
+So is Pheidippides happy forever,--then noble strong man
+Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god loved
+so well,
+He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to tell
+Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began,
+So to end gloriously--once to shout, thereafter be mute:
+"Athens is saved!"--Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HELEN HUNT JACKSON
+AMERICA, 1831-1885
+
+A SONG OF CLOVER
+
+I wonder what the Clover thinks,
+Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links,
+Lover of Daisies slim and white,
+Waltzer with Buttercups at night;
+Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees,
+Serving to them wine-dregs and lees,
+Left by the Royal Humming Birds,
+Who sip and pay with fine-spun words;
+Fellow with all the lowliest,
+Peer of the gayest and the best;
+Comrade of winds, beloved of sun,
+Kissed by the Dew-drops, one by one;
+Prophet of Good-Luck mystery
+By sign of four which few may see;
+Symbol of Nature's magic zone,
+One out of three, and three in one;
+Emblem of comfort in the speech
+Which poor men's babies early reach;
+Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills,
+Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills,
+Sweet in its white, sweet in its red,--
+Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said;--
+Sweet in its every living breath,
+Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death!
+Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks?
+No one! unless the Bob-o'-links!
+
+--"SAXE HOLM."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+LEWIS CARROLL
+ENGLAND, 1832-1898
+
+A SONG OF LOVE
+
+Say, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping,
+That lures the bird home to her nest?
+Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,
+To cuddle and croon it to rest?
+What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
+Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?
+'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low--
+And the name of the secret is Love!
+For I think it is Love,
+For I feel it is Love,
+For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!
+
+Say, whence is the voice that when anger is burning,
+Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?
+That stirs the vexed soul with an aching--a yearning
+For the brotherly hand-grip of peace?
+Whence the music that fills all our being--that thrills
+Around us, beneath, and above?
+'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, or it goes--
+But the name of the secret is Love!
+For I think it is Love,
+For I feel it is Love,
+For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!
+
+Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill,
+Like a picture so fair to the sight?
+That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow,
+Till the little lambs leap with delight?
+'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,
+Though 'tis sung, by the angels above,
+In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear--
+And the name of the secret is Love!
+For I think it is Love,
+For I feel it is Love,
+For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ANDREW LANG
+ENGLAND, 1844-
+
+SCYTHE SONG
+
+Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe,
+What is the word methinks you know,
+Endless over-word that the Scythe
+Sings to the blades of the grass below?
+Scythes that swing in the glass and clover,
+Something, still, they say as they pass;
+What is the word that, over and over,
+Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?
+
+_Hush, ah hush_, the Scythes are saying,
+_Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;
+Hush_, they say to the grasses swaying;
+_Hush_, they sing to the clover deep!
+_Hush_--'tis the lullaby Time is singing--
+_Hush, and heed not, for all things pass;_
+_Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging_
+Over the clover, over the grass!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE
+ENGLAND, 1837-
+
+WHITE BUTTERFLIES
+
+Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,
+Frail, pale wings for the wind to try,
+Small white wings that we scarce can see,
+Fly!
+
+Some fly light as a laugh of glee,
+Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;
+All to the haven where each would be,
+Fly!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+RUDYARD KIPLING
+ENGLAND, 1865-
+
+RECESSIONAL
+
+A VICTORIAN ODE
+
+God of our fathers, known of old--
+Lord of our far-flung battle line--
+Beneath whose awful hand we hold
+Dominion over palm and pine--
+Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
+Lest we forget--lest we forget!
+
+The tumult and the shouting dies--
+The captains and the kings depart--
+Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
+An humble and a contrite heart.
+Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
+Lest we forget--lest we forget!
+
+Far-called our navies melt away--
+On dune and headland sinks the fire--
+Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
+Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
+Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
+Lest we forget--lest we forget!
+
+If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
+Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
+Such boasting as the Gentiles use,
+Or lesser breeds without the Law--
+Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
+Lest we forget--lest we forget!
+
+For heathen heart that puts her trust
+In reeking tube and iron shard--
+All valiant dust that builds on dust,
+And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
+For frantic boast and foolish word,
+Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!
+
+Amen.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
+AMERICA, 1794-1878
+
+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
+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,
+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--
+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.
+
+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'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
+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,
+In the long way that I must tread alone,
+Will lead my steps aright.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS
+
+The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
+Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
+Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
+They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread;
+The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
+And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
+
+Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
+In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
+Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers
+Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours.
+The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain
+Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
+The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago,
+And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
+But on the hills the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood,
+And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
+Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague
+on men,
+And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen.
+
+And now when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,
+To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home;
+When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
+And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
+The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
+And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
+
+And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
+The fair, meek blossom that grew up, and perished by my side.
+In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,
+And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief:
+Yet not unmeet was it that one like that young friend of ours,
+So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THANATOPSIS
+
+To him who in the love of Nature holds
+Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
+A various language; for his gayer hours
+She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
+And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
+Into his darker musings, with a mild
+And healing sympathy, that steals away
+Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
+Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
+Over thy spirit, and sad images
+Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
+And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
+Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
+Go forth, under the open sky, and list
+To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
+Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
+Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
+The all-beholding sun shall see no more
+In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
+Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
+Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
+Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
+Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
+And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
+Thine individual being, shalt thou go
+To mix for ever with the elements,
+To be a brother to the insensible rock
+And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
+Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
+Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
+
+Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
+Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
+Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
+With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
+The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
+Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
+All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
+Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,--the vales
+Stretching in pensive quietness between;
+The venerable woods--rivers that move
+In majesty, and the complaining brooks
+That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
+Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--
+Are but the solemn decorations all
+Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
+The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
+Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
+Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
+The globe are but a handful to the tribes
+That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
+Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
+Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
+Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
+Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
+And millions in those solitudes, since first
+The flight of years began, have laid them down
+In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
+So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
+In silence from the living, and no friend
+Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
+Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
+When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
+Plod on, and each one as before will chase
+His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
+Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
+And make their bed with thee. As the long train
+Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
+The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes
+In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
+The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,--
+Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
+By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
+
+So live, that when thy summons comes to join
+The innumerable caravan, which moves
+To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
+His chamber in the silent halls of death,
+Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
+Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
+By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
+Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
+About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+AMERICA, 1803-1882
+
+'Twas one of the charmed days
+When the genius of God doth flow,
+The wind may alter twenty ways,
+A tempest cannot blow;
+It may blow north, it still is warm;
+Or south, it still is clear;
+Or east, it smells like a clover-farm;
+Or west, no thunder fear.
+The musing peasant lowly great
+Beside the forest water sate;
+The rope-like pine roots crosswise grown
+Compose the network of his throne;
+The wide lake, edged with sand and grass,
+Was burnished to a floor of glass,
+Painted with green and proud
+Of the tree and of the cloud.
+He was the heart of all the scene;
+On him the sun looked more serene;
+To hill and cloud his face was known,--
+It seemed the likeness of their own;
+They knew by secret sympathy
+The public child of earth and sky.
+"You ask," he said, "what guide
+Me through trackless thickets led,
+Through thick-stemmed woodlands rough and wide.
+I found the water's bed.
+The watercourses were my guide;
+I traveled grateful by their side,
+Or through their channel dry;
+They led me through the thicket damp,
+Through brake and fern, the beaver's camp,
+Through beds of granite cut my road,
+And their resistless friendship showed:
+The falling waters led me,
+The foodful waters fed me,
+And brought me to the lowest land,
+Unerring to the ocean sand.
+The moss upon the forest bark
+Was pole-star when the night was dark;
+The purple berries in the wood
+Supplied me necessary food;
+For Nature ever faithful is
+To such as trust her faithfulness.
+When the forest shall mislead me,
+When the night and morning lie,
+When sea and land refuse to feed me,
+'Twill be time enough to die;
+Then will yet my mother yield
+A pillow in her greenest field,
+Nor the June flowers scorn to cover
+The clay of their departed lover."
+
+--From "WOODNOTES."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
+AMERICA, 1807-1882
+
+DAYBREAK
+
+A wind came up out of the sea,
+And said, "O mists, make room for me."
+
+It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on,
+Ye mariners, the night is gone."
+
+And hurried landward far away,
+Crying, "Awake! it is the day."
+
+It said unto the forest, "Shout!
+Hang all your leafy banners out!"
+
+It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
+And said, "O bird, awake and sing."
+
+And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer,
+Your clarion blow; the day is near."
+
+It whispered to the fields of corn,
+"Bow down, and hail the coming morn."
+
+It shouted through the belfry-tower,
+"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour."
+
+It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
+And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ
+
+May 28, 1857
+
+It was fifty years ago
+In the pleasant month of May,
+In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,
+A child in its cradle lay.
+
+And Nature, the old nurse, took
+The child upon her knee,
+Saying: "Here is a story-book
+Thy Father has written for thee.
+
+"Come, wander with me," she said,
+"Into regions yet untrod;
+And read what is still unread
+In the manuscripts of God."
+
+And he wandered away and away
+With Nature, the dear old nurse,
+Who sang to him night and day
+The rhymes of the universe.
+
+And whenever the way seemed long,
+Or his heart began to fail,
+She would sing a more wonderful song,
+Or tell a more marvelous tale.
+
+So she keeps him still a child,
+And will not let him go,
+Though at times his heart beats wild
+For the beautiful Pays de Vaud;
+
+Though at times he hears in his dreams
+The Ranz des Vaches of old,
+And the rush of mountain streams
+From the glaciers clear and cold;
+
+And the mother at home says, "Hark!
+For his voice I listen and yearn;
+It is growing late and dark,
+And my boy does not return!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HYMN TO THE NIGHT
+
+I heard the trailing garments of the Night
+Sweep through her marble halls!
+I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
+From the celestial walls!
+
+I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
+Stoop o'er me from above;
+The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
+As of the one I love.
+
+I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
+The manifold, soft chimes,
+That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
+Like some old poet's rhymes.
+
+From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
+My spirit drank repose;
+The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
+From those deep cisterns flows.
+
+O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
+What man has borne before!
+Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
+And they complain no more.
+
+Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
+Descend with broad-winged flight,
+The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
+The best-beloved Night!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
+AMERICA, 1819-1891
+
+LONGING
+
+Of all the myriad moods of mind
+That through the soul come thronging,
+Which one was e'er so dear, so kind,
+So beautiful as Longing?
+The thing we long for, that we are
+For one transcendent moment
+Before the Present poor and bare
+Can make its sneering comment.
+
+Still, through our paltry stir and strife,
+Glows down the wished Ideal,
+And Longing molds in clay what Life
+Carves in the marble Real;
+To let the new life in, we know,
+Desire must ope the portal;
+Perhaps the longing to be so
+Helps make the soul immortal.
+
+Longing is God's fresh heavenward will
+With our poor earthward striving;
+We quench it that we may be still
+Content with merely living:
+But, would we learn that heart's full scope
+Which we are hourly wronging,
+Our lives must climb from hope to hope
+And realize our longing.
+
+Ah! let us hope that to our praise
+Good God not only reckons
+The moments when we tread His ways,
+But when the spirit beckons,--
+That some slight good is also wrought
+Beyond self-satisfaction,
+When we are simply good in thought,
+Howe'er we fail in action.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE FINDING OF THE LYRE
+
+There lay upon the ocean's shore
+What once a tortoise served to cover.
+A year and more, with rush and roar,
+The surf had rolled it over,
+Had played with it, and flung it by,
+As wind and weather might decide it,
+Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry
+Cheap burial might provide it.
+
+It rested there to bleach or tan,
+The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it;
+With many a ban the fisherman
+Had stumbled o'er and spurned it;
+And there the fisher-girl would stay,
+Conjecturing with her brother
+How in their play the poor estray
+Might serve some use or other.
+
+So there it lay, through wet and dry,
+As empty as the last new sonnet,
+Till by and by came Mercury,
+And, having mused upon it,
+"Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things
+In shape, material, and dimensions!
+Give it but strings, and lo, it sings,
+A wonderful invention!"
+
+So said, so done; the chords he strained,
+And, as his fingers o'er them hovered,
+The shell disdained, a soul had gained,
+The lyre had been discovered.
+O empty world that round us lies,
+Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken,
+Brought we but eyes like Mercury's,
+In thee what songs should waken!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JOHN BURROUGHS
+AMERICA, 1837-
+
+WAITING[1]
+
+Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
+Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea;
+I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
+For lo! my own shall come to me.
+
+I stay my haste, I make delays,
+For what avails this eager pace?
+I stand amid the eternal ways,
+And what is mine shall know my face.
+
+Asleep, awake, by night or day,
+The friends I seek are seeking me;
+No wind can drive my bark astray,
+Or change the tide of destiny.
+
+What matter if I stand alone?
+I wait with joy the coming years;
+My heart shall reap where it has sown,
+And garner up its fruit of tears.
+
+The waters know their own, and draw
+The brook that springs in yonder height;
+So flows the good with equal law
+Unto the soul of pure delight.
+
+The stars come nightly to the sky;
+The tidal wave unto the sea;
+Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
+Can keep my own away from me.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+[Footnote 1: Used by courteous permission of the publishers,
+Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston.]
+
+JOAQUIN MILLER
+AMERICA, 1841-
+
+COLUMBUS
+
+Behind him lay the gray Azores,
+Behind him the gates of Hercules;
+Before him not the ghost of shores,
+Before him only shoreless seas.
+The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
+For lo! the very stars are gone.
+Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?"
+"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"
+
+"My men grow mutinous day by day;
+My men grow ghastly wan and weak,"
+The stout mate thought of home; a spray
+Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
+"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
+If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
+"Why, you shall say, at break of day,
+'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"
+
+They sailed and sailed as winds might blow,
+Until at last the blanched mate said:
+"Why, now not even God would know
+Should I and all my men fall dead.
+These very winds forget their way,
+For God from these dread seas is gone.
+Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say--"
+He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"
+
+They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
+"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
+He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
+With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
+Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
+What shall we do when hope is gone?"
+The words leapt as a leaping sword:
+"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"
+
+Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
+And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
+Of all dark nights! And then a speck--
+A light! a light! a light! a light!
+It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
+It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
+He gained a world; he gave that world
+Its greatest lesson: "On! sail on!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JOHN VANCE CHENEY
+AMERICA, 1848-
+
+EVENING SONGS[1]
+
+I
+
+The birds have hid, the winds are low,
+The brake is awake, the grass aglow:
+The bat is the rover,
+No bee on the clover,
+The day is over,
+And evening come.
+
+The heavy beetle spreads her wings,
+The toad has the road, the cricket sings:
+The bat is the rover,
+No bee on the clover,
+The day is over,
+And evening come.
+
+II
+
+It is that pale, delaying hour
+When nature closes like a flower,
+And on the spirit lies,
+The silence of the earth and skies.
+The world has thoughts she will not own
+When shade and dream with night have flown;
+Bright overhead, a star
+Makes golden guesses what they are.
+
+
+III
+
+Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west,
+With little Song against her breast;
+She took him up, all tired with play,
+And fondly bore him far away.
+
+While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead,
+A fainter glory round her head;
+She follows happy waters after,
+Leaving behind low, rippling laughter.
+
+IV
+
+Behind the hilltop drops the sun,
+The curled heat falters on the sand,
+While evening's ushers, one by one,
+Lead in the guests of Twilight Land.
+
+The bird is silent overhead,
+Below the beast has laid him down;
+Afar, the marbles watch the dead,
+The lonely steeple guards the town.
+
+The south wind feels its amorous course
+To cloistered sweet in thickets found;
+The leaves obey its tender force,
+And stir 'twixt silence and a sound.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+[Footnote 1: From "Poems," published by Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin,
+& Co., Boston.]
+
+BLISS CARMAN
+CANADA, 1861-
+
+A VAGABOND SONG[1]
+
+There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood--
+Touch of manner, hint of mood;
+And my heart is like a rhyme,
+With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.
+
+The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry
+Of bugles going by.
+And my lonely spirit thrills
+To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills.
+
+There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;
+We must rise and follow her,
+When from every hill of fame
+She calls and calls each vagabond by name.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+[Footnote 1: From "Songs from Vagabondia," by Bliss Carman. Used
+by the courteous permission of the author and the publishers,
+Messrs. Small, Maynard, & Co.]
+
+JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
+AMERICA, 1852-
+
+OLD GLORY[1]
+
+Old Glory! say, who,
+By the ships and the crew,
+And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue--
+Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear
+With such pride everywhere,
+As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air
+And leap out full length, as we're wanting you to?--
+Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same,
+And the honor and fame so becoming to you?
+Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red,
+With your stars at their glittering best overhead--
+By day or by night
+Their delightfullest light
+Laughing down from their little square heaven of blue!
+Who gave you the name of Old Glory--say, who--
+Who gave you the name of Old Glory?
+
+The old banner lifted and faltering then
+In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again.
+Old Glory: the story we're wanting to hear
+Is what the plain facts of your christening were,--
+For your name--just to hear it,
+Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit
+As salt as a tear;--
+And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by,
+There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye,
+And an aching to live for you always--or die,
+If, dying, we still keep you waving on high
+And so, by our love
+For you, floating above,
+And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof,
+Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why
+Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory?
+
+Then the old banner leaped like a sail in the blast,
+And fluttered an audible answer at last
+And it spake with a shake of the voice, and it said:
+By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red
+Of my bars and their heaven of stars overhead--
+By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast,
+As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast,
+Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod,--
+My name is as old as the glory of God
+So I came by the name of Old Glory.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+[Footnote 1: This and the following poems are used by the courteous
+permission of the publishers, Messrs. Bobbs, Merrill, & Co.,
+Indianapolis.]
+
+HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
+AMERICA, 1807-1882
+
+KAVANAGH
+
+Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the spring!--
+the great annual miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's
+rod, repeated on myriads and myriads of branches!
+--the gentle progression and growth of herbs,
+flowers, trees,--gentle, and yet irrepressible,--
+which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like
+love, that wins its way and cannot be withstood by
+any human power, because itself is divine power. If
+spring came but once a century, instead of once a
+year, or burst forth with a sound of an earthquake
+and not in silence, what wonder and expectation
+would there be in all hearts to behold the miraculous
+change!
+
+But now the silent succession suggests nothing
+but necessity. To most men, only the cessation of
+the miracle would be miraculous, and the perpetual
+exercise of God's power seems less wonderful than
+its withdrawal would be. We are like children who
+are astonished and delighted only by the second-hand
+of the clock, not by the hour-hand.
+
+In the fields and woods, meanwhile, there were
+other signs and signals of the summer. The darkening
+foliage; the embrowning grain; the golden dragonfly
+haunting the blackberry bushes; the cawing
+crows, that looked down from the mountain on the
+cornfield, and waited day after day for the scarecrow
+to finish his work and depart; and the smoke of far-off
+burning woods, that pervaded the air and hung
+in purple haze about the summits of the mountains,
+--these were the vaunt-couriers and attendants of
+the hot August.
+
+The brown autumn came. Out of doors, it brought
+to the fields the prodigality of the golden harvest,--
+to the forest, revelations of light,--and to the sky,
+the sharp air, the morning mist, the red clouds at
+evening. Within doors, the sense of seclusion, the
+stillness of closed and curtained windows, musings by
+the fireside, books, friends, conversation, and the long,
+meditative evenings. To the farmer, it brought surcease
+of toil,--to the scholar, that sweet delirium of
+the brain which changes toil to pleasure. It brought
+the wild duck back to the reedy marshes of the south;
+it brought the wild song back to the fervid brain of the
+poet. Without, the village street was paved with gold;
+the river ran red with the reflection of the leaves.
+Within, the faces of friends brightened the gloomy
+walls; the returning footsteps of the long-absent
+gladdened the threshold; and all the sweet amenities
+of social life again resumed their interrupted reign.
+
+The first snow came. How beautiful it was, falling
+so silently, all day long, all night long, on the
+mountains, on the meadows, on the roofs of the
+living, on the graves of the dead! All white save
+the river, that marked its course by a winding black
+line across the landscape; and the leafless trees, that
+against the leaden sky now revealed more fully the
+wonderful beauty and intricacy of their branches!
+
+What silence, too, came with the snow, and what
+seclusion! Every sound was muffled, every noise
+changed to something soft and musical. No more
+trampling hoofs,--no more rattling wheels! Only
+the chiming sleigh bells, beating as swift and merrily
+as the hearts of children.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+APPENDIX: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
+
+
+ENGLISH AUTHORS
+
+GEOFFREY CHAUCER, the father of English poetry, was born in
+London in 1340. The colleges of Oxford and Cambridge both claim him
+as a student. He enjoyed the favor of King Edward the Third, and
+passed much of his time at court. In 1386 he was made a knight, and
+during the latter part of his life he received an annual pension.
+He died in 1400. His writings are in a language so different from
+modern English that many persons cannot enjoy their beauties. His
+principal poems are "Canterbury Tales," "The Legend of Good Women,"
+"The Court of Love," and "Troilus and Cressida."
+
+EDMUND SPENSER was born in London about 1553. He was
+graduated at Cambridge in 1576, and soon after wrote "The Shepherd's
+Calendar." Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh were his friends
+and patrons. In 1598 Spenser was appointed a sheriff in Ireland, and
+not long afterward in a rebellion his property was destroyed and his
+child killed. He did not long survive this calamity. His best-known
+poem is "The Faery Queen."
+
+THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH is often called the Golden Age of
+English literature. Not only did Spenser and Shakespeare live then,
+but a large number of minor poets also rendered the period
+illustrious. Among the dramatic poets Christopher Marlowe, Beaumont
+and Fletcher, who wrote together, and Ben Jonson hold an honorable
+position. The most noted lyric poets of the day were George Herbert,
+Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir Philip Sidney. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
+the greatest of English poets, was born at Stratford-on-Avon in
+April, 1564. He is supposed to have been educated at the free school
+of Stratford. When he was about twenty-two, he went to London, and
+after a hard struggle with poverty, he became first an actor, then a
+successful playwright and theater manager. Having gained not only
+fame but a modest fortune, he retired in 1611 to live at ease in
+Stratford until his death in 1616. Besides the two long poems,
+"Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece," which first won popularity for
+him, he has written thirty-seven plays, ranging from the lightest
+comedy, through romance and historical narrative, to the darkest
+tragedy. Whatever form his verse takes,--sonnet, song, or dramatic
+poetry,--it shows the touch of the master hand, the inspiration of
+the master mind. Of his plays those which are still most frequently
+acted are the tragedies "Hamlet," "Macbeth," "King Lear," and
+"Othello," the comedies "Midsummer-night's Dream," "The Merchant of
+Venice," "As You Like It," and "The Comedy of Errors," and the
+historical plays "Julius Caesar," "King Henry IV," "King Henry V,"
+and "Richard III."
+
+BEN JONSON was born at Westminster, England, about 1573. He
+was the friend of Shakespeare and a famous dramatist in his day, but
+his plays no longer hold the stage. His best play is "Every Man in
+his Humour." His songs and short poems are beautiful. He died in
+1637. His tomb in Westminster Abbey is inscribed "O Rare Ben Jonson!"
+
+GEORGE HERBERT was born in Montgomery Castle, Wales, April 3,
+1593. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. Later he
+studied for the ministry and was appointed vicar of Bremerton.  His
+"Sacred Poems" are noted for their purity and beauty of sentiment.
+He died in 1633.
+
+JOHN MILTON was born in London, December 9, 1608. He was
+educated at Christ's College, Cambridge. Later he spent a year in
+travel, meeting the great Galileo while in Italy. He was an ardent
+advocate of freedom, and under the Protectorate he was the secretary
+of the Protector, Oliver Cromwell. When only forty-six, he became
+totally blind, yet his greatest work was done after this misfortune
+overtook him. As a poet he stands second only to Shakespeare. His
+early poems, "Comus," "L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," and "Lycidas,"
+are very beautiful, and his "Paradise Lost" is the finest epic poem
+in the English language. He died in 1674.
+
+THE MINOR POETS of the age of Milton were Edmund Waller,
+Robert Herrick, George Wither, Sir John Suckling, and Sir Richard
+Lovelace.
+
+JOHN DRYDEN was born August 9, 1631. He was educated at
+Trinity College, Cambridge. His poem in honor of the restoration
+of Charles II won him the position of Poet Laureate. His best-known
+works are the poetic "Translation of Virgil's Aeneid," "Alexander's
+Feast," "The Hind and the Panther," and the drama "The Indian
+Emperor." He died in 1700.
+
+THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE was rendered brilliant by the writings
+of Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison, Edward Young, James Thompson,
+William Collins, Sir Richard Steele, Jonathan Swift, and Daniel
+Defoe. Not only were the poems of this period beautiful, but prose
+also reached a high development.
+
+JOSEPH ADDISON was born at Milston, England, May 1, 1672. He
+completed his education at Queen's and Magdalen colleges, Oxford.  He
+entered the diplomatic service and rose steadily, becoming one of the
+two principal secretaries of state two years before his death.  He
+attained a higher political position than any other writer has ever
+achieved through his literary ability. With Steele he published
+_The Tatler_, and later _The Spectator_, at first a daily paper and
+afterward a tri-weekly one. He was a master of English prose, and his
+poems are elevated and serious in style. He died in 1719.
+
+ISAAC WATTS was born at Southampton, July 17, 1674. He studied
+for the ministry. He wrote nearly five hundred hymns besides his
+"Divine and Moral Songs for Children." Many of his hymns are still
+favorites. He died in 1748.
+
+ALEXANDER POPE was born in London, May 21, 1688. Sickly and
+deformed, he was unable to attend school, but he was nevertheless
+a great student. His writings are witty and satirical. His best-known
+poems are "Essay on Man," "Translation of the Iliad," "Essay on
+Criticism," and "The Rape of the Lock." He died in 1744.
+
+THOMAS GRAY was born in London in 1716. He was educated at
+Eton, and Peter-House College, Cambridge. He lived all his life at
+Cambridge, ultimately being appointed professor of Modern History.
+His most famous poem is the "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard."
+He died in 1771.
+
+WILLIAM COWPER was born at Great Berkhamstead, England,
+November 26, 1731. He was educated at Westminster School, and studied
+law at the Middle Temple, being called to the bar in 1754. He was
+very delicate and afflicted with nervousness that amounted to
+insanity at times. Not until 1780 did he seriously begin his literary
+career. Then for a period of a little more than ten years he worked
+with success and was happy. His most famous poems are "John Gilpin,"
+"The Task," "Hope," and "Lines on my Mother's Portrait." In the
+latter part of his life his nervous melancholy again affected him.
+He died in 1800.
+
+ROBERT BURNS was born at Ayr in Scotland, January 25, 1759.
+He was the son of a poor farmer, and he himself followed the plow
+in his earlier days. He was about to seek his fortune in America
+when his first volume of poems was published and won him fame at
+once. His style is simple and sincere, with a fire of intensity.
+His best poems are "Tam o'Shanter" and "The Cottar's Saturday Night."
+He died July 21, 1796.
+
+WILLIAM WORDSWORTH was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland,
+England, on April 7, 1770. He completed his education at St John's
+College, Cambridge, taking his degree of B A in 1791.  He was
+appointed Poet Laureate in 1843, succeeding Robert Southey.  He is
+the poet of nature and of simple life. Among his best known poems
+are "The Ode to Immortality," "The Excursion," and "Yarrow
+Revisited." He died April 23, 1850.
+
+SIR WALTER SCOTT was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. He
+was educated at Edinburgh University and afterward studied law in
+his father's office. His energy and tireless work were marvelous.
+He followed the practice of his profession until he was appointed
+Clerk of Session. His official duties were scrupulously performed,
+yet his literary work surpasses in volume and ability that of any of
+his contemporaries. Novelist, historian, poet, he excelled in whatever
+style of literature he attempted. His best-known poems are "The Lady
+of the Lake," "Marmion," and "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." He died
+in 1832.
+
+ROBERT SOUTHEY was born at Bristol, August 12, 1774. He was
+expelled from Westminster School for writing an article against
+school flogging. Later he studied at Balliol College, Oxford. He was
+an incessant worker, laboring at all branches of literature, from
+his famous nursery story, "The Three Bears," to "The Life of Nelson."
+He was appointed Laureate in 1813. His most successful long poems are
+"Thalaba," and "The Curse of Kehama." He died in 1843.
+
+THOMAS CAMPBELL was born in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1777. He was
+educated at the university of his native town, and he was regarded as
+its most brilliant scholar, in his later life he was elected Lord
+Rector of the university. His best known poems are "The Pleasures of
+Hope," "Gertrude of Wyoming," and "Ye Mariners of England." He died
+in 1844.
+
+THOMAS MOORE was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1779. He was
+educated at Trinity College, and afterward studied law at the Middle
+Temple, London. "Lalla Rookh," and his "Irish Melodies" have won for
+him a lasting fame as a poet. He died February 26, 1852.
+
+JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT was born near London in 1784. He left
+school when only fifteen to become a clerk in the War Office, where
+he remained until 1808, when he and his brother published _The
+Examiner_. From that time he was occupied as an editor and writer,
+being connected with different periodicals. He was the intimate
+friend of Byron, Moore, Shelley, and Keats. One of his best poems,
+"Rimini," was written in prison, where he was condemned to remain for
+two years because he had published a satirical article about the
+prince regent. In his later years a pension of two hundred pounds
+was granted him. He died August 28, 1859.
+
+GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD BYRON, was born in London, January
+22, 1788. He studied at Trinity College, Cambridge, but did not
+remain to take his degree. While at the university he published a
+volume of poems, "Hours of Idleness," which he followed shortly by
+the satirical poem "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," which won
+him immediate recognition. He wrote many dramatic poems, but his most
+beautiful work is "Childe Harold." He was the friend of Shelley and
+Leigh Hunt, and together they published _The Liberal_. In 1823
+he joined the Greeks in their struggle for freedom, and the exposure
+and exertion that he suffered in this war brought on the fever of
+which he died in April, 1824.
+
+PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY was born at Field Place, England, August
+4, 1792. He was entered at University College, Oxford, but was
+shortly expelled as an atheist. His life was a sad one, his first
+marriage was unhappy, and he was drowned when only thirty years old,
+in July, 1822. His longest and best works are "The Cenci,"
+"Prometheus Unbound," "The Revolt of Islam," and "Adonais," an elegy
+on the death of his friend, the poet Keats, near whom he was buried.
+
+JOHN KEATS was born in London, England, in 1795 or 1796. His
+poem "Endymion" was criticised severely in the _Quarterly
+Review_. Keats was so sensitive that this criticism is supposed to
+have aggravated his malady, and thus to be responsible for his early
+death. Among his other poems may be noted "Hyperion," "Lamia," and
+"The Eve of St Agnes." He died at Rome in 1821.
+
+THOMAS HOOD was born in London, England, May 23, 1799. His
+humorous verses first attracted attention, but his serious poems have
+given him a lasting place in literature. Among these are "The Song of
+the Shirt," "The Bridge of Sighs," "Eugene Aram," and "Ode to
+Melancholy." He died in 1845.
+
+THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY, was born in Leicestershire,
+October 25, 1800. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and
+studied law. He disliked his profession, greatly preferring
+literature. In 1830 he entered Parliament and was made Secretary of
+War in 1839. He was elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University and
+was raised to the peerage in 1857. He died in 1859. His best-known
+poems are "Ivry" and "The Lays of Ancient Rome."
+
+THE REIGN OF QUEEN VICTORIA from a literary standpoint is
+second only to that of Elizabeth in brilliancy. The Victorian Age is
+usually applied to the whole century, during the better part of which
+Victoria reigned. The literature of this age is rich with the writings
+of Robert Browning, Alfred Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
+Algernon Charles Swinburne, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his sister
+Christina, William Morris, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, Jean
+Ingelow, Owen Meredith, Arthur Hugh Clough, Adelaide Procter, and a
+host of minor poets.
+
+ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, was born at Somersby, August 6, 1809.
+He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. His first book of
+poems, written with his brother Charles, was published two years
+before he entered college; from that time until his death his literary
+work was continuous. In 1850 he succeeded Wordsworth as Poet Laureate,
+and thirty-four years later was raised to the peerage. His poems
+cover a wide range--lyrics, ballads, idyls, and dramas. His most
+important works are "The Princess," "In Memoriam," "Maud," and "The
+Idylls of the King." He died in 1892.
+
+ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING was born at Durham, England, March
+6, 1809. She was highly educated and was proficient in both Greek and
+Latin. She wrote her first verses at the age of ten, and her first
+volume of poems was published when she was but seventeen years old.
+In 1846 she was married to the poet Robert Browning. Her first known
+works are "Aurora Leigh," a novel in verse, "The Portuguese Sonnets,"
+"Casa Guidi Windows," and "The Cry of the Children," a poem written
+to show the wretchedness of the little children employed in the mines
+and factories of England. She died at Florence, Italy, in June, 1861.
+
+ROBERT BROWNING was born in Camberwell, England, in 1812. He
+was educated at the University of London. He married Elizabeth
+Barrett, the poet, and together they lived much of their time in
+Italy. They were deeply interested in the struggle of Italy for
+freedom, and both wrote on this subject. In his long life Browning
+wrote many volumes of poems, and it is difficult to choose among
+them. "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" is always a favorite with the young
+people, as are "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix,"
+"Herve Riel," and "Ratisbon." His most popular poems are "Pippa
+Passes," "The Ring and the Book," "A Blot on the 'Scutcheon," and
+"Saul." He died in 1889.
+
+MARIAN EVANS, who wrote under the name of George Eliot, was
+born at Aubury Farm, near Nuneaton, England, November 22, 1819. She
+was carefully educated and was a most earnest student.  While her
+poems are beautiful, her best work is in prose, and she ranks as one
+of England's greatest novelists. Her most famous novels are "Adam
+Bede," "The Mill on the Floss," "Silas Marner," and "Middlemarch."
+She married Mr John Cross, in May, 1880, and died December 22 of the
+same year.
+
+JEAN INGELOW was born at Boston, England, in 1820. She is
+known both as a poet and novelist. Her best-known poems are "Songs
+of Seven" and "The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." She died
+in 1897.
+
+MATTHEW ARNOLD, son of Thomas Arnold of Rugby, was born at
+Laleham, England, December 24, 1822. He was educated at Rugby and
+Oxford. In 1857 he was elected professor of Poetry at Oxford. He is
+chiefly noted for his essays, though his poems are lofty in sentiment
+and polished in diction. "Sohrab and Rustum" is his most important
+poem. He died in 1888.
+
+DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK was born in Staffordshire, England,
+in 1826. She won her fame as a writer of novels, of which the best
+is "John Halifax, Gentleman." She died in 1887.
+
+WILLIAM MORRIS was born in Walthamstow, March 24, 1834.  He
+was educated at Exeter College, Oxford. Before he was thirty years
+old he founded an establishment for the manufacture of artistic
+materials for household decoration. His work in this direction has
+improved the beauty of all household fabrics, and has affected the
+taste in household art in both England and America.  Nevertheless
+he is best known as a poet. His finest poems are "The Earthly
+Paradise," a series of Norse legends, "Three Northern Stones,"
+translated from Icelandic poems, and his translations of "The
+Odyssey." He died in 1896.
+
+ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE was born in London, April 5, 1837.
+He was educated partly in France, at Eton, and at Balliol College,
+Oxford. He left the University without a degree to spend several
+years in travel. He is a master of English, using a wider vocabulary
+than any of his contemporaries, and the musical effects of his many
+varied meters have won for him a unique position in poetry.  He has
+been called "the greatest metrical inventor in English literature."
+His works in French and Latin show him to be a poet in three
+languages. His best-known works are "Poems and Ballads," "Songs
+before Sunrise," and "Mary Stuart." He is the greatest living
+English poet.
+
+DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI was born in London, May 12, 1828. He
+studied art in the antique school of the Royal Academy, and became
+known as an artist before he won fame as a poet. His most widely
+known poem is "The Blessed Damozel." He died in 1882.
+
+CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI, the sister of D.G. Rossetti, was
+born in London, December 5, 1830. She ranks as one of the greatest
+and most spiritual of English poetesses.
+
+SIR EDWIN ARNOLD was born in Sussex, June 10, 1832. He was
+educated at King's College, London, and at University College,
+Oxford. He was appointed principal of the Government Sanscrit
+College at Poonah, India, and Fellow of the University of Bombay, and
+held these posts through the Sepoy Rebellion. Returning to London in
+1861, he was one of the editors of the _Daily Telegraph_, and
+through his influence Henry M. Stanley undertook his first expedition
+into Africa to find Livingstone. Nearly all of his poetry deals with
+Oriental legends, and much of his time was spent in India and Japan.
+His principal works are "The Light of Asia," "Pearls of the Faith,"
+"Indian Song of Songs," "Japonica," and "The Light of the World."
+
+RUDYARD KIPLING was born in Bombay, India, December 30, 1865.
+He was educated partly in England, but returned to India when he was
+only fifteen, and there began his literary work and first won fame.
+His writings are mainly in prose, and he is at his best when writing
+of India. His poems are all short, and "The Recessional" and "The
+Dove of Dacca" are especially fine. In prose the "Jungle Books,"
+"The Naulakha," and "Kim" are the most popular.
+
+AMONG THE MINOR POETS of the Victorian Age may be mentioned
+the following:--
+
+John Henry, Cardinal Newman, 1801-1890. Author of many volumes of
+sermons and the hymn "Lead Kindly Light."
+
+Henry Francis Lyte, 1763-1847. Author of many hymns, the most
+popular of which is "Abide with Me."
+
+Alfred Domett, 1811-1887. Author of "Christmas Hymn."
+
+Arthur Hugh Clough, 1810-1861. Author of "Bothie of Tober-na-vuolich."
+
+Charles Mackay, 1814-1889. Author of many songs, among them "There is
+a Good Time Coming" and "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!"
+
+
+
+
+AMERICAN AUTHORS
+
+
+In the early days of this country the time and thought of the
+settlers were taken up in struggling with the difficulties of their
+surroundings, so that there was little opportunity for the
+establishment of an American literature. For art, poetry, and the
+beautiful in life, the colonists naturally turned to the mother
+country--to the home which they had so lately left. During the period
+before the French and Indian War the subject of religion and nice
+points of doctrine filled the minds of the Americans, hence we find
+that the first American writer who attained to a European reputation
+was the Rev. Jonathan Edwards, a distinguished divine and president
+of Princeton College. His books on "The Religious Affections" and
+"The Freedom of the Will" are still studied.
+
+After the French and Indian War, politics became the absorbing topic
+of the day, and Benjamin Franklin was the first to achieve fame in
+this field of letters. His writings in "Poor Richard's Almanac,"
+honest and wholesome in tone, exercised a marked influence upon the
+literature of his time. Among the orators who won distinction in the
+discussion of civil liberty are James Otis, John and Samuel Adams,
+and Patrick Henry. The writings of John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, and
+James Madison in _The Federalist_ secured the adoption of the
+Constitution and survive to this day as brilliant examples of
+political essays, while the state papers of George Washington and
+Thomas Jefferson are models of clearness and elegance of style.
+
+With the peace and prosperity that followed the establishment of our
+republic came the opportunity to cultivate the broader fields of
+literature. Relieved of the strain of the struggle for civil and
+religious liberty, the people could satisfy their inclinations toward
+the beautiful in art and life, and from that time until the present
+day the writers of America have held their own in the front ranks
+of the authors of the English-speaking peoples.
+
+JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE, the first American poet to win
+distinction, was born in New York City in 1795. He was educated in
+Columbia College. He died prematurely when only twenty-five years old.
+His best-known poems are "The Culprit Fay" and "The American Flag."
+He was the intimate friend of Fitz-Greene Halleck, the Connecticut
+poet, author of "Marco Bozzaris." The last four lines of Drake's
+"American Flag" were written by Fitz-Greene Halleck.
+
+WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born in Cummington, Massachusetts,
+November 3, 1794. He was educated at Williams College. He studied
+law and was admitted to the bar. His first poem was published when
+he was thirteen. His best-known poem, "Thanatopsis," was written
+when he was only nineteen and delivered at his college commencement.
+After practicing law for a short time, he became editor of _The
+Evening Post_ and continued this work until his death. When he was
+seventy-two, he began his translation of Homer, which occupied him
+for six years. He died in 1878.
+
+RALPH WALDO EMERSON was born in Boston, May 20, 1803. He
+studied at Harvard College, and after a period of teaching, became
+pastor of a Unitarian church in Boston for a short time. Later he
+settled in Concord, spending his time in writing and lecturing in
+this country and England. He was the founder of what has been called
+"The Concord School of Philosophy." His best-known poems are "The
+Concord Hymn," "Rhodora," "The Snow Storm," "Each and All," "The
+Days," and "The Humble Bee." He died in 1882.
+
+HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW was born in Portland, Maine,
+February 27, 1807. He was educated at Bowdoin College and, after a
+period of study abroad, was appointed professor of Foreign Languages
+there. This position he gave up to become professor of Modern
+Languages and Literature at Harvard College. At Cambridge he was a
+friend of Hawthorne, Holmes, Emerson, Lowell, and Alcott. His
+best-known long poems are "Evangeline," "Hiawatha," "The Building
+of the Ship," and "The Courtship of Miles Standish." He made a fine
+translation of Dante's "Divine Comedy." Among his many short poems,
+"Excelsior," "The Psalm of Life," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," "The
+Village Blacksmith," and "Paul Revere's Ride" are continuously
+popular.  He died in 1882. He was the first American writer who was
+honored by a memorial in Westminster Abbey.
+
+JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER was born near Haverhill, Massachusetts,
+December 17, 1807. He was educated in the public school, working at
+the same time on his father's farm or at making shoes. Having left
+the academy, he devoted himself to literature. He was an ardent
+abolitionist, and many of his poems are written to aid the cause of
+freedom in which he was so deeply interested. His best-known poems
+are "Snow-Bound," "Barbara Frietchie," "Maude Muller," and "Voices of
+Freedom." He died in 1892.
+
+EDGAR ALLAN POE was born in Boston, Massachusetts, January 19,
+1809. The story of his life is as melancholy as was his genius.
+Wild, dissipated, reckless, he was dismissed from West Point. He
+alienated his best friends and lived the greatest part of his life in
+the deepest poverty, dying in 1849 from the effects of dissipation
+and exposure. His best poems are "The Raven," "The Bells," and
+"Annabel Lee."
+
+OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts,
+August 29, 1809. He was educated at Harvard College and studied
+medicine, spending two years in the hospitals of Europe. He was
+successively professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth
+College, a physician in regular practice in Boston, and professor of
+anatomy at Harvard College--this position he held from 1847 to 1882.
+He was nearly fifty before he became widely known as a writer, when
+"The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" was published. He was successful
+as essayist, novelist, poet, a kindly wit playing through much of his
+work. His best-known poems are "Old Ironsides," "The Chambered
+Nautilus," "The One-hoss Shay," "The Last Leaf," and "The Boys." He
+died in 1894.
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts,
+February 22, 1819. He was educated at Harvard College. He succeeded
+Longfellow as professor of Modern Languages and Literature at
+Harvard. He was also editor of the _Atlantic Monthly_ and of
+the _North American Review_. He was appointed minister to Spain
+and later to England, where he was our ambassador for five years. His
+best-known poems are "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "Commemoration Ode,"
+"The Biglow Papers," "The Present Crisis," and "The First Snowfall."
+He died in 1891.
+
+WALT WHITMAN was born in West Hills, Long Island, May 31, 1819.
+He was unable to go to college. He served in various occupations,
+teacher, printer, writer, until in the great Civil War he volunteered
+as a war nurse. His exertions and exposure in this work destroyed his
+health, so that most of his remaining years he was dependent upon his
+friends. His most beautiful poem is "O Captain, My Captain," written
+after the assassination of Lincoln.  He died in 1892.
+
+CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER, who wrote under the name of Joaquin
+Miller, was born in Indiana in 1841. While yet a boy he went to Oregon
+and later to California, where he led a wild life among the miners,
+fighting the Indians, practicing law, and becoming a county judge.
+After several years in Europe and New York, he settled down as a
+fruit grower in California. He wrote "Songs of the Sierras," "Songs
+of the Sun-Lands," and "The Ship in the Desert."
+
+AMONG THE MINOR AMERICAN POETS the following are worthy of
+note:--
+
+Francis Scott Key, 1779-1843. "The Star-Spangled Banner."
+
+Emma Hart Willard, 1787-1870. "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep."
+
+John Howard Payne, 1792-1852. "Home Sweet Home."
+
+Josiah Gilbert Holland, 1819-1881. "Bittersweet."
+
+Julia Ward Howe, 1819-. "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."
+
+Alice Cary, 1820-1871. Phoebe Cary, 1824-1871. Joint authors of
+several volumes of poems. "Order for a Picture," A.C. "Nearer Home," P.C.
+
+Thomas Buchanan Read, 1822-1872. "Drifting," "Sheridan's Ride."
+
+John Burroughs, naturalist, 1837-. "Waiting."
+
+Edward Rowland Sill, 1841-1887. "The Fool's Prayer," "Opportunity."
+
+Sidney Lanier, 1842-1881. "The Song of the Chattahoochee," "The
+Marshes of Glynn," "A Song of the Future."
+
+John Vance Cheney, 1848-. "Thistle Drift," "Wood Blooms," "Evening
+Songs."
+
+James Whitcomb Riley, 1853-. "Rhymes of Childhood."
+
+Eugene Field, 1850-1895. "With Trumpet and Drum," and "Love Songs of
+Childhood."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graded Poetry: Second Year, by Various
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