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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9542-8.txt b/9542-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..025c669 --- /dev/null +++ b/9542-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3528 @@ +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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** 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 charméd 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SECOND YEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 9542-8.txt or 9542-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/4/9542/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Amy Overmyer and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SECOND YEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Amy Overmyer and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>GRADED POETRY</h1> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>SEVENTH YEAR</h2> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>EDITED BY</p> + +<br> +<p>KATHERINE D. BLAKE</p> + +<br> +<p>PRINCIPAL, GIRLS' DEPARTMENT PUBLIC SCHOOL NO. 6,</p> + +<p>NEW YORK CITY</p> + +<p>AND</p> + +<p>GEORGIA ALEXANDER</p> + +<br> +<p>SUPERVISING PRINCIPAL, INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA</p> + +<br> +<p>1906</p> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<br> +<br> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<p> +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. +</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<br> +<br> + +<a href="#first">FIRST HALF YEAR</a> +<br> +<br> +<br> + +<table summary=" " width="90%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#goodname">Good Name</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#lovlab">From "Love's Labor's Lost"</a></td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#richii">From "Richard II," Act II, Sc. I</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#winttale">Jog on, Jog on</a></td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#wolsey">The Downfall of Wolsey</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#nobnat">The Noble Nature</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#bjon">Ben Johnson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#maymorn">Song on a May Morning</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#milton">John Milton</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#ogod">O God, our Help in Ages Past</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#watts">Isaac Watts;</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#gilpin">The Diverting History of John Gilpin</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#cowper">William Cowper</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#bannoc">Bannockburn</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#burns">Robert Burns</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#highla">My Heart's in the Highlands</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#burns">Robert Burns</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#reaper">The Solitary Reaper</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#wordw">William Wordsworth</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#wbson">Sonnet</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#wordw">William Wordsworth</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#soldrest">Soldier, Rest!"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#scott">Walter Scott</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#lochin">Lochinvar</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#scott">Walter Scott</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#ssban">The Star-Spangled Banner</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#fskey">Francis Scott Key</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#hohen">Hohenlinden</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#tomcam">Thomas Cambell</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#taraharp">The Harp that Once through Tara's Halls</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#moore">Thomas Moore</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#childeh">Childe Harold's Farewell to England</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#byron">George Noel Gordon,</a> <a href="#byron">Lord +Byron</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#waterl">The Night before Waterloo</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#byron">George Noel Gordon,</a> <a href="#byron">Lord +Byron</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#abide">Abide with Me</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#hflyte">Henry Francis Lyte</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#horat">Horatius at the Bridge</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#maca">Thomas B. Macauley</a>.</i></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> +<a href="#second">SECOND HALF YEAR</a> <br> + +<table summary=""width="90%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#spring">Early Spring</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><br><a href="#galhad">Sir Galahad</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#chglght">The Charge of the Light Brigade</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#ringout">Ring out, Wild Bells From "In Memoriam"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#xmashymn">A Christmas Hymn</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#domett">Alfred Domett</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#hometh">Home Thoughts from Abroad</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#brown">Robert Browning</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#pheid">Pheidippides</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#brown">Robert Browning</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#clover">A Song of Clover</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Saxe Holm</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#songlove">Song of Love</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Lewis Carroll</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#scythe">Scythe Song</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Andrew Lang</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#whiteb">White Butterflies</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#swin">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#vicode">Recessional. A Victorian Ode</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#kipling">Rudyard Kipling</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#waterf">To a Waterfowl</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#death">The Death of the Flowers</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#thanat">Thanatopsis</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#woodnt">From "Woodnotes"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#emerson">Ralph Waldo Emerson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#daybrk">Daybreak</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#agass">The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#nitehy">Hymn to the Night</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#long">Longing</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#lowell">James Russell Lowell</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#lyre">The Finding of the Lyre</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#lowell">James Russell Lowell</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#wait">Waiting</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#burro">John Burroughs</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#colum">Columbus</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#miller">Joaquin Miller</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#evensong">Evening Songs</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#cheney">John Vance Cheney</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#vagsong">A Vagabond Song</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Bliss Carman</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#oldglo">Old Glory</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#kavan">Kavanagh</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> +</table> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a href="#bios">Biographical Sketches of Authors</a> +<br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + +<p> +<a name="first"></a> <br> +SEVENTH YEAR—FIRST HALF <br> +<br> +<br> +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE <br> +ENGLAND, 1564-1616 <br> +<a name="goodname"></a> <br> +Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, <br> +Is the immediate jewel of their souls: <br> +Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; <br> +'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; <br> +But he that filches from me my good name <br> +Robs me of that which not enriches him <br> +And makes me poor indeed. <br> +<br> +—"OTHELLO," Act II, Sc. 3. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="lovlab"></a> <br> +When daisies pied and violets blue, <br> +And lady-smocks all silver-white, <br> +And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue <br> +Do paint the meadows with delight. <br> +<br> +—"LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST," Act V, Sc. 2. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="richii"></a> <br> +This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, <br> +This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, <br> +This other Eden, demi-paradise; <br> +This fortress built by Nature for herself <br> +Against infection and the hand of war; <br> +This happy breed of men, this little world, <br> +This precious stone set in the silver sea, <br> +Which serves it in the office of a wall, <br> +Or as a moat defensive to a house, <br> +Against the envy of less happier lands; <br> +This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. <br> +<br> +—"RICHARD II," Act II, Sc. 1. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="winttale"></a> <br> +Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, <br> +And merrily hent the stile-a: <br> +A merry heart goes all the day, <br> +Your sad tires in a mile-a. <br> +<br> +—From "WINTER'S TALE." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="wolsey"></a> <br> +The Downfall of Wolsey <br> +<br> +Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! <br> +This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth <br> +The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms <br> +And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; <br> +The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; <br> +And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely <br> +His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, <br> +And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, <br> +Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, <br> +This many summers in a sea of glory, <br> +But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride <br> +At length broke under me; and now has left me, <br> +Weary and old with service, to the mercy <br> +Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. <br> +Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: <br> +I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched <br> +Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! <br> +There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, <br> +That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, <br> +More pangs and fears than wars or women have: <br> +And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, <br> +Never to hope again. <br> +<br> +—From "HENRY VIII." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +BEN JONSON <br> +ENGLAND, 1574-1637 <br> +<a name="nobnat"></a> <br> +<b>The Noble Nature</b> <br> +<br> +It is not growing like a tree <br> +In bulk doth make man better be; <br> +Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, <br> +To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere; <br> +A lily of a day <br> +Is fairer far in May, <br> +Although it fall and die that night,— <br> +It was the plant and flower of Light. <br> +In small proportions we just beauties see, <br> +And in short measures life may perfect be. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JOHN MILTON <br> +ENGLAND, 1608-1674 <br> +<a name="maymorn"></a> <br> +<b>Song on a May Morning</b> <br> +<br> +Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, <br> +Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her <br> +The flowery May, who from her green lap throws <br> +The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. <br> +<br> +Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire <br> +Mirth and youth and warm desire! <br> +Woods and groves are of thy dressing, <br> +Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. <br> +Thus we salute thee with our early song, <br> +And welcome thee, and wish thee long. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ISAAC WATTS <br> +ENGLAND, 1674-1748 <a name="ogod"></a> <br> +<br> +O God, our help in ages past, <br> +Our hope for years to come, <br> +Our shelter from the stormy blast, <br> +And our eternal home: <br> +<br> +Before the hills in order stood, <br> +Or earth received her frame, <br> +From everlasting Thou art God, <br> +To endless years the same. <br> +<br> +A thousand ages in Thy sight <br> +Are like an evening gone; <br> +Short as the watch that ends the night <br> +Before the rising sun. <br> +<br> +Time, like an ever-rolling stream, <br> +Bears all its sons away; <br> +They fly forgotten, as a dream <br> +Dies at the opening day. <br> +<br> +O God, our help in ages past, <br> +Our hope for years to come, <br> +Be Thou our guard while troubles last, <br> +And our eternal home. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WILLIAM COWPER <br> +ENGLAND, 1731-1800 <br> +<a name="gilpin"></a> <br> +<b>The Diverting History of John Gilpin</b> <br> +<br> +John Gilpin was a citizen, <br> +Of credit and renown, <br> +A trainband captain eke was he <br> +Of famous London town. <br> +<br> +John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, <br> +'Though wedded we have been <br> +These twice ten tedious years, yet we <br> +No holiday have seen. <br> +<br> +"To-morrow is our wedding day, <br> +And we will then repair <br> +Unto the Bell at Edmonton <br> +All in a chaise and pair. <br> +<br> +"My sister, and my sister's child, <br> +Myself, and children three, <br> +Will fill the chaise; so you must ride <br> +On horseback after we." <br> +<br> +He soon replied, "I do admire <br> +Of womankind but one, <br> +And you are she, my dearest dear, <br> +Therefore it shall be done. <br> +<br> +"I am a linendraper bold, <br> +As all the world doth know, <br> +And my good friend the calender <br> +Will lend his horse to go." <br> +<br> +Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said; <br> +And for that wine is dear, <br> +We will be furnished with our own, <br> +Which is both bright and clear." <br> +<br> +John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; <br> +O'erjoyed was he to find, <br> +That, though on pleasure she was bent, <br> +She had a frugal mind. <br> +<br> +The morning came, the chaise was brought, <br> +But yet was not allow'd <br> +To drive up to the door, lest all <br> +Should say that she was proud. <br> +<br> +So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, <br> +Where they did all get in; <br> +Six precious souls, and all agog <br> +To dash through thick and thin. <br> +<br> +Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, <br> +Were never folks so glad, <br> +The stones did rattle underneath, <br> +As if Cheapside were mad. <br> +<br> +John Gilpin at his horse's side <br> +Seized fast the flowing mane, <br> +And up he got, in haste to ride, <br> +But soon came down again; <br> +<br> +For saddletree scarce reach'd had he <br> +His journey to begin, <br> +When, turning round his head, he saw <br> +Three customers come in. <br> +<br> +So down he came; for loss of time, <br> +Although it grieved him sore, <br> +Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, <br> +Would trouble him much more. <br> +<br> +'Twas long before the customers <br> +Were suited to their mind, <br> +When Betty screaming came downstairs, <br> +"The wine is left behind!" <br> +<br> +"Good lack!" quoth he—"yet bring it me, <br> +My leathern belt likewise, <br> +In which I bear my trusty sword <br> +When I do exercise." <br> +<br> +Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) <br> +Had two stone bottles found, <br> +To hold the liquor that she loved <br> +And keep it safe and sound. <br> +<br> +Then over all, that he might be <br> +Equipp'd from top to toe, <br> +His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, <br> +He manfully did throw. <br> +<br> +Now see him mounted once again <br> +Upon his nimble steed, <br> +Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, <br> +With caution and good heed. <br> +<br> +But finding soon a smoother road <br> +Beneath his well-shod feet, <br> +The snorting beast began to trot, <br> +Which gall'd him in his seat. <br> +<br> +"So, fair and softly," John he cried, <br> +But John he cried in vain; <br> +That trot became a gallop soon, <br> +In spite of curb and rein. <br> +<br> +So stooping down, as needs he must <br> +Who cannot sit upright, <br> +He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, <br> +And eke with all his might. <br> +<br> +His horse, who never in that sort <br> +Had handled been before, <br> +What thing upon his back had got <br> +Did wonder more and more. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; <br> +Away went hat and wig; <br> +He little dreamt, when he set out, <br> +Of running such a rig. <br> +<br> +The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, <br> +Like streamer long and gay, <br> +Till, loop and button failing both, <br> +At last it flew away. <br> +<br> +Then might all people well discern <br> +The bottles he had slung; <br> +A bottle swinging at each side, <br> +As hath been said or sung. <br> +<br> +The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, <br> +Up flew the windows all; <br> +And every soul cried out, "Well done!" <br> +As loud as he could bawl. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin—who but he? <br> +His fame soon spread around, <br> +"He carries weight! he rides a race! <br> +'Tis for a thousand pound!" <br> +<br> +And still as fast as he drew near, <br> +'Twas wonderful to view, <br> +How in a trice the turnpike men <br> +Their gates wide open threw. <br> +<br> +And now, as he went bowing down <br> +His reeking head full low, <br> +The bottles twain behind his back <br> +Were shatter'd at a blow. <br> +<br> +Down ran the wine into the road, <br> +Most piteous to be seen, <br> +Which made his horse's flanks to smoke <br> +As they had basted been. <br> +<br> +But still he seem'd to carry weight, <br> +With leathern girdle braced; <br> +For all might see the bottle necks <br> +Still dangling at his waist. <br> +<br> +Thus all through merry Islington <br> +These gambols did he play, <br> +Until he came unto the Wash <br> +Of Edmonton so gay; <br> +<br> +And there he threw the wash about <br> +On both sides of the way, <br> +Just like unto a trundling mop, <br> +Or a wild goose at play. <br> +<br> +At Edmonton his loving wife <br> +From the balcony spied <br> +Her tender husband, wondering much <br> +To see how he did ride. <br> +<br> +"Stop, stop, John Gilpin!—here's the house," <br> +They all at once did cry; <br> +"The dinner waits, and we are tired:" <br> +Said Gilpin—"So am I!" <br> +<br> +But yet his horse was not a whit <br> +Inclined to tarry there; <br> +For why?—his owner had a house <br> +Full ten miles off, at Ware. <br> +<br> +So like an arrow swift he flew, <br> +Shot by an archer strong; <br> +So did he fly—which brings me to <br> +The middle of my song. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin out of breath, <br> +And sore against his will, <br> +Till at his friend the calender's <br> +His horse at last stood still. <br> +<br> +The calender, amazed to see <br> +His neighbor in such trim, <br> +Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, <br> +And thus accosted him: <br> +<br> +"What news? what news? your tidings tell <br> +Tell me you must and shall— <br> +Say why bareheaded you are come, <br> +Or why you come at all?" <br> +<br> +Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, <br> +And loved a timely joke; <br> +And thus unto the calender <br> +In merry guise he spoke: <br> +<br> +"I came because your horse would come; <br> +And, if I well forbode, <br> +My hat and wig will soon be here, <br> +They are upon the road." <br> +<br> +The calender, right glad to find <br> +His friend in merry pin, <br> +Return'd him not a single word, <br> +But to the house went in; <br> +<br> +Whence straight he came with hat and wig, <br> +A wig that flow'd behind, <br> +A hat not much the worse for wear, <br> +Each comely in its kind. <br> +<br> +He held them up, and in his turn <br> +Thus show'd his ready wit, <br> +"My head is twice as big as yours, <br> +They therefore needs must fit. <br> +<br> +"But let me scrape the dirt away <br> +That hangs upon your face; <br> +And stop and eat, for well you may <br> +Be in a hungry case." <br> +<br> +Said John, "It is my wedding day, <br> +And all the world would stare, <br> +If wife should dine at Edmonton, <br> +And I should dine at Ware." <br> +<br> +So turning to his horse, he said, <br> +"I am in haste to dine; <br> +'Twas for your pleasure you came here, <br> +You shall go back for mine." <br> +<br> +Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! <br> +For which he paid full dear; <br> +For, while he spake, a braying ass <br> +Did sing most loud and clear; <br> +<br> +Whereat his horse did snort, as he <br> +Had heard a lion roar, <br> +And gallop'd off with all his might, <br> +As he had done before. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin, and away <br> +Went Gilpin's hat and wig: <br> +He lost them sooner than at first, <br> +For why?—they were too big. <br> +<br> +Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw <br> +Her husband posting down <br> +Into the country far away, <br> +She pull'd out half a crown; <br> +<br> +And thus unto the youth she said, <br> +That drove them to the Bell, <br> +"This shall be yours, when you bring back <br> +My husband safe and well." <br> +<br> +The youth did ride, and soon did meet <br> +John coming back amain; <br> +Whom in a trice he tried to stop, <br> +By catching at his rein; <br> +<br> +But not performing what he meant, <br> +And gladly would have done, <br> +The frighted steed he frighted more, <br> +And made him faster run. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin, and away <br> +Went postboy at his heels, <br> +The postboy's horse right glad to miss <br> +The lumbering of the wheels. <br> +<br> +Six gentlemen upon the road, <br> +Thus seeing Gilpin fly, <br> +With postboy scampering in the rear, <br> +They raised the hue and cry:— <br> +<br> +"Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!" <br> +Not one of them was mute; <br> +And all and each that passed that way <br> +Did join in the pursuit. <br> +<br> +And now the turnpike gates again <br> +Flew open in short space; <br> +The toll-men thinking as before, <br> +That Gilpin rode a race. <br> +<br> +And so he did, and won it too, <br> +For he got first to town; <br> +Nor stopp'd till where he had got up <br> +He did again get down. <br> +<br> +Now let us sing, "Long live the king, <br> +And Gilpin long live he;" <br> +And when he next doth ride abroad, <br> +May I be there to see! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ROBERT BURNS <br> +SCOTLAND, 1759-1796 <br> +<a name="bannoc"></a> <br> +<b>Bannockburn</b> <br> +<br> +<b>Robert Bruce's Address to his Army</b> <br> +<br> +Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, <br> +Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, <br> +Welcome to your gory bed <br> +Or to victorie! <br> +<br> +Now's the day, and now's the hour; <br> +See the front o' battle lower; <br> +See approach proud Edward's power— <br> +Chains and slaverie! <br> +<br> +Wha will be a traitor knave? <br> +Wha can fill a coward's grave? <br> +Wha sae base as be a slave? <br> +Let him turn and flee! <br> +<br> +Wha for Scotland's king and law <br> +Freedom's sword will strongly draw, <br> +Freeman stand, or freeman fa', <br> +Let him follow me! <br> +<br> +By oppression's woes and pains! <br> +By your sons in servile chains! <br> +We will drain our dearest veins, <br> +But they shall be free! <br> +<br> +Lay the proud usurpers low! <br> +Tyrants fall in every foe! <br> +Liberty's in every blow!— <br> +Let us do or die! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="highla"></a> <br> +<b>My Heart's in the Highlands</b> <br> +<br> +My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; <br> +My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; <br> +Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, <br> +My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. <br> +Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, <br> +The birthplace of valor, the country of worth: <br> +Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, <br> +The hills of the Highlands forever I love. <br> +<br> +Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; <br> +Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; <br> +Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; <br> +Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. <br> +My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, <br> +My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; <br> +Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, <br> +My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WILLIAM WORDSWORTH <br> +ENGLAND, 1770-1850 <br> +<br> +<a name="reaper"></a> <br> +<b>The Solitary Reaper</b> <br> +<br> +Behold her, single in the field, <br> +Yon solitary Highland lass, <br> +Reaping and singing by herself; <br> +Stop here, or gently pass! <br> +Alone she cuts and binds the grain, <br> +And sings a melancholy strain; <br> +Oh, listen! for the vale profound <br> +Is overflowing with the sound. <br> +<br> +No nightingale did ever chant <br> +So sweetly to reposing bands <br> +Of travelers in some shady haunt <br> +Among Arabian sands: <br> +A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard <br> +In springtime from the cuckoo-bird, <br> +Breaking the silence of the seas <br> +Among the farthest Hebrides. <br> +<br> +Will no one tell me what she sings? <br> +Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow <br> +For old, unhappy, far-off things, <br> +And battles long ago: <br> +Or is it some more humble lay, <br> +Familiar matter of to-day, <br> +Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, <br> +That has been, and may be again? <br> +<br> +Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang <br> +As if her song could have no ending; <br> +I saw her singing at her work, <br> +And o'er the sickle bending. <br> +I listened motionless and still; <br> +And, as I mounted up the hill, <br> +The music in my heart I bore <br> +Long after it was heard no more. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="wbson"></a> <br> +<b>Sonnet<br> + Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802</b> <br> +<br> +Earth has not anything to show more fair: <br> +Dull would he be of soul who could pass by <br> +A sight so touching in its majesty: <br> +This city now doth like a garment wear <br> +The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, <br> +Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie <br> +Open unto the fields and to the sky; <br> +All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. <br> +Never did sun more beautifully steep <br> +In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; <br> +Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! <br> +The river glideth at his own sweet will: <br> +Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; <br> +And all that mighty heart is lying still! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WALTER SCOTT <br> +SCOTLAND, 1771-1832 <br> +<a name="soldrest"></a> <br> +<b>"Soldier, Rest!"</b> <br> +<br> +Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, <br> +Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; <br> +Dream of battle-fields no more, <br> +Days of danger, nights of waking, <br> +In our isle's enchanted hall, <br> +Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, <br> +Fairy strains of music fall, <br> +Every sense in slumber dewing. <br> +Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, <br> +Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; <br> +Dream of battle-fields no more, <br> +Morn of toil, nor night of waking. <br> +<br> +No rude sound shall reach thine ear, <br> +Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, <br> +Trump nor pibroch summon here, <br> +Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. <br> +Yet the lark's shrill fife may come, <br> +At the daybreak from the fallow, <br> +<br> +And the bittern sound his drum, <br> +Booming from the sedgy shallow. <br> +Ruder sounds shall none be near, <br> +Guards nor warders challenge here; <br> +Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, <br> +Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. <br> +<br> +Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; <br> +While our slumb'rous spells assail ye, <br> +Dream not with the rising sun, <br> +Bugles here shall sound reveille. <br> +Sleep! the deer is in his den; <br> +Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; <br> +Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, <br> +How thy gallant steed lay dying. <br> +Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; <br> +Think not of the rising sun, <br> +For at dawning to assail ye, <br> +Here no bugle sounds reveille. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="lochin"></a> <br> +<b>Lochinvar</b> <br> +<br> +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west; <br> +Through all the wide border his steed was the best; <br> +And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none; <br> +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. <br> +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, <br> +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. <br> +<br> +He stayed not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, <br> +He swam the Eske River where ford there was none; <br> +But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, <br> +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; <br> +For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, <br> +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. <br> +<br> +So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, <br> +Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: <br> +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, <br> +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) <br> +"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, <br> +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"— <br> +<br> +"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;— <br> +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide— <br> +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, <br> +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. <br> +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, <br> +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." <br> +<br> +The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, <br> +He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. <br> +She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, <br> +With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. <br> +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— <br> +"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. <br> +<br> +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, <br> +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; <br> +While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, <br> +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; <br> +And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'Twere better by far, <br> +To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." <br> +<br> +One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, <br> +When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near: <br> +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, <br> +So light to the saddle before her he sprung! <br> +"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; <br> +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. +<br> +<br> +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; <br> +Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: <br> +There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, <br> +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. <br> +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, <br> +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +FRANCIS SCOTT KEY <br> +AMERICA, 1780-1843 <br> +<a name="ssban"></a> <br> +<b>The Star-Spangled Banner</b>[<a href="#foot1">1</a>] <br> +<br> +O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, <br> +What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming— <br> +Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the clouds of the +fight <br> +O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming! <br> +And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, <br> +Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. <br> +O! say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? <br> +<br> +On that shore dimly see through the mists of the deep <br> +Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, <br> +What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, <br> +As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? <br> +Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, <br> +In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; <br> +'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! <br> +<br> +And where is that band who so vauntingly swore <br> +That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion <br> +A home and a country should leave us no more? <br> +Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. <br> +No refuge could save the hireling and slave <br> +From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; <br> +And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. <br> +<br> +O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand <br> +Between their loved homes and war's desolation! <br> +Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land <br> +Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. <br> +Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, <br> +And this be our motto—"<i>In God is our trust</i>:" <br> +And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="foot1"></a> <br> +[Footnote:1. The song is taken as it appears in Stedman and +Hutchinson's <br> +<i>Library of American Literature</i>, vol. iv. p. 419. The text, +slightly <br> +different from the common one, corresponds to the facsimile of +<br> +a copy made by Mr. Key in 1840.] <br> +<br> +THOMAS CAMPBELL <br> +SCOTLAND, 1777-1844 <br> + <a name="hohen"></a> <br> +<b>Hohenlinden</b> <br> +<br> +On Linden when the sun was low, <br> +All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, <br> +And dark as winter was the flow <br> +Of Iser, rolling rapidly. <br> +<br> +But Linden saw another sight <br> +When the drum beat, at dead of night, <br> +Commanding fires of death to light <br> +The darkness of her scenery. <br> +<br> +By torch and trumpet fast array'd <br> +Each horseman drew his battle-blade, <br> +And furious every charger neigh'd, <br> +To join the dreadful revelry. <br> +<br> +Then shook the hills with thunder riven, <br> +Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, <br> +And louder than the bolts of heaven <br> +Far flash'd the red artillery. <br> +<br> +But redder yet that light shall glow <br> +On Linden's hills of stained snow, <br> +And darker yet shall be the flow <br> +Of Iser, rolling rapidly. <br> +<br> +'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun <br> +Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, <br> +Where furious Frank and fiery Hun <br> +Shout in their sulphurous canopy. <br> +<br> +The combat deepens. On, ye Brave, <br> +Who rush to glory, or the grave! <br> +Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! <br> +And charge with all thy chivalry! <br> +<br> +Few, few, shall part where many meet! <br> +The snow shall be their winding-sheet, <br> +And every turf beneath their feet <br> +Shall be a soldier's sepulcher. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +THOMAS MOORE <br> +IRELAND, 1779-1852 <br> + <a name="taraharp"></a> <br> +<b>The Harp that once through Tara's Halls</b> <br> +<br> +The Harp that once through Tara's Halls <br> +The soul of music shed, <br> +Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls <br> +As if that soul were fled. <br> +So sleeps the pride of former days, <br> +So glory's thrill is o'er, <br> +And hearts that once beat high for praise, <br> +Now feel that pulse no more. <br> +<br> +No more to chiefs and ladies bright <br> +The harp of Tara swells: <br> +The chord alone that breaks at night, <br> +Its tale of ruin tells. <br> +Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, <br> +The only throb she gives <br> +Is when some heart indignant breaks, <br> +To show that still she lives. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD BYRON <br> +ENGLAND, 1788-1824 <br> + <a name="childeh"></a> <br> +<b>Childe Harold's Farewell to England</b> <br> +<br> +Adieu, adieu! my native shore <br> +Fades o'er the waters blue; <br> +The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, <br> +And shrieks the wild sea mew. <br> +Yon sun that sets upon the sea, <br> +We follow in his flight; <br> +Farewell awhile to him and thee, <br> +My native land—Good-night. <br> +<br> +A few short hours and he will rise <br> +To give the morrow birth; <br> +And I shall hail the main and skies, <br> +But not my mother earth. <br> +Deserted is my own good hall, <br> +Its hearth is desolate; <br> +Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; <br> +My dog howls at the gate. <br> +<br> +"Come hither, hither, my little page! <br> +Why dost thou weep and wail? <br> +Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, <br> +Or tremble at the gale? <br> +But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; <br> +Our ship is swift and strong; <br> +Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly <br> +More merrily along." <br> +<br> +"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, <br> +I fear not wave nor wind: <br> +Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I <br> +Am sorrowful in mind; <br> +For I have from my father gone, <br> +A mother whom I love, <br> +And have no friends, save thee alone, <br> +But thee—and One above. <br> +<br> +"My father blessed me fervently, <br> +Yet did not much complain; <br> +But sorely will my mother sigh <br> +Till I come back again."— <br> +"Enough, enough, my little lad! <br> +Such tears become thine eye; <br> +If I thy guileless bosom had, <br> +Mine own would not be dry." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="waterl"></a> <br> +<b>The Night before Waterloo</b> <br> +<br> +There was a sound of revelry by night, <br> +And Belgium's capital had gather'd then <br> +Her beauty and her Chivalry, and bright <br> +The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; <br> +A thousand hearts beat happily; and when <br> +Music arose with its voluptuous swell, <br> +Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, <br> +And all went merry as a marriage bell; <br> +But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! <br> +<br> +Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind, <br> +Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; <br> +On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; <br> +No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet <br> +To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet. <br> +But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, <br> +As if the clouds its echo would repeat; <br> +And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! <br> +Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar! <br> +<br> +Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, <br> +And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, <br> +And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago <br> +Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; <br> +And there were sudden partings, such as press <br> +The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs <br> +Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess <br> +If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, <br> +Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! <br> +<br> +And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, <br> +The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, <br> +Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, <br> +And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; <br> +And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; <br> +And near, the beat of the alarming drum <br> +Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; <br> +While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, <br> +Or whispering with white lips—"The foe! <br> +They come! they come!" <br> +<br> +Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, <br> +Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, <br> +The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, <br> +The morn the marshaling in arms—the day <br> +Battle's magnificently stern array! <br> +The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent <br> +The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, <br> +Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, <br> +Rider and horse—friend, foe—in one red burial blent! <br> +<br> +—From "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +HENRY FRANCIS LYTE <br> +ENGLAND, 1793-1847 <br> +<a name="abide"></a> <br> +<b>Abide with Me</b> <br> +<br> +Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide; <br> +The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide: <br> +When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, <br> +Help of the helpless, O abide with me. <br> +<br> +Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; <br> +Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; <br> +Change and decay in all around I see; <br> +O Thou who changest not, abide with me. <br> +<br> +I need Thy presence every passing hour; <br> +What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power? <br> +Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be? <br> +Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. <br> +<br> +I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless: <br> +Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. <br> +Where is Death's sting? Where, Grave, thy victory? <br> +I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. <br> +<br> +Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes, <br> +Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies; <br> +Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; <br> +In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +THOMAS B. MACAULAY <br> +ENGLAND, 1800-1859 <br> +<a name="horat"></a> <br> +<b>Horatius at the Bridge</b> <br> +<br> +The consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, <br> +And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. <br> +"Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down; <br> +And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?" +<br> +Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate: <br> +"To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. <br> +Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may; <br> +I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. <br> +In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. <br> +<br> +Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?" +<br> +Then out spake Spurius Lartius—a Ramnian proud was he— <br> +"Lo! I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with +thee." <br> +And out spake strong Herminius—of Titian blood was he— <br> +"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." +<br> +"Horatius," quoth the consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be." +<br> +And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless +three. <br> +Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see <br> +On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three. +<br> +And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, +<br> +The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. +<br> +But meanwhile ax and lever have manfully been plied, <br> +And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. <br> +"Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cried the fathers all; +<br> +"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!" <br> +Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back; <br> +And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers +crack; <br> +But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore <br> +Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once +more. <br> +But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, <br> +And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream. +<br> +And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, <br> +As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. <br> +<br> +And, like a horse unbroken, when first he feels the rein, <br> +The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, <br> +And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, <br> +And battlement, and plank, and pier whirled headlong to the sea. +<br> +<br> +Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind; <br> +Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. +<br> +"Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale +face. <br> +"Now yield thee!" cried Lars Porsena, "now yield thee to our +grace!" <br> +<br> +Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; <br> +Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he; <br> +But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home, <br> +And he spoke to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome: +<br> +"O Tiber! Father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray, <br> +A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" +<br> +So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, +<br> +And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide. +<br> +<br> +No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; <br> +But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he +sank, <br> +And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, <br> +Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. +<br> +<br> +But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: +<br> +And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, <br> +And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows: <br> +And oft they thought him sinking—but still again he rose. <br> +<br> +Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, <br> +Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place: +<br> +But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, +<br> +And our good Father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. <br> +<br> +"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown? +<br> +But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the +town!" <br> +"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena; "and bring him safe to +shore; <br> +For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." <br> +<br> +And now he feels the bottom;—now on dry earth he stands; <br> +Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands. <br> +And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, +<br> +He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd. <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="second"></a> <br> +<b>SEVENTH YEAR—SECOND HALF</b> <br> +<br> +<br> +ALFRED TENNYSON <br> +ENGLAND, 1809-1892 <br> +<a name="spring"></a> <br> +<b>Early Spring</b> <br> +<br> +Once more the Heavenly Power <br> +Makes all things new, <br> +And domes the red-plow'd hills <br> +With loving blue; <br> +The blackbirds have their wills, <br> +The throstles too. <br> +<br> +Opens a door in Heaven; <br> +From skies of glass <br> +A Jacob's ladder falls <br> +On greening grass, <br> +And o'er the mountain-walls <br> +Young angels pass. <br> +<br> +Before them fleets the shower, <br> +And bursts the buds, <br> +And shine the level lands, <br> +And flash the floods; <br> +The stars are from their hands <br> +Flung thro' the woods. <br> +<br> +The woods with living airs <br> +How softly fann'd, <br> +Light airs from where the deep, <br> +All down the sand, <br> +Is breathing in his sleep, <br> +Heard by the land. <br> +<br> +O follow, leaping blood, <br> +The season's lure! <br> +O heart, look down and up <br> +Serene, secure. <br> +Warm as the crocus cup, <br> +Like snowdrops, pure! <br> +<br> +Past, Future, glimpse and fade <br> +Thro' some slight spell, <br> +A gleam from yonder vale, <br> +Some far blue fell, <br> +And sympathies, how frail, <br> +In sound and smell. <br> +<br> +Till at thy chuckled note, <br> +Thou twinkling bird, <br> +The fairy fancies range, <br> +And, lightly stirr'd, <br> +Ring little bells of change <br> +From word to word. <br> +<br> +For now the Heavenly Power <br> +Makes all things new, <br> +And thaws the cold, and fills <br> +The flower with dew; <br> +The blackbirds have their wills, <br> +The poets too. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="galhad"></a> <br> +<b>Sir Galahad</b> <br> +<br> +My good blade carves the casques of men, <br> +My tough lance thrusteth sure, <br> +My strength is as the strength of ten, <br> +Because my heart is pure. <br> +The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, <br> +The hard brands shiver on the steel, <br> +The splintered spear shafts crack and fly, <br> +The horse and rider reel; <br> +They reel, they roll in clanging lists, <br> +And when the tide of combat stands, <br> +Perfume and flowers fall in showers, <br> +That lightly rain from ladies' hands. <br> +<br> +How sweet are looks that ladies bend <br> +On whom their favors fall! <br> +For them I battle till the end, <br> +To save from shame and thrall; <br> +But all my heart is drawn above, <br> +My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: <br> +I never felt the kiss of love, <br> +Nor maiden's hand in mine. <br> +More bounteous aspects on me beam, <br> +Me mightier transports move and thrill; <br> +So keep I fair through faith and prayer <br> +A virgin heart in work and will. <br> +<br> +When down the stormy crescent goes, <br> +A light before me swims, <br> +Between dark stems the forest glows, <br> +I hear a noise of hymns: <br> +Then by some secret shrine I ride; <br> +I hear a voice, but none are there; <br> +The stalls are void, the doors are wide, <br> +The tapers burning fair. <br> +Fair gleams the snowy altar cloth, <br> +The silver vessels sparkle clean, <br> +The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, <br> +And solemn chants resound between. <br> +<br> +Sometimes on lonely mountain meres <br> +I find a magic bark; <br> +I leap on board: no helmsman steers: <br> +I float till all is dark. <br> +A gentle sound, an awful light! <br> +Three angels bear the Holy Grail; <br> +With folded feet, in stoles of white, <br> +On sleeping wings they sail. <br> +Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! <br> +My spirit beats her mortal bars, <br> +As down dark tides the glory slides, <br> +And starlike mingles with the stars. <br> +<br> +When on my goodly charger borne <br> +Through dreaming towns I go, <br> +The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, <br> +The streets are dumb with snow. <br> +The tempest crackles on the leads, <br> +And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; <br> +But o'er the dark a glory spreads, <br> +And gilds the driving hail. <br> +I leave the plain, I climb the height; <br> +No branchy thicket shelter yields; <br> +But blessed forms in whistling storms <br> +Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. <br> +<br> +A maiden knight—to me is given <br> +Such hope, I know not fear; <br> +I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven <br> +That often meet me here. <br> +I muse on joy that will not cease, <br> +Pure spaces clothed in living beams, <br> +Pure lilies of eternal peace, <br> +Whose odors haunt my dreams, <br> +And, stricken by an angel's hand, <br> +This mortal armor that I wear, <br> +This weight and size, this heart and eyes, <br> +Are touched, are turned to finest air. <br> +<br> +The clouds are broken in the sky, <br> +And through the mountain walls <br> +A rolling organ-harmony <br> +Swells up, and shakes and falls. <br> +Then move the trees, the copses nod, <br> +Wings flutter, voices hover clear: <br> +"O just and faithful knight of God! <br> +Ride on! the prize is near." <br> +So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; <br> +By bridge and ford, by park and pale, <br> +All armed I ride, whate'er betide, <br> +Until I find the Holy Grail. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="chglght"></a> <br> +<b>The Charge of the Light Brigade</b> <br> +<br> +Half a league, half a league, <br> +Half a league onward, <br> +All in the valley of death <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +"Forward, the Light Brigade! <br> +Charge for the guns!" he said; <br> +Into the valley of death <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +"Forward, the Light Brigade!" <br> +Was there a man dismayed? <br> +Not though the soldier knew <br> +Some one had blundered; <br> +Theirs not to make reply, <br> +Theirs not to reason why, <br> +Theirs but to do and die: <br> +Into the valley of death <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +Cannon to right of them, <br> +Cannon to left of them, <br> +Cannon in front of them <br> +Volleyed and thundered; <br> +Stormed at with shot and shell, <br> +Boldly they rode and well, <br> +Into the jaws of death, <br> +Into the mouth of hell <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +Flashed all their sabers bare, <br> +Flashed as they turned in air <br> +Sabring the gunners there, <br> +Charging an army, while <br> +All the world wondered. <br> +Plunged in the battery smoke, <br> +Right through the line they broke; <br> +Cossack and Russian <br> +Reeled from the saber-stroke— <br> +Shattered and sundered. <br> +Then they rode back, but not— <br> +Not the six hundred. <br> +<br> +Cannon to right of them, <br> +Cannon to left of them, <br> +Cannon behind them <br> +Volleyed and thundered; <br> +Stormed at with shot and shell, <br> +While horse and hero fell, <br> +They that had fought so well <br> +Came through the jaws of death, <br> +Back from the mouth of hell, <br> +All that was left of them, <br> +Left of six hundred. <br> +<br> +When can their glory fade? <br> +Oh, the wild charge they made! <br> +All the world wondered. <br> +Honor the charge they made, <br> +Honor the Light Brigade, <br> +Noble six hundred! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="ringout"></a> <br> +<b>Ring Out, Wild Bells</b> <br> +<br> +Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, <br> +The flying cloud, the frosty light; <br> +The year is dying in the night: <br> +Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. <br> +<br> +Ring out the old, ring in the new, <br> +Ring, happy bells, across the snow; <br> +The year is going, let him go; <br> +Ring out the false, ring in the true. <br> +<br> +Ring out the grief that saps the mind, <br> +For those that here we see no more; <br> +Ring out the feud of rich and poor, <br> +Ring in redress to all mankind. <br> +<br> +Ring out a slowly dying cause, <br> +And ancient forms of party strife; <br> +Ring in the nobler modes of life, <br> +With sweeter manners, purer laws. <br> +<br> +Ring out the want, the care, the sin, <br> +The faithless coldness of the times; <br> +Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, <br> +But ring the fuller minstrel in. <br> +<br> +Ring out false pride in place and blood, <br> +The civic slander and the spite; <br> +Ring in the love of truth and right, <br> +Ring in the common love of good. <br> +<br> +Ring out old shapes of foul disease; <br> +Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; <br> +Ring out the thousand wars of old, <br> +Ring in the thousand years of peace. <br> +<br> +Ring in the valiant man and free, <br> +The larger heart, the kindlier hand; <br> +Ring out the darkness of the land, <br> +Ring in the Christ that is to be. <br> +<br> +—From "IN MEMORIAM." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ALFRED DOMETT <br> +ENGLAND, 1811-1887 <br> +<a name="xmashymn"></a> <br> +<b>A CHRISTMAS HYMN</b> <br> +<br> +It was the calm and silent night! <br> +Seven hundred years and fifty-three <br> +Had Rome been growing up to might, <br> +And now was queen of land and sea. <br> +No sound was heard of clashing wars; <br> +Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain: <br> +Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars <br> +Held undisturbed their ancient reign, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago. <br> +<br> +'Twas in the calm and silent night! <br> +The senator of haughty Rome, <br> +Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, <br> +From lordly revel rolling home; <br> +Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell. <br> +His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; <br> +What recked the Roman what befell <br> +A paltry province far away, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago. <br> +<br> +Within that province far away <br> +Went plodding home a weary boor <br> +A streak of light before him lay, <br> +Fallen through a half-shut stable-door <br> +Across his path. He passed—for naught <br> +Told what was going on within; <br> +How keen the stars, his only thought; <br> +The air how calm and cold and thin, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago! <br> +<br> +Oh, strange indifference! low and high <br> +Drowsed over common joys and cares; <br> +The earth was still—but knew not why; <br> +The world was listening, unawares. <br> +How calm a moment may precede <br> +One that shall thrill the world for ever! <br> +To that still moment none would heed, <br> +Man's doom was linked no more to sever— <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago! <br> +<br> +It is the calm and solemn night! <br> +A thousand bells ring out, and throw <br> +Their joyous peals abroad, and smite <br> +The darkness—charmed and holy now! <br> +The night that erst no name had worn, <br> +To it a happy name is given; <br> +For in that stable lay, new-born, <br> +The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ROBERT BROWNING <br> +ENGLAND, 1812-1889 <br> +<a name="hometh"></a> <br> +<b>Home-Thoughts from Abroad</b> <br> +<br> +Oh, to be in England <br> +Now that April's there, <br> +And whoever wakes in England <br> +Sees, some morning unaware, <br> +That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf <br> +Round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf, <br> +While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough <br> +In England—now! <br> +<br> +And after April, when May follows, <br> +And the whitethroat builds and all the swallows! <br> +Hark, where my blossomed pear tree in the hedge <br> +Leans to the field and scatters on the clover <br> +Blossoms and dewdrops, at the bent spray's edge— <br> +That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, <br> +Lest you should think he never could recapture <br> +The first fine careless rapture! <br> +And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, <br> +All will be gay when noontide wakes anew <br> +The buttercups, the little children's dower— <br> +Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="pheid"></a> <br> +<b>Pheidippides</b> <br> +<br> +First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! <br> +Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all! <br> +Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise +<br> +—Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear! +<br> +Also ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer, <br> +Now, henceforth and forever,—O latest to whom I upraise <br> +Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock! +<br> +Present to help, potent to save, Pan—patron I call! <br> +<br> +Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return! <br> +See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks! +<br> +Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, <br> +"Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid! <br> +Persia has come, we are here, where is She?" Your command I +obeyed, <br> +Ran and raced: like stubble, some field which a fire runs through +<br> +Was the space between city and city; two days, two nights did I +burn <br> +<br> +Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. <br> +Into their midst I broke: breath served but for "Persia has come! +<br> +Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth; <br> +Razed to the ground is Eretria—but Athens, shall Athens sink, +<br> +Drop into dust and die—the flower of Hellas utterly die, <br> +Die with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the +stander-by? <br> +Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er <br> +destruction's brink? <br> +How—when? No care for my limbs!—there's lightning in all and +some— <br> +Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!" +<br> +<br> +O my Athens—Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond? <br> +Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust, <br> +Malice,—each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate! +<br> +Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood +<br> +Quivering,—the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from +dry wood: <br> +"Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate? <br> +Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond <br> +Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them 'Ye must'!" +<br> +<br> +No bolt launched from Olumpos! Lo, their answer at last! <br> +"Has Persia come,—does Athens ask aid,—may Sparta befriend? +<br> +Nowise precipitate judgment—too weighty the issue at stake! <br> +Count we no time lost time which lags thro' respect to the Gods! +<br> +Ponder that precept of old, 'No warfare, whatever the odds <br> +In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take +<br> +Full-circle her state in the sky!' Already she rounds to it fast: +<br> +Athens must wait, patient as we—who judgment suspend." <br> +<br> +Athens,—except for that sparkle,—thy name, I had moldered to +ash! <br> +That sent a blaze thro' my blood; off, off and away was I back, +<br> +—Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the +vile! <br> +Yet "O Gods of my land!" I cried, as each hillock and plain, <br> +Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, <br> +"Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you +erewhile? <br> +Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash <br> +Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack! <br> +<br> +"Oak and olive and bay,—I bid you cease to enwreathe <br> +Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot, <br> +You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave! +<br> +Rather I hail thee, Parnes,—trust to thy wild waste tract! <br> +Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked +<br> +My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave <br> +No deity deigns to drape with verdure?—at least I can breathe, +<br> +Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!" <br> +Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; <br> +Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar <br> +Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. <br> +Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across: +<br> +"Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse? <br> +Athens to aid? Tho' the dive were thro' Erebos, thus I obey— +<br> +Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge +<br> +Better!"—when—ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are? +<br> +<br> +There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he—majestical Pan! <br> +Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof; +<br> +All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly—the curl +<br> +Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe <br> +As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. <br> +"Halt, Pheidippides!"—halt I did, my brain of a whirl: <br> +"Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?" he gracious began: <br> +"How is it,—Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof? <br> +<br> +"Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast! <br> +Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old? +<br> +Aye, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me! <br> +Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith <br> +In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, 'The Goat-God saith: +<br> +When Persia—so much as strews not the soil—is cast in the sea, +<br> +Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least, +<br> +Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the +bold!' <br> +<br> +"Say Pan saith: 'Let this, foreshowing the place, be the +pledge!'" <br> +(Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear <br> +—Fennel,—I grasped it a-tremble with Dew—whatever it bode), +<br> +"While, as for thee ..." But enough! He was gone. If I ran +hitherto— <br> +Be sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew. +<br> +Parnes to Athens—earth no more, the air was my road; <br> +Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge! +<br> +Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare! <br> +<br> +Then spoke Miltiades. "And then, best runner of Greece, <br> +Whose limbs did duty indeed,—what gift is promised thyself? <br> +Tell it us straightway,—Athens the mother demands of her son!" +<br> +Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length <br> +His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of +his strength <br> +Into the utterance—"Pan spoke thus: 'For what thou hast done +<br> +Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release <br> +From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!' +<br> +<br> +"I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind! <br> +Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may +grow,— <br> +Pound—Pan helping us—Persia to dust, and, under the deep, <br> +Whelm her away forever; and then,—no Athens to save,— <br> +Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave,— <br> +Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall creep <br> +Close to my knees,—recount how the God was awful yet kind, <br> +Promised their sire reward to the full—rewarding him—so!" <br> +<br> +Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: <br> +So, when Persia was dust, all cried "To Akropolis! <br> +Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due! <br> +'Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout!" He flung down his +shield, <br> +Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field +<br> +And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through, +<br> +Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine thro' clay, +<br> +Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died—the bliss! <br> +<br> +So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute +<br> +Is still "Rejoice!"—his word which brought rejoicing indeed. +<br> +So is Pheidippides happy forever,—then noble strong man <br> +Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god +loved so well, <br> +He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to +tell <br> +Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, +<br> +So to end gloriously—once to shout, thereafter be mute: <br> +"Athens is saved!"—Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed. +<br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +HELEN HUNT JACKSON <br> +AMERICA, 1831-1885 <br> +<a name="clover"></a> <br> +<b>A Song of Clover</b> <br> +<br> +I wonder what the Clover thinks, <br> +Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links, <br> +Lover of Daisies slim and white, <br> +Waltzer with Buttercups at night; <br> +Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees, <br> +Serving to them wine-dregs and lees, <br> +Left by the Royal Humming Birds, <br> +Who sip and pay with fine-spun words; <br> +Fellow with all the lowliest, <br> +Peer of the gayest and the best; <br> +Comrade of winds, beloved of sun, <br> +Kissed by the Dew-drops, one by one; <br> +Prophet of Good-Luck mystery <br> +By sign of four which few may see; <br> +Symbol of Nature's magic zone, <br> +One out of three, and three in one; <br> +Emblem of comfort in the speech <br> +Which poor men's babies early reach; <br> +Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills, <br> +Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills, <br> +Sweet in its white, sweet in its red,— <br> +Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said;— <br> +Sweet in its every living breath, <br> +Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death! <br> +Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks? <br> +No one! unless the Bob-o'-links! <br> +<br> +—"SAXE HOLM." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +LEWIS CARROLL <br> +ENGLAND, 1832-1898 <br> +<a name="songlove"></a> <br> +<b>A Song of Love</b> <br> +<br> +Say, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping, <br> +That lures the bird home to her nest? <br> +Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping, <br> +To cuddle and croon it to rest? <br> +What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms, <br> +Till it cooes with the voice of the dove? <br> +'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low— <br> +And the name of the secret is Love! <br> +For I think it is Love, <br> +For I feel it is Love, <br> +For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! <br> +<br> +Say, whence is the voice that when anger is burning, <br> +Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease? <br> +That stirs the vexed soul with an aching—a yearning <br> +For the brotherly hand-grip of peace? <br> +Whence the music that fills all our being—that thrills <br> +Around us, beneath, and above? <br> +'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, or it goes— <br> +But the name of the secret is Love! <br> +For I think it is Love, <br> +For I feel it is Love, <br> +For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! <br> +<br> +Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill, <br> +Like a picture so fair to the sight? <br> +That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow, <br> +Till the little lambs leap with delight? <br> +'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold, <br> +Though 'tis sung, by the angels above, <br> +In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear— <br> +And the name of the secret is Love! <br> +For I think it is Love, <br> +For I feel it is Love, <br> +For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ANDREW LANG <br> +ENGLAND, 1844- <br> +<a name="scythe"></a> <br> +<b>Scythe Song</b> <br> +<br> +Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe, <br> +What is the word methinks you know, <br> +Endless over-word that the Scythe <br> +Sings to the blades of the grass below? <br> +Scythes that swing in the glass and clover, <br> +Something, still, they say as they pass; <br> +What is the word that, over and over, <br> +Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass? <br> +<br> +<i>Hush, ah hush</i>, the Scythes are saying, <br> +<i>Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;<br> + Hush</i>, they say to the grasses swaying; <br> +<i>Hush</i>, they sing to the clover deep! <br> +<i>Hush</i>—'tis the lullaby Time is singing— <br> +<i>Hush, and heed not, for all things pass</i>; <br> +<i>Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging</i> <br> +Over the clover, over the grass! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE <br> +ENGLAND, 1837- <br> +<a name="whiteb"></a> <br> +<b>White Butterflies</b> <br> +<br> +Fly, white butterflies, out to sea, <br> +Frail, pale wings for the wind to try, <br> +Small white wings that we scarce can see, <br> +Fly! <br> +<br> +Some fly light as a laugh of glee, <br> +Some fly soft as a long, low sigh; <br> +All to the haven where each would be, <br> +Fly! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +RUDYARD KIPLING <br> +ENGLAND, 1865- <br> +<a name="vicode"></a> <br> +<b>Recessional</b> <br> +<br> +<b>A Victorian Ode</b> <br> +<br> +God of our fathers, known of old— <br> +Lord of our far-flung battle line— <br> +Beneath whose awful hand we hold <br> +Dominion over palm and pine— <br> +Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +The tumult and the shouting dies— <br> +The captains and the kings depart— <br> +Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, <br> +An humble and a contrite heart. <br> +Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +Far-called our navies melt away— <br> +On dune and headland sinks the fire— <br> +Lo, all our pomp of yesterday <br> +Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! <br> +Judge of the nations, spare us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +If, drunk with sight of power, we loose <br> +Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe— <br> +Such boasting as the Gentiles use, <br> +Or lesser breeds without the Law— <br> +Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +For heathen heart that puts her trust <br> +In reeking tube and iron shard— <br> +All valiant dust that builds on dust, <br> +And guarding calls not Thee to guard. <br> +For frantic boast and foolish word, <br> +Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord! <br> +<br> +Amen. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT <br> +AMERICA, 1794-1878 <br> +<a name="waterf"></a> <br> +<b>To a Waterfowl</b> <br> +<br> +Whither, midst falling dew, <br> +While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, <br> +Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue <br> +Thy solitary way? <br> +<br> +Vainly the fowler's eye <br> +Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, <br> +As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, <br> +Thy figure floats along. <br> +<br> +Seek'st thou the plashy brink <br> +Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, <br> +Or where the rocking billows rise and sink <br> +On the chafed ocean side? <br> +<br> +There is a Power whose care <br> +Teaches thy way along that pathless coast— <br> +The desert and illimitable air— <br> +Lone wandering, but not lost. <br> +<br> +All day thy wings have fanned, <br> +At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, <br> +Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, <br> +Though the dark night is near. <br> +<br> +And soon that toil shall end; <br> +Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, <br> +And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, <br> +Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. <br> +<br> +Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven <br> +Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart <br> +Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, <br> +And shall not soon depart. <br> +<br> +He who, from zone to zone, <br> +Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, <br> +In the long way that I must tread alone, <br> +Will lead my steps aright. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="death"></a> <br> +<b>The Death of the Flowers</b> <br> +<br> +The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, <br> +Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. +<br> +Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; +<br> +They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; <br> +The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, +<br> +And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. +<br> +<br> +Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang +and stood <br> +In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? <br> +Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers +<br> +Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. +<br> +The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain +<br> +Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. <br> +The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, <br> +And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; <br> +But on the hills the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, <br> +And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, +<br> +Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the +plague on men, <br> +And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, +and glen. <br> +<br> +And now when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will +come, <br> +To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; <br> +When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees +are still, <br> +And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, <br> +The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he +bore, <br> +And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. +<br> +<br> +And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, <br> +The fair, meek blossom that grew up, and perished by my side. +<br> +In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the +leaf, <br> +And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: <br> +Yet not unmeet was it that one like that young friend of ours, +<br> +So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="thanat"></a> <br> +<b>Thanatopsis</b> <br> +<br> +To him who in the love of Nature holds <br> +Communion with her visible forms, she speaks <br> +A various language; for his gayer hours <br> +She has a voice of gladness, and a smile <br> +And eloquence of beauty, and she glides <br> +Into his darker musings, with a mild <br> +And healing sympathy, that steals away <br> +Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts <br> +Of the last bitter hour come like a blight <br> +Over thy spirit, and sad images <br> +Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, <br> +And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, <br> +Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— <br> +Go forth, under the open sky, and list <br> +To Nature's teachings, while from all around— <br> +Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— <br> +Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee <br> +The all-beholding sun shall see no more <br> +In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, <br> +Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, <br> +Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist <br> +Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim <br> +Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, <br> +And, lost each human trace, surrendering up <br> +Thine individual being, shalt thou go <br> +To mix for ever with the elements, <br> +To be a brother to the insensible rock <br> +And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain <br> +Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak <br> +Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. <br> +<br> +Yet not to thine eternal resting-place <br> +Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish <br> +Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down <br> +With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, <br> +The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, <br> +Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, <br> +All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills <br> +Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales <br> +Stretching in pensive quietness between; <br> +The venerable woods—rivers that move <br> +In majesty, and the complaining brooks <br> +That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, <br> +Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— <br> +Are but the solemn decorations all <br> +Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, <br> +The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, <br> +Are shining on the sad abodes of death, <br> +Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread <br> +The globe are but a handful to the tribes <br> +That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings <br> +Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, <br> +Or lose thyself in the continuous woods <br> +Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, <br> +Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there: <br> +And millions in those solitudes, since first <br> +The flight of years began, have laid them down <br> +In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. <br> +So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw <br> +In silence from the living, and no friend <br> +Take note of thy departure? All that breathe <br> +Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh <br> +When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care <br> +Plod on, and each one as before will chase <br> +His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave <br> +Their mirth and their employments, and shall come <br> +And make their bed with thee. As the long train <br> +Of ages glides away, the sons of men, <br> +The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes <br> +In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, <br> +The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,— <br> +Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, <br> +By those, who in their turn shall follow them. <br> +<br> +So live, that when thy summons comes to join <br> +The innumerable caravan, which moves <br> +To that mysterious realm, where each shall take <br> +His chamber in the silent halls of death, <br> +Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, <br> +Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed <br> +By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, <br> +Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch <br> +About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +RALPH WALDO EMERSON <br> +AMERICA, 1803-1882 <a name="woodnt"></a> <br> +<br> +'Twas one of the charméd days <br> +When the genius of God doth flow, <br> +The wind may alter twenty ways, <br> +A tempest cannot blow; <br> +It may blow north, it still is warm; <br> +Or south, it still is clear; <br> +Or east, it smells like a clover-farm; <br> +Or west, no thunder fear. <br> +The musing peasant lowly great <br> +Beside the forest water sate; <br> +The rope-like pine roots crosswise grown <br> +Compose the network of his throne; <br> +The wide lake, edged with sand and grass, <br> +Was burnished to a floor of glass, <br> +Painted with green and proud <br> +Of the tree and of the cloud. <br> +He was the heart of all the scene; <br> +On him the sun looked more serene; <br> +To hill and cloud his face was known,— <br> +It seemed the likeness of their own; <br> +They knew by secret sympathy <br> +The public child of earth and sky. <br> +"You ask," he said, "what guide <br> +Me through trackless thickets led, <br> +Through thick-stemmed woodlands rough and wide. <br> +I found the water's bed. <br> +The watercourses were my guide; <br> +I traveled grateful by their side, <br> +Or through their channel dry; <br> +They led me through the thicket damp, <br> +Through brake and fern, the beaver's camp, <br> +Through beds of granite cut my road, <br> +And their resistless friendship showed: <br> +The falling waters led me, <br> +The foodful waters fed me, <br> +And brought me to the lowest land, <br> +Unerring to the ocean sand. <br> +The moss upon the forest bark <br> +Was pole-star when the night was dark; <br> +The purple berries in the wood <br> +Supplied me necessary food; <br> +For Nature ever faithful is <br> +To such as trust her faithfulness. <br> +When the forest shall mislead me, <br> +When the night and morning lie, <br> +When sea and land refuse to feed me, <br> +'Twill be time enough to die; <br> +Then will yet my mother yield <br> +A pillow in her greenest field, <br> +Nor the June flowers scorn to cover <br> +The clay of their departed lover." <br> +<br> +—From "WOODNOTES." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW <br> +AMERICA, 1807-1882 <br> +<a name="daybrk"></a> <br> +<b>Daybreak</b> <br> +<br> +A wind came up out of the sea, <br> +And said, "O mists, make room for me." <br> +<br> +It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, <br> +Ye mariners, the night is gone." <br> +<br> +And hurried landward far away, <br> +Crying, "Awake! it is the day." <br> +<br> +It said unto the forest, "Shout! <br> +Hang all your leafy banners out!" <br> +<br> +It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, <br> +And said, "O bird, awake and sing." <br> +<br> +And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, <br> +Your clarion blow; the day is near." <br> +<br> +It whispered to the fields of corn, <br> +"Bow down, and hail the coming morn." <br> +<br> +It shouted through the belfry-tower, <br> +"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." <br> +<br> +It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, <br> +And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="agass"></a> <br> +<b>The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz</b> <br> +<br> +May 28, 1857 <br> +<br> +It was fifty years ago <br> +In the pleasant month of May, <br> +In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, <br> +A child in its cradle lay. <br> +<br> +And Nature, the old nurse, took <br> +The child upon her knee, <br> +Saying: "Here is a story-book <br> +Thy Father has written for thee. <br> +<br> +"Come, wander with me," she said, <br> +"Into regions yet untrod; <br> +And read what is still unread <br> +In the manuscripts of God." <br> +<br> +And he wandered away and away <br> +With Nature, the dear old nurse, <br> +Who sang to him night and day <br> +The rhymes of the universe. <br> +<br> +And whenever the way seemed long, <br> +Or his heart began to fail, <br> +She would sing a more wonderful song, <br> +Or tell a more marvelous tale. <br> +<br> +So she keeps him still a child, <br> +And will not let him go, <br> +Though at times his heart beats wild <br> +For the beautiful Pays de Vaud; <br> +<br> +Though at times he hears in his dreams <br> +The Ranz des Vaches of old, <br> +And the rush of mountain streams <br> +From the glaciers clear and cold; <br> +<br> +And the mother at home says, "Hark! <br> +For his voice I listen and yearn; <br> +It is growing late and dark, <br> +And my boy does not return!" <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="nitehy"></a> <br> +<b>Hymn to the Night</b> <br> +<br> +I heard the trailing garments of the Night <br> +Sweep through her marble halls! <br> +I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light <br> +From the celestial walls! <br> +<br> +I felt her presence, by its spell of might, <br> +Stoop o'er me from above; <br> +The calm, majestic presence of the Night, <br> +As of the one I love. <br> +<br> +I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, <br> +The manifold, soft chimes, <br> +That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, <br> +Like some old poet's rhymes. <br> +<br> +From the cool cisterns of the midnight air <br> +My spirit drank repose; <br> +The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,— <br> +From those deep cisterns flows. <br> +<br> +O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear <br> +What man has borne before! <br> +Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, <br> +And they complain no more. <br> +<br> +Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! <br> +Descend with broad-winged flight, <br> +The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, <br> +The best-beloved Night! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL <br> +AMERICA, 1819-1891 <br> +<a name="long"></a> <br> +<b>Longing</b> <br> +<br> +Of all the myriad moods of mind <br> +That through the soul come thronging, <br> +Which one was e'er so dear, so kind, <br> +So beautiful as Longing? <br> +The thing we long for, that we are <br> +For one transcendent moment <br> +Before the Present poor and bare <br> +Can make its sneering comment. <br> +<br> +Still, through our paltry stir and strife, <br> +Glows down the wished Ideal, <br> +And Longing molds in clay what Life <br> +Carves in the marble Real; <br> +To let the new life in, we know, <br> +Desire must ope the portal; <br> +Perhaps the longing to be so <br> +Helps make the soul immortal. <br> +<br> +Longing is God's fresh heavenward will <br> +With our poor earthward striving; <br> +We quench it that we may be still <br> +Content with merely living: <br> +But, would we learn that heart's full scope <br> +Which we are hourly wronging, <br> +Our lives must climb from hope to hope <br> +And realize our longing. <br> +<br> +Ah! let us hope that to our praise <br> +Good God not only reckons <br> +The moments when we tread His ways, <br> +But when the spirit beckons,— <br> +That some slight good is also wrought <br> +Beyond self-satisfaction, <br> +When we are simply good in thought, <br> +Howe'er we fail in action. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="lyre"></a> <br> +<b>The Finding of the Lyre</b> <br> +<br> +There lay upon the ocean's shore <br> +What once a tortoise served to cover. <br> +A year and more, with rush and roar, <br> +The surf had rolled it over, <br> +Had played with it, and flung it by, <br> +As wind and weather might decide it, <br> +Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry <br> +Cheap burial might provide it. <br> +<br> +It rested there to bleach or tan, <br> +The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it; <br> +With many a ban the fisherman <br> +Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; <br> +And there the fisher-girl would stay, <br> +Conjecturing with her brother <br> +How in their play the poor estray <br> +Might serve some use or other. <br> +<br> +So there it lay, through wet and dry, <br> +As empty as the last new sonnet, <br> +Till by and by came Mercury, <br> +And, having mused upon it, <br> +"Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things <br> +In shape, material, and dimensions! <br> +Give it but strings, and lo, it sings, <br> +A wonderful invention!" <br> +<br> +So said, so done; the chords he strained, <br> +And, as his fingers o'er them hovered, <br> +The shell disdained, a soul had gained, <br> +The lyre had been discovered. <br> +O empty world that round us lies, <br> +Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken, <br> +Brought we but eyes like Mercury's, <br> +In thee what songs should waken! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JOHN BURROUGHS <br> +AMERICA, 1837- <br> +<a name="wait"></a> <br> +<b>Waiting</b>[<a href="#foot2">1</a>] <br> +<br> +Serene, I fold my hands and wait, <br> +Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea; <br> +I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, <br> +For lo! my own shall come to me. <br> +<br> +I stay my haste, I make delays, <br> +For what avails this eager pace? <br> +I stand amid the eternal ways, <br> +And what is mine shall know my face. <br> +<br> +Asleep, awake, by night or day, <br> +The friends I seek are seeking me; <br> +No wind can drive my bark astray, <br> +Or change the tide of destiny. <br> +<br> +What matter if I stand alone? <br> +I wait with joy the coming years; <br> +My heart shall reap where it has sown, <br> +And garner up its fruit of tears. <br> +<br> +The waters know their own, and draw <br> +The brook that springs in yonder height; <br> +So flows the good with equal law <br> +Unto the soul of pure delight. <br> +<br> +The stars come nightly to the sky; <br> +The tidal wave unto the sea; <br> +Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, <br> +Can keep my own away from me. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot2"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: Used by courteous permission of the publishers, <br> +Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston.] <br> +<br> +JOAQUIN MILLER <br> +AMERICA, 1841- <br> +<a name="colum"></a> <br> +<b>Columbus</b> <br> +<br> +Behind him lay the gray Azores, <br> +Behind him the gates of Hercules; <br> +Before him not the ghost of shores, <br> +Before him only shoreless seas. <br> +The good mate said: "Now must we pray, <br> +For lo! the very stars are gone. <br> +Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?" <br> +"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" <br> +<br> +"My men grow mutinous day by day; <br> +My men grow ghastly wan and weak," <br> +The stout mate thought of home; a spray <br> +Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. <br> +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, <br> +If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" <br> +"Why, you shall say, at break of day, <br> +'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" <br> +<br> +They sailed and sailed as winds might blow, <br> +Until at last the blanched mate said: <br> +"Why, now not even God would know <br> +Should I and all my men fall dead. <br> +These very winds forget their way, <br> +For God from these dread seas is gone. <br> +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say—" <br> +He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!" <br> +<br> +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: <br> +"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night. <br> +He curls his lip, he lies in wait, <br> +With lifted teeth, as if to bite! <br> +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: <br> +What shall we do when hope is gone?" <br> +The words leapt as a leaping sword: <br> +"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" <br> +<br> +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, <br> +And peered through darkness. Ah, that night <br> +Of all dark nights! And then a speck— <br> +A light! a light! a light! a light! <br> +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! <br> +It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. <br> +He gained a world; he gave that world <br> +Its greatest lesson: "On! sail on!" <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JOHN VANCE CHENEY <br> +AMERICA, 1848- <br> +<a name="evensong"></a> <br> +<b>Evening Songs</b>[<a href="#foot3">1</a>] <br> +<br> +I <br> +<br> +The birds have hid, the winds are low, <br> +The brake is awake, the grass aglow: <br> +The bat is the rover, <br> +No bee on the clover, <br> +The day is over, <br> +And evening come. <br> +<br> +The heavy beetle spreads her wings, <br> +The toad has the road, the cricket sings: <br> +The bat is the rover, <br> +No bee on the clover, <br> +The day is over, <br> +And evening come. <br> +<br> +II <br> +<br> +It is that pale, delaying hour <br> +When nature closes like a flower, <br> +And on the spirit lies, <br> +The silence of the earth and skies. <br> +The world has thoughts she will not own <br> +When shade and dream with night have flown; <br> +Bright overhead, a star <br> +Makes golden guesses what they are. <br> +<br> +<br> +III <br> +<br> +Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west, <br> +With little Song against her breast; <br> +She took him up, all tired with play, <br> +And fondly bore him far away. <br> +<br> +While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead, <br> +A fainter glory round her head; <br> +She follows happy waters after, <br> +Leaving behind low, rippling laughter. <br> +<br> +IV <br> +<br> +Behind the hilltop drops the sun, <br> +The curled heat falters on the sand, <br> +While evening's ushers, one by one, <br> +Lead in the guests of Twilight Land. <br> +<br> +The bird is silent overhead, <br> +Below the beast has laid him down; <br> +Afar, the marbles watch the dead, <br> +The lonely steeple guards the town. <br> +<br> +The south wind feels its amorous course <br> +To cloistered sweet in thickets found; <br> +The leaves obey its tender force, <br> +And stir 'twixt silence and a sound. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot3"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: From "Poems," published by Messrs. Houghton, +Mifflin, <br> +& Co., Boston.] <br> +<br> +BLISS CARMAN <br> +CANADA, 1861- <br> +<a name="vagsong"></a> <br> +<b>A Vagabond Song</b>[<a href="#foot4">1</a>] <br> +<br> +There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood— +<br> +Touch of manner, hint of mood; <br> +And my heart is like a rhyme, <br> +With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. <br> +<br> +The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry <br> +Of bugles going by. <br> +And my lonely spirit thrills <br> +To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. <br> +<br> +There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; <br> +We must rise and follow her, <br> +When from every hill of fame <br> +She calls and calls each vagabond by name. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot4"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: From "Songs from Vagabondia," by Bliss Carman. Used +<br> +by the courteous permission of the author and the publishers, +<br> +Messrs. Small, Maynard, & Co.] <br> +<br> +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY <br> +AMERICA, 1852- <br> +<a name="oldglo"></a> <br> +<b>Old Glory</b>[<a href="#foot5">1</a>] <br> +<br> +Old Glory! say, who, <br> +By the ships and the crew, <br> +And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue— <br> +Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear <br> +With such pride everywhere, <br> +As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air <br> +And leap out full length, as we're wanting you to?— <br> +Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same, <br> +And the honor and fame so becoming to you? <br> +Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, <br> +With your stars at their glittering best overhead— <br> +By day or by night <br> +Their delightfullest light <br> +Laughing down from their little square heaven of blue! <br> +Who gave you the name of Old Glory—say, who— <br> +Who gave you the name of Old Glory? <br> +<br> +The old banner lifted and faltering then <br> +In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again. <br> +Old Glory: the story we're wanting to hear <br> +Is what the plain facts of your christening were,— <br> +For your name—just to hear it, <br> +Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit <br> +As salt as a tear;— <br> +And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, <br> +There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye, <br> +And an aching to live for you always—or die, <br> +If, dying, we still keep you waving on high <br> +And so, by our love <br> +For you, floating above, <br> +And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof, <br> +Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why <br> +Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory? <br> +<br> +Then the old banner leaped like a sail in the blast, <br> +And fluttered an audible answer at last <br> +And it spake with a shake of the voice, and it said: <br> +By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red <br> +Of my bars and their heaven of stars overhead— <br> +By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast, <br> +As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast, <br> +Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod,— <br> +My name is as old as the glory of God <br> +So I came by the name of Old Glory. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot5"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: This and the following poems are used by the +courteous <br> +permission of the publishers, Messrs. Bobbs, Merrill, & Co., +<br> +Indianapolis.] <br> +<br> +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW <br> +AMERICA, 1807-1882 <br> +</p> +<p> +<a name="kavan"></a> <br> +<b>Kavanagh</b> <br> +<br> +Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the spring!— <br> +the great annual miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's <br> +rod, repeated on myriads and myriads of branches! <br> +—the gentle progression and growth of herbs, <br> +flowers, trees,—gentle, and yet irrepressible,— <br> +which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like <br> +love, that wins its way and cannot be withstood by <br> +any human power, because itself is divine power. If <br> +spring came but once a century, instead of once a <br> +year, or burst forth with a sound of an earthquake <br> +and not in silence, what wonder and expectation <br> +would there be in all hearts to behold the miraculous <br> +change! <br> +<br> +But now the silent succession suggests nothing <br> +but necessity. To most men, only the cessation of <br> +the miracle would be miraculous, and the perpetual <br> +exercise of God's power seems less wonderful than <br> +its withdrawal would be. We are like children who <br> +are astonished and delighted only by the second-hand <br> +of the clock, not by the hour-hand. <br> +<br> +In the fields and woods, meanwhile, there were <br> +other signs and signals of the summer. The darkening <br> +foliage; the embrowning grain; the golden dragonfly <br> +haunting the blackberry bushes; the cawing <br> +crows, that looked down from the mountain on the <br> +cornfield, and waited day after day for the scarecrow <br> +to finish his work and depart; and the smoke of far-off <br> +burning woods, that pervaded the air and hung <br> +in purple haze about the summits of the mountains, <br> +—these were the vaunt-couriers and attendants of <br> +the hot August. <br> +<br> +The brown autumn came. Out of doors, it brought <br> +to the fields the prodigality of the golden harvest,— <br> +to the forest, revelations of light,—and to the sky, <br> +the sharp air, the morning mist, the red clouds at <br> +evening. Within doors, the sense of seclusion, the <br> +stillness of closed and curtained windows, musings by <br> +the fireside, books, friends, conversation, and the long, <br> +meditative evenings. To the farmer, it brought surcease <br> +of toil,—to the scholar, that sweet delirium of <br> +the brain which changes toil to pleasure. It brought <br> +the wild duck back to the reedy marshes of the south; <br> +it brought the wild song back to the fervid brain of the <br> +poet. Without, the village street was paved with gold; <br> +the river ran red with the reflection of the leaves. <br> +Within, the faces of friends brightened the gloomy <br> +walls; the returning footsteps of the long-absent <br> +gladdened the threshold; and all the sweet amenities <br> +of social life again resumed their interrupted reign. <br> +<br> +The first snow came. How beautiful it was, falling <br> +so silently, all day long, all night long, on the <br> +mountains, on the meadows, on the roofs of the <br> +living, on the graves of the dead! All white save <br> +the river, that marked its course by a winding black <br> +line across the landscape; and the leafless trees, that <br> +against the leaden sky now revealed more fully the <br> +wonderful beauty and intricacy of their branches! <br> +<br> +What silence, too, came with the snow, and what <br> +seclusion! Every sound was muffled, every noise <br> +changed to something soft and musical. No more <br> +trampling hoofs,—no more rattling wheels! Only <br> +the chiming sleigh bells, beating as swift and merrily <br> +as the hearts of children. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +<br> +</p> +<p> +<a name="bios"></a> <br> +APPENDIX: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES <br> +<br> +<br> +ENGLISH AUTHORS <br> +<br> +<b>Geoffrey Chaucer</b>, the father of English poetry, was born +in <br> +London in 1340. The colleges of Oxford and Cambridge both claim +him <br> +as a student. He enjoyed the favor of King Edward the Third, and +<br> +passed much of his time at court. In 1386 he was made a knight, +and <br> +during the latter part of his life he received an annual pension. +<br> +He died in 1400. His writings are in a language so different from +<br> +modern English that many persons cannot enjoy their beauties. His +<br> +principal poems are "Canterbury Tales," "The Legend of Good +Women," <br> +"The Court of Love," and "Troilus and Cressida." <br> +<br> +<b>Edmund Spenser</b> was born in London about 1553. He was <br> +graduated at Cambridge in 1576, and soon after wrote "The +Shepherd's <br> +Calendar." Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh were his +friends <br> +and patrons. In 1598 Spenser was appointed a sheriff in Ireland, +and <br> +not long afterward in a rebellion his property was destroyed and +his <br> +child killed. He did not long survive this calamity. His +best-known <br> +poem is "The Faery Queen." <br> +<br> +<b>The reign of Queen Elizabeth</b> is often called the Golden +Age of <br> +English literature. Not only did Spenser and Shakespeare live +then, <br> +but a large number of minor poets also rendered the period <br> +illustrious. Among the dramatic poets Christopher Marlowe, +Beaumont <br> +and Fletcher, who wrote together, and Ben Jonson hold an +honorable <br> +position. The most noted lyric poets of the day were George +Herbert, <a name="shake"></a> <br> +Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir Philip Sidney. <b>William +Shakespeare</b>, <br> +the greatest of English poets, was born at Stratford-on-Avon in +<br> +April, 1564. He is supposed to have been educated at the free +school <br> +of Stratford. When he was about twenty-two, he went to London, +and <br> +after a hard struggle with poverty, he became first an actor, +then a <br> +successful playwright and theater manager. Having gained not only +<br> +fame but a modest fortune, he retired in 1611 to live at ease in +<br> +Stratford until his death in 1616. Besides the two long poems, +<br> +"Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece," which first won popularity for +<br> +him, he has written thirty-seven plays, ranging from the lightest +<br> +comedy, through romance and historical narrative, to the darkest +<br> +tragedy. Whatever form his verse takes,—sonnet, song, or +dramatic <br> +poetry,—it shows the touch of the master hand, the inspiration +of <br> +the master mind. Of his plays those which are still most +frequently <br> +acted are the tragedies "Hamlet," "Macbeth," "King Lear," and +<br> +"Othello," the comedies "Midsummer-night's Dream," "The Merchant +of <br> +Venice," "As You Like It," and "The Comedy of Errors," and the +<br> +historical plays "Julius Caesar," "King Henry IV," "King Henry +V," <br> +and "Richard III." <br> +<a name="bjon"></a> <br> +<b>Ben Jonson</b> was born at Westminster, England, about 1573. +He <br> +was the friend of Shakespeare and a famous dramatist in his day, +but <br> +his plays no longer hold the stage. His best play is "Every Man +in <br> +his Humour." His songs and short poems are beautiful. He died in +<br> +1637. His tomb in Westminster Abbey is inscribed "O Rare Ben +Jonson!" <br> +<br> +<b>George Herbert</b> was born in Montgomery Castle, Wales, April +3, <br> +1593. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. Later he +<br> +studied for the ministry and was appointed vicar of Bremerton. +His <br> +"Sacred Poems" are noted for their purity and beauty of +sentiment. <br> +He died in 1633. <br> +<a name="milton"></a> <br> +<b>John Milton</b> was born in London, December 9, 1608. He was +<br> +educated at Christ's College, Cambridge. Later he spent a year in +<br> +travel, meeting the great Galileo while in Italy. He was an +ardent <br> +advocate of freedom, and under the Protectorate he was the +secretary <br> +of the Protector, Oliver Cromwell. When only forty-six, he became +<br> +totally blind, yet his greatest work was done after this +misfortune <br> +overtook him. As a poet he stands second only to Shakespeare. His +<br> +early poems, "Comus," "L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," and "Lycidas," +<br> +are very beautiful, and his "Paradise Lost" is the finest epic +poem <br> +in the English language. He died in 1674. <br> +<br> +<b>The minor poets</b> of the age of Milton were Edmund Waller, +<br> +Robert Herrick, George Wither, Sir John Suckling, and Sir Richard +<br> +Lovelace. <br> +<br> +<b>John Dryden</b> was born August 9, 1631. He was educated at +<br> +Trinity College, Cambridge. His poem in honor of the restoration +<br> +of Charles II won him the position of Poet Laureate. His +best-known <br> +works are the poetic "Translation of Virgil's Aeneid," +"Alexander's <br> +Feast," "The Hind and the Panther," and the drama "The Indian +<br> +Emperor." He died in 1700. <br> +<br> +<b>The reign of Queen Anne</b> was rendered brilliant by the +writings <br> +of Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison, Edward Young, James Thompson, +<br> +William Collins, Sir Richard Steele, Jonathan Swift, and Daniel +<br> +Defoe. Not only were the poems of this period beautiful, but +prose <br> +also reached a high development. <br> +<br> +<b>Joseph Addison</b> was born at Milston, England, May 1, 1672. +He <br> +completed his education at Queen's and Magdalen colleges, Oxford. +He <br> +entered the diplomatic service and rose steadily, becoming one of +the <br> +two principal secretaries of state two years before his death. He +<br> +attained a higher political position than any other writer has +ever <br> +achieved through his literary ability. With Steele he published +<br> +<i>The Tatler</i>, and later <i>The Spectator</i>, at first a +daily <br> +paper and afterward a tri-weekly one. He was a master of English +<br> +prose, and his poems are elevated and serious in style. He died +in <br> +1719. <br> +<a name="watts"></a> <br> +<b>Isaac Watts</b> was born at Southampton, July 17, 1674. He +studied <br> +for the ministry. He wrote nearly five hundred hymns besides his +<br> +"Divine and Moral Songs for Children." Many of his hymns are +still <br> +favorites. He died in 1748. <br> +<br> +<b>Alexander Pope</b> was born in London, May 21, 1688. Sickly +and <br> +deformed, he was unable to attend school, but he was nevertheless +<br> +a great student. His writings are witty and satirical. His +best-known <br> +poems are "Essay on Man," "Translation of the Iliad," "Essay on +<br> +Criticism," and "The Rape of the Lock." He died in 1744. <br> +<br> +<b>Thomas Gray</b> was born in London in 1716. He was educated at +<br> +Eton, and Peter-House College, Cambridge. He lived all his life +at <br> +Cambridge, ultimately being appointed professor of Modern +History. <br> +His most famous poem is the "Elegy Written in a Country +Churchyard." <br> +He died in 1771. <br> +<a name="cowper"></a> <br> +<b>William Cowper</b> was born at Great Berkhamstead, England, +<br> +November 26, 1731. He was educated at Westminster School, and +studied <br> +law at the Middle Temple, being called to the bar in 1754. He was +<br> +very delicate and afflicted with nervousness that amounted to +<br> +insanity at times. Not until 1780 did he seriously begin his +literary <br> +career. Then for a period of a little more than ten years he +worked <br> +with success and was happy. His most famous poems are "John +Gilpin," <br> +"The Task," "Hope," and "Lines on my Mother's Portrait." In the +<br> +latter part of his life his nervous melancholy again affected +him. <br> +He died in 1800. <br> +<a name="burns"></a> <br> +<b>Robert Burns</b> was born at Ayr in Scotland, January 25, +1759. <br> +He was the son of a poor farmer, and he himself followed the plow +<br> +in his earlier days. He was about to seek his fortune in America +<br> +when his first volume of poems was published and won him fame at +<br> +once. His style is simple and sincere, with a fire of intensity. +<br> +His best poems are "Tam o'Shanter" and "The Cottar's Saturday +Night." <br> +He died July 21, 1796. <br> +<a name="wordw"></a> <br> +<b>William Wordsworth</b> was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, +<br> +England, on April 7, 1770. He completed his education at St +John's <br> +College, Cambridge, taking his degree of B A in 1791. He was <br> +appointed Poet Laureate in 1843, succeeding Robert Southey. He is +<br> +the poet of nature and of simple life. Among his best known poems +<br> +are "The Ode to Immortality," "The Excursion," and "Yarrow <br> +Revisited." He died April 23, 1850. <br> +<a name="scott"></a> <br> +<b>Sir Walter Scott</b> was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. +He <br> +was educated at Edinburgh University and afterward studied law in +<br> +his father's office. His energy and tireless work were marvelous. +<br> +He followed the practice of his profession until he was appointed +<br> +Clerk of Session. His official duties were scrupulously +performed, <br> +yet his literary work surpasses in volume and ability that of any +of <br> +his contemporaries. Novelist, historian, poet, he excelled in +whatever <br> +style of literature he attempted. His best-known poems are "The +Lady <br> +of the Lake," "Marmion," and "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." He +died <br> +in 1832. <br> +<br> +<b>Robert Southey</b> was born at Bristol, August 12, 1774. He +was <br> +expelled from Westminster School for writing an article against +<br> +school flogging. Later he studied at Balliol College, Oxford. He +was <br> +an incessant worker, laboring at all branches of literature, from +<br> +his famous nursery story, "The Three Bears," to "The Life of +Nelson." <br> +He was appointed Laureate in 1813. His most successful long poems +are <br> +"Thalaba," and "The Curse of Kehama." He died in 1843. <br> +<a name="tomcam"></a> <br> +<b>Thomas Campbell</b> was born in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1777. He +was <br> +educated at the university of his native town, and he was +regarded as <br> +its most brilliant scholar, in his later life he was elected Lord +<br> +Rector of the university. His best known poems are "The Pleasures +of <br> +Hope," "Gertrude of Wyoming," and "Ye Mariners of England." He +died <br> +in 1844. <br> +<a name="moore"></a> <br> +<b>Thomas Moore</b> was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1779. He was +<br> +educated at Trinity College, and afterward studied law at the +Middle <br> +Temple, London. "Lalla Rookh," and his "Irish Melodies" have won +for <br> +him a lasting fame as a poet. He died February 26, 1852. <br> +<br> +<b>James Henry Leigh Hunt</b> was born near London in 1784. He +left <br> +school when only fifteen to become a clerk in the War Office, +where <br> +he remained until 1808, when he and his brother published +<i>The<br> + Examiner</i>. From that time he was occupied as an editor and +writer, <br> +being connected with different periodicals. He was the intimate +<br> +friend of Byron, Moore, Shelley, and Keats. One of his best +poems, <br> +"Rimini," was written in prison, where he was condemned to remain +for <br> +two years because he had published a satirical article about the +<br> +prince regent. In his later years a pension of two hundred pounds +<br> +was granted him. He died August 28, 1859. <br> +<a name="byron"></a> <br> +<b>George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron</b>, was born in London, +January <br> +22, 1788. He studied at Trinity College, Cambridge, but did not +<br> +remain to take his degree. While at the university he published a +<br> +volume of poems, "Hours of Idleness," which he followed shortly +by <br> +the satirical poem "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," which +won <br> +him immediate recognition. He wrote many dramatic poems, but his +most <br> +beautiful work is "Childe Harold." He was the friend of Shelley +and <br> +Leigh Hunt, and together they published <i>The Liberal</i>. In +1823 <br> +he joined the Greeks in their struggle for freedom, and the +exposure <br> +and exertion that he suffered in this war brought on the fever of +<br> +which he died in April, 1824. <br> +<br> +<b>Percy Bysshe Shelley</b> was born at Field Place, England, +August <br> +4, 1792. He was entered at University College, Oxford, but was +<br> +shortly expelled as an atheist. His life was a sad one, his first +<br> +marriage was unhappy, and he was drowned when only thirty years +old, <br> +in July, 1822. His longest and best works are "The Cenci," <br> +"Prometheus Unbound," "The Revolt of Islam," and "Adonais," an +elegy <br> +on the death of his friend, the poet Keats, near whom he was +buried. <br> +<br> +<b>John Keats</b> was born in London, England, in 1795 or 1796. +His <br> +poem "Endymion" was criticised severely in the <i>Quarterly<br> + Review</i>. Keats was so sensitive that this criticism is +supposed to <br> +have aggravated his malady, and thus to be responsible for his +early <br> +death. Among his other poems may be noted "Hyperion," "Lamia," +and <br> +"The Eve of St Agnes." He died at Rome in 1821. <br> +<br> +<b>Thomas Hood</b> was born in London, England, May 23, 1799. His +<br> +humorous verses first attracted attention, but his serious poems +have <br> +given him a lasting place in literature. Among these are "The +Song of <br> +the Shirt," "The Bridge of Sighs," "Eugene Aram," and "Ode to +<br> +Melancholy." He died in 1845. <br> +<a name="maca"></a> <br> +<b>Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay</b>, was born in +Leicestershire, <br> +October 25, 1800. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, +and <br> +studied law. He disliked his profession, greatly preferring <br> +literature. In 1830 he entered Parliament and was made Secretary +of <br> +War in 1839. He was elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University and +<br> +was raised to the peerage in 1857. He died in 1859. His +best-known <br> +poems are "Ivry" and "The Lays of Ancient Rome." <br> +<br> +<b>The reign of Queen Victoria</b> from a literary standpoint is +<br> +second only to that of Elizabeth in brilliancy. The Victorian Age +is <br> +usually applied to the whole century, during the better part of +which <br> +Victoria reigned. The literature of this age is rich with the +writings <br> +of Robert Browning, Alfred Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, +<br> +Algernon Charles Swinburne, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his sister +<br> +Christina, William Morris, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, Jean +<br> +Ingelow, Owen Meredith, Arthur Hugh Clough, Adelaide Procter, and +a <br> +host of minor poets. <br> +<a name="tenny"></a> <br> +<b>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</b>, was born at Somersby, August 6, +1809. <br> +He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. His first book of +<br> +poems, written with his brother Charles, was published two years +<br> +before he entered college; from that time until his death his +literary <br> +work was continuous. In 1850 he succeeded Wordsworth as Poet +Laureate, <br> +and thirty-four years later was raised to the peerage. His poems +<br> +cover a wide range—lyrics, ballads, idyls, and dramas. His most +<br> +important works are "The Princess," "In Memoriam," "Maud," and +"The <br> +Idylls of the King." He died in 1892. <br> +<br> +<b>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</b> was born at Durham, England, +March <br> +6, 1809. She was highly educated and was proficient in both Greek +and <br> +Latin. She wrote her first verses at the age of ten, and her +first <br> +volume of poems was published when she was but seventeen years +old. <br> +In 1846 she was married to the poet Robert Browning. Her first +known <br> +works are "Aurora Leigh," a novel in verse, "The Portuguese +Sonnets," <br> +"Casa Guidi Windows," and "The Cry of the Children," a poem +written <br> +to show the wretchedness of the little children employed in the +mines <br> +and factories of England. She died at Florence, Italy, in June, +1861. <br> +<a name="brown"></a> <br> +<b>Robert Browning</b> was born in Camberwell, England, in 1812. +He <br> +was educated at the University of London. He married Elizabeth +<br> +Barrett, the poet, and together they lived much of their time in +<br> +Italy. They were deeply interested in the struggle of Italy for +<br> +freedom, and both wrote on this subject. In his long life +Browning <br> +wrote many volumes of poems, and it is difficult to choose among +<br> +them. "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" is always a favorite with the +young <br> +people, as are "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to +Aix," <br> +"Herve Riel," and "Ratisbon." His most popular poems are "Pippa +<br> +Passes," "The Ring and the Book," "A Blot on the 'Scutcheon," and +<br> +"Saul." He died in 1889. <br> +<br> +<b>Marian Evans</b>, who wrote under the name of George Eliot, +was <br> +born at Aubury Farm, near Nuneaton, England, November 22, 1819. +She <br> +was carefully educated and was a most earnest student. While her +<br> +poems are beautiful, her best work is in prose, and she ranks as +one <br> +of England's greatest novelists. Her most famous novels are "Adam +<br> +Bede," "The Mill on the Floss," "Silas Marner," and +"Middlemarch." <br> +She married Mr John Cross, in May, 1880, and died December 22 of +the <br> +same year. <br> +<br> +<b>Jean Ingelow</b> was born at Boston, England, in 1820. She is +<br> +known both as a poet and novelist. Her best-known poems are +"Songs <br> +of Seven" and "The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." She +died <br> +in 1897. <br> +<br> +<b>Matthew Arnold</b>, son of Thomas Arnold of Rugby, was born at +<br> +Laleham, England, December 24, 1822. He was educated at Rugby and +<br> +Oxford. In 1857 he was elected professor of Poetry at Oxford. He +is <br> +chiefly noted for his essays, though his poems are lofty in +sentiment <br> +and polished in diction. "Sohrab and Rustum" is his most +important <br> +poem. He died in 1888. <br> +<br> +<b>Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</b> was born in Staffordshire, +England, <br> +in 1826. She won her fame as a writer of novels, of which the +best <br> +is "John Halifax, Gentleman." She died in 1887. <br> +<br> +<b>William Morris</b> was born in Walthamstow, March 24, 1834. He +<br> +was educated at Exeter College, Oxford. Before he was thirty +years <br> +old he founded an establishment for the manufacture of artistic +<br> +materials for household decoration. His work in this direction +has <br> +improved the beauty of all household fabrics, and has affected +the <br> +taste in household art in both England and America. Nevertheless +<br> +he is best known as a poet. His finest poems are "The Earthly +<br> +Paradise," a series of Norse legends, "Three Northern Stones," +<br> +translated from Icelandic poems, and his translations of "The +<br> +Odyssey." He died in 1896. <br> +<a name="swin"></a> <br> +<b>Algernon Charles Swinburne</b> was born in London, April 5, +1837. <br> +He was educated partly in France, at Eton, and at Balliol +College, <br> +Oxford. He left the University without a degree to spend several +<br> +years in travel. He is a master of English, using a wider +vocabulary <br> +than any of his contemporaries, and the musical effects of his +many <br> +varied meters have won for him a unique position in poetry. He +has <br> +been called "the greatest metrical inventor in English +literature." <br> +His works in French and Latin show him to be a poet in three <br> +languages. His best-known works are "Poems and Ballads," "Songs +<br> +before Sunrise," and "Mary Stuart." He is the greatest living +<br> +English poet. <br> +<br> +<b>Dante Gabriel Rossetti</b> was born in London, May 12, 1828. +He <br> +studied art in the antique school of the Royal Academy, and +became <br> +known as an artist before he won fame as a poet. His most widely +<br> +known poem is "The Blessed Damozel." He died in 1882. <br> +<br> +<b>Christina Georgina Rossetti</b>, the sister of D.G. Rossetti, +was <br> +born in London, December 5, 1830. She ranks as one of the +greatest <br> +and most spiritual of English poetesses. <br> +<br> +<b>Sir Edwin Arnold</b> was born in Sussex, June 10, 1832. He was +<br> +educated at King's College, London, and at University College, +<br> +Oxford. He was appointed principal of the Government Sanscrit +<br> +College at Poonah, India, and Fellow of the University of Bombay, +and <br> +held these posts through the Sepoy Rebellion. Returning to London +in <br> +1861, he was one of the editors of the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, +and <br> +through his influence Henry M. Stanley undertook his first +expedition <br> +into Africa to find Livingstone. Nearly all of his poetry deals +with <br> +Oriental legends, and much of his time was spent in India and +Japan. <br> +His principal works are "The Light of Asia," "Pearls of the +Faith," <br> +"Indian Song of Songs," "Japonica," and "The Light of the World." +<br> +<a name="kipling"></a> <br> +<b>Rudyard Kipling</b> was born in Bombay, India, December 30, +1865. <br> +He was educated partly in England, but returned to India when he +was <br> +only fifteen, and there began his literary work and first won +fame. <br> +His writings are mainly in prose, and he is at his best when +writing <br> +of India. His poems are all short, and "The Recessional" and "The +<br> +Dove of Dacca" are especially fine. In prose the "Jungle Books," +<br> +"The Naulakha," and "Kim" are the most popular. <br> +<br> +<b>Among the minor poets</b> of the Victorian Age may be +mentioned <br> +the following:— <br> +<br> +John Henry, Cardinal Newman, 1801-1890. Author of many volumes of +<br> +sermons and the hymn "Lead Kindly Light." <br> +<a name="hflyte"></a> <br> +Henry Francis Lyte, 1763-1847. Author of many hymns, the most +<br> +popular of which is "Abide with Me." <br> +<a name="domett"></a> <br> +Alfred Domett, 1811-1887. Author of "Christmas Hymn." <br> +<br> +Arthur Hugh Clough, 1810-1861. Author of "Bothie of +Tober-na-vuolich." <br> +<br> +Charles Mackay, 1814-1889. Author of many songs, among them +"There is <br> +a Good Time Coming" and "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +AMERICAN AUTHORS <br> +<br> +<br> +In the early days of this country the time and thought of the +<br> +settlers were taken up in struggling with the difficulties of +their <br> +surroundings, so that there was little opportunity for the <br> +establishment of an American literature. For art, poetry, and the +<br> +beautiful in life, the colonists naturally turned to the mother +<br> +country—to the home which they had so lately left. During the +period <br> +before the French and Indian War the subject of religion and nice +<br> +points of doctrine filled the minds of the Americans, hence we +find <br> +that the first American writer who attained to a European +reputation <br> +was the Rev. Jonathan Edwards, a distinguished divine and +president <br> +of Princeton College. His books on "The Religious Affections" and +<br> +"The Freedom of the Will" are still studied. <br> +<br> +After the French and Indian War, politics became the absorbing +topic <br> +of the day, and Benjamin Franklin was the first to achieve fame +in <br> +this field of letters. His writings in "Poor Richard's Almanac," +<br> +honest and wholesome in tone, exercised a marked influence upon +the <br> +literature of his time. Among the orators who won distinction in +the <br> +discussion of civil liberty are James Otis, John and Samuel +Adams, <br> +and Patrick Henry. The writings of John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, +and <br> +James Madison in <i>The Federalist</i> secured the adoption of +the <br> +Constitution and survive to this day as brilliant examples of +<br> +political essays, while the state papers of George Washington and +<br> +Thomas Jefferson are models of clearness and elegance of style. +<br> +<br> +With the peace and prosperity that followed the establishment of +our <br> +republic came the opportunity to cultivate the broader fields of +<br> +literature. Relieved of the strain of the struggle for civil and +<br> +religious liberty, the people could satisfy their inclinations +toward <br> +the beautiful in art and life, and from that time until the +present <br> +day the writers of America have held their own in the front ranks +<br> +of the authors of the English-speaking peoples. <br> +<br> +<b>Joseph Rodman Drake</b>, the first American poet to win <br> +distinction, was born in New York City in 1795. He was educated +in <br> +Columbia College. He died prematurely when only twenty-five years +old. <br> +His best-known poems are "The Culprit Fay" and "The American +Flag." <br> +He was the intimate friend of Fitz-Greene Halleck, the +Connecticut <br> +poet, author of "Marco Bozzaris." The last four lines of Drake's +<br> +"American Flag" were written by Fitz-Greene Halleck. <br> +<a name="bryant"></a> <br> +<b>William Cullen Bryant</b> was born in Cummington, +Massachusetts, <br> +November 3, 1794. He was educated at Williams College. He studied +<br> +law and was admitted to the bar. His first poem was published +when <br> +he was thirteen. His best-known poem, "Thanatopsis," was written +<br> +when he was only nineteen and delivered at his college +commencement. <br> +After practicing law for a short time, he became editor of +<i>The<br> + Evening Post</i> and continued this work until his death. When +he was <br> +seventy-two, he began his translation of Homer, which occupied +him <br> +for six years. He died in 1878. <br> +<a name="emerson"></a> <br> +<b>Ralph Waldo Emerson</b> was born in Boston, May 20, 1803. He +<br> +studied at Harvard College, and after a period of teaching, +became <br> +pastor of a Unitarian church in Boston for a short time. Later he +<br> +settled in Concord, spending his time in writing and lecturing in +<br> +this country and England. He was the founder of what has been +called <br> +"The Concord School of Philosophy." His best-known poems are "The +<br> +Concord Hymn," "Rhodora," "The Snow Storm," "Each and All," "The +<br> +Days," and "The Humble Bee." He died in 1882. <br> +<a name="longfellow"></a> <br> +<b>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</b> was born in Portland, Maine, +<br> +February 27, 1807. He was educated at Bowdoin College and, after +a <br> +period of study abroad, was appointed professor of Foreign +Languages <br> +there. This position he gave up to become professor of Modern +<br> +Languages and Literature at Harvard College. At Cambridge he was +a <br> +friend of Hawthorne, Holmes, Emerson, Lowell, and Alcott. His +<br> +best-known long poems are "Evangeline," "Hiawatha," "The Building +<br> +of the Ship," and "The Courtship of Miles Standish." He made a +fine <br> +translation of Dante's "Divine Comedy." Among his many short +poems, <br> +"Excelsior," "The Psalm of Life," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," +"The <br> +Village Blacksmith," and "Paul Revere's Ride" are continuously +<br> +popular. He died in 1882. He was the first American writer who +was <br> +honored by a memorial in Westminster Abbey. <br> +<br> +<b>John Greenleaf Whittier</b> was born near Haverhill, +Massachusetts, <br> +December 17, 1807. He was educated in the public school, working +at <br> +the same time on his father's farm or at making shoes. Having +left <br> +the academy, he devoted himself to literature. He was an ardent +<br> +abolitionist, and many of his poems are written to aid the cause +of <br> +freedom in which he was so deeply interested. His best-known +poems <br> +are "Snow-Bound," "Barbara Frietchie," "Maude Muller," and +"Voices of <br> +Freedom." He died in 1892. <br> +<br> +<b>Edgar Allan Poe</b> was born in Boston, Massachusetts, January +19, <br> +1809. The story of his life is as melancholy as was his genius. +<br> +Wild, dissipated, reckless, he was dismissed from West Point. He +<br> +alienated his best friends and lived the greatest part of his +life in <br> +the deepest poverty, dying in 1849 from the effects of +dissipation <br> +and exposure. His best poems are "The Raven," "The Bells," and +<br> +"Annabel Lee." <br> +<br> +<b>Oliver Wendell Holmes</b> was born in Cambridge, +Massachusetts, <br> +August 29, 1809. He was educated at Harvard College and studied +<br> +medicine, spending two years in the hospitals of Europe. He was +<br> +successively professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth +<br> +College, a physician in regular practice in Boston, and professor +of <br> +anatomy at Harvard College—this position he held from 1847 to +1882. <br> +He was nearly fifty before he became widely known as a writer, +when <br> +"The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" was published. He was +successful <br> +as essayist, novelist, poet, a kindly wit playing through much of +his <br> +work. His best-known poems are "Old Ironsides," "The Chambered +<br> +Nautilus," "The One-hoss Shay," "The Last Leaf," and "The Boys." +He <br> +died in 1894. <br> +<a name="lowell"></a> <br> +<b>James Russell Lowell</b> was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, +<br> +February 22, 1819. He was educated at Harvard College. He +succeeded <br> +Longfellow as professor of Modern Languages and Literature at +<br> +Harvard. He was also editor of the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> and of +<br> +the <i>North American Review</i>. He was appointed minister to +Spain <br> +and later to England, where he was our ambassador for five years. +His <br> +best-known poems are "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "Commemoration +Ode," <br> +"The Biglow Papers," "The Present Crisis," and "The First +Snowfall." <br> +He died in 1891. <br> +<br> +<b>Walt Whitman</b> was born in West Hills, Long Island, May 31, +1819. <br> +He was unable to go to college. He served in various occupations, +<br> +teacher, printer, writer, until in the great Civil War he +volunteered <br> +as a war nurse. His exertions and exposure in this work destroyed +his <br> +health, so that most of his remaining years he was dependent upon +his <br> +friends. His most beautiful poem is "O Captain, My Captain," +written <br> +after the assassination of Lincoln. He died in 1892. <br> +<a name="miller"></a> <br> +<b>Cincinnatus Heine Miller</b>, who wrote under the name of +Joaquin <br> +Miller, was born in Indiana in 1841. While yet a boy he went to +Oregon <br> +and later to California, where he led a wild life among the +miners, <br> +fighting the Indians, practicing law, and becoming a county +judge. <br> +After several years in Europe and New York, he settled down as a +<br> +fruit grower in California. He wrote "Songs of the Sierras," +"Songs <br> +of the Sun-Lands," and "The Ship in the Desert." <br> +<br> +<b>Among the minor American poets</b> the following are worthy of +<br> +note:— <br> +<a name="fskey"></a> <br> +Francis Scott Key, 1779-1843. "The Star-Spangled Banner." <br> +<br> +Emma Hart Willard, 1787-1870. "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep." +<br> +<br> +John Howard Payne, 1792-1852. "Home Sweet Home." <br> +<br> +Josiah Gilbert Holland, 1819-1881. "Bittersweet." <br> +<br> +Julia Ward Howe, 1819-. "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." <br> +<br> +Alice Cary, 1820-1871. Phoebe Cary, 1824-1871. Joint authors of +<br> +several volumes of poems. "Order for a Picture," A.C. "Nearer +Home," P.C. <br> +<br> +Thomas Buchanan Read, 1822-1872. "Drifting," "Sheridan's Ride." +<br> +<a name="burro"></a> <br> +John Burroughs, naturalist, 1837-. "Waiting." <br> +<br> +Edward Rowland Sill, 1841-1887. "The Fool's Prayer," +"Opportunity." <br> +<br> +Sidney Lanier, 1842-1881. "The Song of the Chattahoochee," "The +<br> +Marshes of Glynn," "A Song of the Future." <br> +<a name="cheney"></a> <br> +John Vance Cheney, 1848-. "Thistle Drift," "Wood Blooms," +"Evening <br> +Songs." <br> +<a name="riley"></a> <br> +James Whitcomb Riley, 1853-. "Rhymes of Childhood." <br> +<br> +Eugene Field, 1850-1895. "With Trumpet and Drum," and "Love Songs +of <br> +Childhood." +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graded Poetry: Second Year, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SECOND YEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 9542-h.htm or 9542-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/4/9542/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Amy Overmyer and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SECOND YEAR *** + +***** This file should be named 9542.txt or 9542.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/4/9542/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Amy Overmyer and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Graded Poetry: Seventh Year + +Author: Various + Edited by Katherine D. Blake and Georgia Alexander + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9542] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SEVENTH 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: Seventh Year, by Various +Edited by Katherine D. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Graded Poetry: Seventh Year + Edited by Katherine D. Blake and Georgia Alexander + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9542] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SEVENTH 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 charméd 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: Seventh Year, by Various +Edited by Katherine D. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/8poet10.zip b/old/8poet10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5fac45e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8poet10.zip diff --git a/old/8poet10h.htm b/old/8poet10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a40a8d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8poet10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4364 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>GRADED POETRY</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {margin:15%; text-align:justify} +img {border: 0;} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graded Poetry: Seventh Year, by Various +Edited by Katherine D. Blake and Georgia Alexander + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Graded Poetry: Seventh Year + +Author: Various + Edited by Katherine D. Blake and Georgia Alexander + +Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9542] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRADED POETRY: SEVENTH YEAR *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Amy Overmyer and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>GRADED POETRY</h1> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>SEVENTH YEAR</h2> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p>EDITED BY</p> + +<br> +<p>KATHERINE D. BLAKE</p> + +<br> +<p>PRINCIPAL, GIRLS' DEPARTMENT PUBLIC SCHOOL NO. 6,</p> + +<p>NEW YORK CITY</p> + +<p>AND</p> + +<p>GEORGIA ALEXANDER</p> + +<br> +<p>SUPERVISING PRINCIPAL, INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA</p> + +<br> +<p>1906</p> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +Poetry is the chosen language of childhood and youth. The baby +<br> +repeats words again and again for the mere joy of their sound: +<br> +the melody of nursery rhymes gives a delight which is quite <br> +independent of the meaning of the words. Not until youth +approaches <br> +maturity is there an equal pleasure in the rounded periods of +<br> +elegant prose. It is in childhood therefore that the young mind +<br> +should be stored with poems whose rhythm will be a present +delight <br> +and whose beautiful thoughts will not lose their charm in later +<br> +years. <br> +<br> +The selections for the lowest grades are addressed primarily to +<br> +the feeling for verbal beauty, the recognition of which in the +<br> +mind of the child is fundamental to the plan of this work. The +<br> +editors have felt that the inclusion of critical notes in these +<br> +little books intended for elementary school children would be not +<br> +only superfluous, but, in the degree in which critical comment +<br> +drew the child's attention from the text, subversive of the +desired <br> +result. Nor are there any notes on methods. The best way to teach +<br> +children to love a poem is to read it inspiringly to them. <br> +The French say: "The ear is the pathway to the heart." A poem +<br> +should be so read that it will sing itself in the hearts of the +<br> +listening children. <br> +<br> +In the brief biographies appended to the later books the human +<br> +element has been brought out. An effort has been made to call +<br> +attention to the education of the poet and his equipment for his +<br> +life work rather than to the literary qualities of his style. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<br> +<br> +<p><a href="#first">FIRST HALF YEAR</a></p> + +<br> +<table summary=" " width="90%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#goodname">Good Name</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#lovlab">From +"Love's Labor's Lost"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#richii">From +"Richard II," Act II, Sc. I</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#winttale">Jog +on, Jog on</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#wolsey">The +Downfall of Wolsey</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#shake">William Shakespeare</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#nobnat">The +Noble Nature</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href="#bjon">Ben +Johnson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#maymorn">Song +on a May Morning</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#milton">John Milton</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#ogod">O God, +our Help in Ages Past</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#watts">Isaac Watts;</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#gilpin">The +Diverting History of John Gilpin</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#cowper">William Cowper</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#bannoc">Bannockburn</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#burns">Robert Burns</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#highla">My +Heart's in the Highlands</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#burns">Robert Burns</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#reaper">The +Solitary Reaper</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#wordw">William Wordsworth</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#wbson">Sonnet</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#wordw">William Wordsworth</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#soldrest">Soldier, Rest!"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#scott">Walter Scott</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#lochin">Lochinvar</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#scott">Walter Scott</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#ssban">The +Star-Spangled Banner</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#fskey">Francis Scott Key</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#hohen">Hohenlinden</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#tomcam">Thomas Cambell</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#taraharp">The +Harp that Once through Tara's Halls</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#moore">Thomas Moore</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#childeh">Childe Harold's Farewell to England</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#byron">George Noel Gordon,</a> <a href="#byron">Lord +Byron</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#waterl">The +Night before Waterloo</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#byron">George Noel Gordon,</a> <a href="#byron">Lord +Byron</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#abide">Abide +with Me</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#hflyte">Henry Francis Lyte</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#horat">Horatius at the Bridge</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#maca">Thomas B. Macauley</a>.</i></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> + <a href="#second">SECOND HALF YEAR</a> <br> +<table summary=""width="90%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#spring">Early +Spring</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><br> +<a href="#galhad">Sir Galahad</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#chglght">The +Charge of the Light Brigade</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#ringout">Ring +out, Wild Bells From "In Memoriam"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#tenny">Alfred, Lord Tennyson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#xmashymn">A +Christmas Hymn</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#domett">Alfred Domett</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#hometh">Home +Thoughts from Abroad</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#brown">Robert Browning</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#pheid">Pheidippides</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#brown">Robert Browning</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#clover">A +Song of Clover</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Saxe Holm</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#songlove">Song of Love</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Lewis +Carroll</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#scythe">Scythe Song</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Andrew +Lang</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#whiteb">White +Butterflies</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#swin">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#vicode">Recessional. A Victorian Ode</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#kipling">Rudyard Kipling</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#waterf">To a +Waterfowl</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#death">The +Death of the Flowers</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#thanat">Thanatopsis</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#woodnt">From +"Woodnotes"</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#emerson">Ralph Waldo Emerson</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#daybrk">Daybreak</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth</a> <a href= +"#longfellow">Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#agass">The +Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth</a> <a href= +"#longfellow">Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#nitehy">Hymn +to the Night</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth</a> <a href= +"#longfellow">Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#long">Longing</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#lowell">James Russell Lowell</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#lyre">The +Finding of the Lyre</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#lowell">James Russell Lowell</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#wait">Waiting</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#burro">John Burroughs</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#colum">Columbus</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#miller">Joaquin Miller</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#evensong">Evening Songs</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#cheney">John Vance Cheney</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#vagsong">A +Vagabond Song</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i>Bliss +Carman</i>.</td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href="#oldglo">Old +Glory</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a>.</i></td> +</tr> + +<tr align="LEFT" valign="TOP"> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><a href= +"#kavan">Kavanagh</a> </td> +<td width="45%" align="LEFT" valign="TOP"><i><a href= +"#longfellow">Henry Wadsworth</a> <a href= +"#longfellow">Longfellow</a>.</i></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<br> + <br> +<a href="#bios">Biographical Sketches of Authors</a> <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="first"></a> <br> +SEVENTH YEAR—FIRST HALF <br> +<br> +<br> +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE <br> +ENGLAND, 1564-1616 <br> +<a name="Goodname"></a> <br> +Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, <br> +Is the immediate jewel of their souls: <br> +Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; <br> +'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; <br> +But he that filches from me my good name <br> +Robs me of that which not enriches him <br> +And makes me poor indeed. <br> +<br> +—"OTHELLO," Act II, Sc. 3. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="lovlab"></a> <br> +When daisies pied and violets blue, <br> +And lady-smocks all silver-white, <br> +And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue <br> +Do paint the meadows with delight. <br> +<br> +—"LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST," Act V, Sc. 2. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="richii"></a> <br> +This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, <br> +This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, <br> +This other Eden, demi-paradise; <br> +This fortress built by Nature for herself <br> +Against infection and the hand of war; <br> +This happy breed of men, this little world, <br> +This precious stone set in the silver sea, <br> +Which serves it in the office of a wall, <br> +Or as a moat defensive to a house, <br> +Against the envy of less happier lands; <br> +This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. <br> +<br> +—"RICHARD II," Act II, Sc. 1. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="winttale"></a> <br> +Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, <br> +And merrily hent the stile-a: <br> +A merry heart goes all the day, <br> +Your sad tires in a mile-a. <br> +<br> +—From "WINTER'S TALE." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="wolsey"></a> <br> +The Downfall of Wolsey <br> +<br> +Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! <br> +This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth <br> +The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms <br> +And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; <br> +The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; <br> +And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely <br> +His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, <br> +And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, <br> +Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, <br> +This many summers in a sea of glory, <br> +But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride <br> +At length broke under me; and now has left me, <br> +Weary and old with service, to the mercy <br> +Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. <br> +Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: <br> +I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched <br> +Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! <br> +There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, <br> +That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, <br> +More pangs and fears than wars or women have: <br> +And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, <br> +Never to hope again. <br> +<br> +—From "HENRY VIII." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +BEN JONSON <br> +ENGLAND, 1574-1637 <br> +<a name="nobnat"></a> <br> +<b>The Noble Nature</b> <br> +<br> +It is not growing like a tree <br> +In bulk doth make man better be; <br> +Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, <br> +To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere; <br> +A lily of a day <br> +Is fairer far in May, <br> +Although it fall and die that night,— <br> +It was the plant and flower of Light. <br> +In small proportions we just beauties see, <br> +And in short measures life may perfect be. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JOHN MILTON <br> +ENGLAND, 1608-1674 <br> +<a name="maymorn"></a> <br> +<b>Song on a May Morning</b> <br> +<br> +Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, <br> +Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her <br> +The flowery May, who from her green lap throws <br> +The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. <br> +<br> +Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire <br> +Mirth and youth and warm desire! <br> +Woods and groves are of thy dressing, <br> +Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. <br> +Thus we salute thee with our early song, <br> +And welcome thee, and wish thee long. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ISAAC WATTS <br> +ENGLAND, 1674-1748 <a name="ogod"></a> <br> +<br> +O God, our help in ages past, <br> +Our hope for years to come, <br> +Our shelter from the stormy blast, <br> +And our eternal home: <br> +<br> +Before the hills in order stood, <br> +Or earth received her frame, <br> +From everlasting Thou art God, <br> +To endless years the same. <br> +<br> +A thousand ages in Thy sight <br> +Are like an evening gone; <br> +Short as the watch that ends the night <br> +Before the rising sun. <br> +<br> +Time, like an ever-rolling stream, <br> +Bears all its sons away; <br> +They fly forgotten, as a dream <br> +Dies at the opening day. <br> +<br> +O God, our help in ages past, <br> +Our hope for years to come, <br> +Be Thou our guard while troubles last, <br> +And our eternal home. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WILLIAM COWPER <br> +ENGLAND, 1731-1800 <br> +<a name="gilpin"></a> <br> +<b>The Diverting History of John Gilpin</b> <br> +<br> +John Gilpin was a citizen, <br> +Of credit and renown, <br> +A trainband captain eke was he <br> +Of famous London town. <br> +<br> +John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, <br> +'Though wedded we have been <br> +These twice ten tedious years, yet we <br> +No holiday have seen. <br> +<br> +"To-morrow is our wedding day, <br> +And we will then repair <br> +Unto the Bell at Edmonton <br> +All in a chaise and pair. <br> +<br> +"My sister, and my sister's child, <br> +Myself, and children three, <br> +Will fill the chaise; so you must ride <br> +On horseback after we." <br> +<br> +He soon replied, "I do admire <br> +Of womankind but one, <br> +And you are she, my dearest dear, <br> +Therefore it shall be done. <br> +<br> +"I am a linendraper bold, <br> +As all the world doth know, <br> +And my good friend the calender <br> +Will lend his horse to go." <br> +<br> +Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said; <br> +And for that wine is dear, <br> +We will be furnished with our own, <br> +Which is both bright and clear." <br> +<br> +John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; <br> +O'erjoyed was he to find, <br> +That, though on pleasure she was bent, <br> +She had a frugal mind. <br> +<br> +The morning came, the chaise was brought, <br> +But yet was not allow'd <br> +To drive up to the door, lest all <br> +Should say that she was proud. <br> +<br> +So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, <br> +Where they did all get in; <br> +Six precious souls, and all agog <br> +To dash through thick and thin. <br> +<br> +Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, <br> +Were never folks so glad, <br> +The stones did rattle underneath, <br> +As if Cheapside were mad. <br> +<br> +John Gilpin at his horse's side <br> +Seized fast the flowing mane, <br> +And up he got, in haste to ride, <br> +But soon came down again; <br> +<br> +For saddletree scarce reach'd had he <br> +His journey to begin, <br> +When, turning round his head, he saw <br> +Three customers come in. <br> +<br> +So down he came; for loss of time, <br> +Although it grieved him sore, <br> +Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, <br> +Would trouble him much more. <br> +<br> +'Twas long before the customers <br> +Were suited to their mind, <br> +When Betty screaming came downstairs, <br> +"The wine is left behind!" <br> +<br> +"Good lack!" quoth he—"yet bring it me, <br> +My leathern belt likewise, <br> +In which I bear my trusty sword <br> +When I do exercise." <br> +<br> +Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) <br> +Had two stone bottles found, <br> +To hold the liquor that she loved <br> +And keep it safe and sound. <br> +<br> +Then over all, that he might be <br> +Equipp'd from top to toe, <br> +His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, <br> +He manfully did throw. <br> +<br> +Now see him mounted once again <br> +Upon his nimble steed, <br> +Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, <br> +With caution and good heed. <br> +<br> +But finding soon a smoother road <br> +Beneath his well-shod feet, <br> +The snorting beast began to trot, <br> +Which gall'd him in his seat. <br> +<br> +"So, fair and softly," John he cried, <br> +But John he cried in vain; <br> +That trot became a gallop soon, <br> +In spite of curb and rein. <br> +<br> +So stooping down, as needs he must <br> +Who cannot sit upright, <br> +He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, <br> +And eke with all his might. <br> +<br> +His horse, who never in that sort <br> +Had handled been before, <br> +What thing upon his back had got <br> +Did wonder more and more. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; <br> +Away went hat and wig; <br> +He little dreamt, when he set out, <br> +Of running such a rig. <br> +<br> +The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, <br> +Like streamer long and gay, <br> +Till, loop and button failing both, <br> +At last it flew away. <br> +<br> +Then might all people well discern <br> +The bottles he had slung; <br> +A bottle swinging at each side, <br> +As hath been said or sung. <br> +<br> +The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, <br> +Up flew the windows all; <br> +And every soul cried out, "Well done!" <br> +As loud as he could bawl. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin—who but he? <br> +His fame soon spread around, <br> +"He carries weight! he rides a race! <br> +'Tis for a thousand pound!" <br> +<br> +And still as fast as he drew near, <br> +'Twas wonderful to view, <br> +How in a trice the turnpike men <br> +Their gates wide open threw. <br> +<br> +And now, as he went bowing down <br> +His reeking head full low, <br> +The bottles twain behind his back <br> +Were shatter'd at a blow. <br> +<br> +Down ran the wine into the road, <br> +Most piteous to be seen, <br> +Which made his horse's flanks to smoke <br> +As they had basted been. <br> +<br> +But still he seem'd to carry weight, <br> +With leathern girdle braced; <br> +For all might see the bottle necks <br> +Still dangling at his waist. <br> +<br> +Thus all through merry Islington <br> +These gambols did he play, <br> +Until he came unto the Wash <br> +Of Edmonton so gay; <br> +<br> +And there he threw the wash about <br> +On both sides of the way, <br> +Just like unto a trundling mop, <br> +Or a wild goose at play. <br> +<br> +At Edmonton his loving wife <br> +From the balcony spied <br> +Her tender husband, wondering much <br> +To see how he did ride. <br> +<br> +"Stop, stop, John Gilpin!—here's the house," <br> +They all at once did cry; <br> +"The dinner waits, and we are tired:" <br> +Said Gilpin—"So am I!" <br> +<br> +But yet his horse was not a whit <br> +Inclined to tarry there; <br> +For why?—his owner had a house <br> +Full ten miles off, at Ware. <br> +<br> +So like an arrow swift he flew, <br> +Shot by an archer strong; <br> +So did he fly—which brings me to <br> +The middle of my song. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin out of breath, <br> +And sore against his will, <br> +Till at his friend the calender's <br> +His horse at last stood still. <br> +<br> +The calender, amazed to see <br> +His neighbor in such trim, <br> +Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, <br> +And thus accosted him: <br> +<br> +"What news? what news? your tidings tell <br> +Tell me you must and shall— <br> +Say why bareheaded you are come, <br> +Or why you come at all?" <br> +<br> +Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, <br> +And loved a timely joke; <br> +And thus unto the calender <br> +In merry guise he spoke: <br> +<br> +"I came because your horse would come; <br> +And, if I well forbode, <br> +My hat and wig will soon be here, <br> +They are upon the road." <br> +<br> +The calender, right glad to find <br> +His friend in merry pin, <br> +Return'd him not a single word, <br> +But to the house went in; <br> +<br> +Whence straight he came with hat and wig, <br> +A wig that flow'd behind, <br> +A hat not much the worse for wear, <br> +Each comely in its kind. <br> +<br> +He held them up, and in his turn <br> +Thus show'd his ready wit, <br> +"My head is twice as big as yours, <br> +They therefore needs must fit. <br> +<br> +"But let me scrape the dirt away <br> +That hangs upon your face; <br> +And stop and eat, for well you may <br> +Be in a hungry case." <br> +<br> +Said John, "It is my wedding day, <br> +And all the world would stare, <br> +If wife should dine at Edmonton, <br> +And I should dine at Ware." <br> +<br> +So turning to his horse, he said, <br> +"I am in haste to dine; <br> +'Twas for your pleasure you came here, <br> +You shall go back for mine." <br> +<br> +Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast! <br> +For which he paid full dear; <br> +For, while he spake, a braying ass <br> +Did sing most loud and clear; <br> +<br> +Whereat his horse did snort, as he <br> +Had heard a lion roar, <br> +And gallop'd off with all his might, <br> +As he had done before. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin, and away <br> +Went Gilpin's hat and wig: <br> +He lost them sooner than at first, <br> +For why?—they were too big. <br> +<br> +Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw <br> +Her husband posting down <br> +Into the country far away, <br> +She pull'd out half a crown; <br> +<br> +And thus unto the youth she said, <br> +That drove them to the Bell, <br> +"This shall be yours, when you bring back <br> +My husband safe and well." <br> +<br> +The youth did ride, and soon did meet <br> +John coming back amain; <br> +Whom in a trice he tried to stop, <br> +By catching at his rein; <br> +<br> +But not performing what he meant, <br> +And gladly would have done, <br> +The frighted steed he frighted more, <br> +And made him faster run. <br> +<br> +Away went Gilpin, and away <br> +Went postboy at his heels, <br> +The postboy's horse right glad to miss <br> +The lumbering of the wheels. <br> +<br> +Six gentlemen upon the road, <br> +Thus seeing Gilpin fly, <br> +With postboy scampering in the rear, <br> +They raised the hue and cry:— <br> +<br> +"Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman!" <br> +Not one of them was mute; <br> +And all and each that passed that way <br> +Did join in the pursuit. <br> +<br> +And now the turnpike gates again <br> +Flew open in short space; <br> +The toll-men thinking as before, <br> +That Gilpin rode a race. <br> +<br> +And so he did, and won it too, <br> +For he got first to town; <br> +Nor stopp'd till where he had got up <br> +He did again get down. <br> +<br> +Now let us sing, "Long live the king, <br> +And Gilpin long live he;" <br> +And when he next doth ride abroad, <br> +May I be there to see! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ROBERT BURNS <br> +SCOTLAND, 1759-1796 <br> +<a name="bannoc"></a> <br> +<b>Bannockburn</b> <br> +<br> +<b>Robert Bruce's Address to his Army</b> <br> +<br> +Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, <br> +Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, <br> +Welcome to your gory bed <br> +Or to victorie! <br> +<br> +Now's the day, and now's the hour; <br> +See the front o' battle lower; <br> +See approach proud Edward's power— <br> +Chains and slaverie! <br> +<br> +Wha will be a traitor knave? <br> +Wha can fill a coward's grave? <br> +Wha sae base as be a slave? <br> +Let him turn and flee! <br> +<br> +Wha for Scotland's king and law <br> +Freedom's sword will strongly draw, <br> +Freeman stand, or freeman fa', <br> +Let him follow me! <br> +<br> +By oppression's woes and pains! <br> +By your sons in servile chains! <br> +We will drain our dearest veins, <br> +But they shall be free! <br> +<br> +Lay the proud usurpers low! <br> +Tyrants fall in every foe! <br> +Liberty's in every blow!— <br> +Let us do or die! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="highla"></a> <br> +<b>My Heart's in the Highlands</b> <br> +<br> +My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; <br> +My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; <br> +Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, <br> +My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. <br> +Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, <br> +The birthplace of valor, the country of worth: <br> +Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, <br> +The hills of the Highlands forever I love. <br> +<br> +Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; <br> +Farewell to the straths and green valleys below; <br> +Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods; <br> +Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. <br> +My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, <br> +My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; <br> +Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, <br> +My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WILLIAM WORDSWORTH <br> +ENGLAND, 1770-1850 <br> +<br> +<a name="reaper"></a> <br> +<b>The Solitary Reaper</b> <br> +<br> +Behold her, single in the field, <br> +Yon solitary Highland lass, <br> +Reaping and singing by herself; <br> +Stop here, or gently pass! <br> +Alone she cuts and binds the grain, <br> +And sings a melancholy strain; <br> +Oh, listen! for the vale profound <br> +Is overflowing with the sound. <br> +<br> +No nightingale did ever chant <br> +So sweetly to reposing bands <br> +Of travelers in some shady haunt <br> +Among Arabian sands: <br> +A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard <br> +In springtime from the cuckoo-bird, <br> +Breaking the silence of the seas <br> +Among the farthest Hebrides. <br> +<br> +Will no one tell me what she sings? <br> +Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow <br> +For old, unhappy, far-off things, <br> +And battles long ago: <br> +Or is it some more humble lay, <br> +Familiar matter of to-day, <br> +Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, <br> +That has been, and may be again? <br> +<br> +Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang <br> +As if her song could have no ending; <br> +I saw her singing at her work, <br> +And o'er the sickle bending. <br> +I listened motionless and still; <br> +And, as I mounted up the hill, <br> +The music in my heart I bore <br> +Long after it was heard no more. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="wbson"></a> <br> +<b>Sonnet<br> + Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802</b> <br> +<br> +Earth has not anything to show more fair: <br> +Dull would he be of soul who could pass by <br> +A sight so touching in its majesty: <br> +This city now doth like a garment wear <br> +The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, <br> +Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie <br> +Open unto the fields and to the sky; <br> +All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. <br> +Never did sun more beautifully steep <br> +In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; <br> +Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! <br> +The river glideth at his own sweet will: <br> +Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; <br> +And all that mighty heart is lying still! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WALTER SCOTT <br> +SCOTLAND, 1771-1832 <br> +<a name="soldrest"></a> <br> +<b>"Soldier, Rest!"</b> <br> +<br> +Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, <br> +Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; <br> +Dream of battle-fields no more, <br> +Days of danger, nights of waking, <br> +In our isle's enchanted hall, <br> +Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, <br> +Fairy strains of music fall, <br> +Every sense in slumber dewing. <br> +Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, <br> +Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; <br> +Dream of battle-fields no more, <br> +Morn of toil, nor night of waking. <br> +<br> +No rude sound shall reach thine ear, <br> +Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, <br> +Trump nor pibroch summon here, <br> +Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. <br> +Yet the lark's shrill fife may come, <br> +At the daybreak from the fallow, <br> +<br> +And the bittern sound his drum, <br> +Booming from the sedgy shallow. <br> +Ruder sounds shall none be near, <br> +Guards nor warders challenge here; <br> +Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, <br> +Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. <br> +<br> +Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; <br> +While our slumb'rous spells assail ye, <br> +Dream not with the rising sun, <br> +Bugles here shall sound reveille. <br> +Sleep! the deer is in his den; <br> +Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; <br> +Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, <br> +How thy gallant steed lay dying. <br> +Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done; <br> +Think not of the rising sun, <br> +For at dawning to assail ye, <br> +Here no bugle sounds reveille. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="lochin"></a> <br> +<b>Lochinvar</b> <br> +<br> +Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west; <br> +Through all the wide border his steed was the best; <br> +And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none; <br> +He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. <br> +So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, <br> +There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. <br> +<br> +He stayed not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, <br> +He swam the Eske River where ford there was none; <br> +But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, <br> +The bride had consented, the gallant came late; <br> +For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, <br> +Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. <br> +<br> +So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, <br> +Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: <br> +Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, <br> +(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) <br> +"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, <br> +Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"— <br> +<br> +"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;— <br> +Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide— <br> +And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, <br> +To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. <br> +There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, <br> +That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." <br> +<br> +The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, <br> +He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. <br> +She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, <br> +With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. <br> +He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— <br> +"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. <br> +<br> +So stately his form, and so lovely her face, <br> +That never a hall such a galliard did grace; <br> +While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, <br> +And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; <br> +And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'Twere better by far, <br> +To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." <br> +<br> +One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, <br> +When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near: <br> +So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, <br> +So light to the saddle before her he sprung! <br> +"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; <br> +They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. +<br> +<br> +There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; <br> +Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: <br> +There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, <br> +But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. <br> +So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, <br> +Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +FRANCIS SCOTT KEY <br> +AMERICA, 1780-1843 <br> +<a name="ssban"></a> <br> +<b>The Star-Spangled Banner</b>[<a href="#foot1">1</a>] <br> +<br> +O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, <br> +What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming— <br> +Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the clouds of the +fight <br> +O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming! <br> +And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, <br> +Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. <br> +O! say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? <br> +<br> +On that shore dimly see through the mists of the deep <br> +Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, <br> +What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, <br> +As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? <br> +Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, <br> +In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; <br> +'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave! <br> +<br> +And where is that band who so vauntingly swore <br> +That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion <br> +A home and a country should leave us no more? <br> +Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. <br> +No refuge could save the hireling and slave <br> +From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave; <br> +And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. <br> +<br> +O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand <br> +Between their loved homes and war's desolation! <br> +Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land <br> +Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. <br> +Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, <br> +And this be our motto—"<i>In God is our trust</i>:" <br> +And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave <br> +O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="foot1"></a> <br> +[Footnote:1. The song is taken as it appears in Stedman and +Hutchinson's <br> +<i>Library of American Literature</i>, vol. iv. p. 419. The text, +slightly <br> +different from the common one, corresponds to the facsimile of +<br> +a copy made by Mr. Key in 1840.] <br> +<br> +THOMAS CAMPBELL <br> +SCOTLAND, 1777-1844 <br> + <a name="hohen"></a> <br> +<b>Hohenlinden</b> <br> +<br> +On Linden when the sun was low, <br> +All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, <br> +And dark as winter was the flow <br> +Of Iser, rolling rapidly. <br> +<br> +But Linden saw another sight <br> +When the drum beat, at dead of night, <br> +Commanding fires of death to light <br> +The darkness of her scenery. <br> +<br> +By torch and trumpet fast array'd <br> +Each horseman drew his battle-blade, <br> +And furious every charger neigh'd, <br> +To join the dreadful revelry. <br> +<br> +Then shook the hills with thunder riven, <br> +Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, <br> +And louder than the bolts of heaven <br> +Far flash'd the red artillery. <br> +<br> +But redder yet that light shall glow <br> +On Linden's hills of stained snow, <br> +And darker yet shall be the flow <br> +Of Iser, rolling rapidly. <br> +<br> +'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun <br> +Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, <br> +Where furious Frank and fiery Hun <br> +Shout in their sulphurous canopy. <br> +<br> +The combat deepens. On, ye Brave, <br> +Who rush to glory, or the grave! <br> +Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! <br> +And charge with all thy chivalry! <br> +<br> +Few, few, shall part where many meet! <br> +The snow shall be their winding-sheet, <br> +And every turf beneath their feet <br> +Shall be a soldier's sepulcher. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +THOMAS MOORE <br> +IRELAND, 1779-1852 <br> + <a name="taraharp"></a> <br> +<b>The Harp that once through Tara's Halls</b> <br> +<br> +The Harp that once through Tara's Halls <br> +The soul of music shed, <br> +Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls <br> +As if that soul were fled. <br> +So sleeps the pride of former days, <br> +So glory's thrill is o'er, <br> +And hearts that once beat high for praise, <br> +Now feel that pulse no more. <br> +<br> +No more to chiefs and ladies bright <br> +The harp of Tara swells: <br> +The chord alone that breaks at night, <br> +Its tale of ruin tells. <br> +Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, <br> +The only throb she gives <br> +Is when some heart indignant breaks, <br> +To show that still she lives. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD BYRON <br> +ENGLAND, 1788-1824 <br> + <a name="childeh"></a> <br> +<b>Childe Harold's Farewell to England</b> <br> +<br> +Adieu, adieu! my native shore <br> +Fades o'er the waters blue; <br> +The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, <br> +And shrieks the wild sea mew. <br> +Yon sun that sets upon the sea, <br> +We follow in his flight; <br> +Farewell awhile to him and thee, <br> +My native land—Good-night. <br> +<br> +A few short hours and he will rise <br> +To give the morrow birth; <br> +And I shall hail the main and skies, <br> +But not my mother earth. <br> +Deserted is my own good hall, <br> +Its hearth is desolate; <br> +Wild weeds are gathering on the wall; <br> +My dog howls at the gate. <br> +<br> +"Come hither, hither, my little page! <br> +Why dost thou weep and wail? <br> +Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, <br> +Or tremble at the gale? <br> +But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; <br> +Our ship is swift and strong; <br> +Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly <br> +More merrily along." <br> +<br> +"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, <br> +I fear not wave nor wind: <br> +Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I <br> +Am sorrowful in mind; <br> +For I have from my father gone, <br> +A mother whom I love, <br> +And have no friends, save thee alone, <br> +But thee—and One above. <br> +<br> +"My father blessed me fervently, <br> +Yet did not much complain; <br> +But sorely will my mother sigh <br> +Till I come back again."— <br> +"Enough, enough, my little lad! <br> +Such tears become thine eye; <br> +If I thy guileless bosom had, <br> +Mine own would not be dry." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="waterl"></a> <br> +<b>The Night before Waterloo</b> <br> +<br> +There was a sound of revelry by night, <br> +And Belgium's capital had gather'd then <br> +Her beauty and her Chivalry, and bright <br> +The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; <br> +A thousand hearts beat happily; and when <br> +Music arose with its voluptuous swell, <br> +Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, <br> +And all went merry as a marriage bell; <br> +But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! <br> +<br> +Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind, <br> +Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; <br> +On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; <br> +No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet <br> +To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet. <br> +But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, <br> +As if the clouds its echo would repeat; <br> +And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! <br> +Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar! <br> +<br> +Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, <br> +And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, <br> +And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago <br> +Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; <br> +And there were sudden partings, such as press <br> +The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs <br> +Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess <br> +If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, <br> +Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! <br> +<br> +And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, <br> +The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, <br> +Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, <br> +And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; <br> +And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; <br> +And near, the beat of the alarming drum <br> +Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; <br> +While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, <br> +Or whispering with white lips—"The foe! <br> +They come! they come!" <br> +<br> +Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, <br> +Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, <br> +The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, <br> +The morn the marshaling in arms—the day <br> +Battle's magnificently stern array! <br> +The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent <br> +The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, <br> +Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, <br> +Rider and horse—friend, foe—in one red burial blent! <br> +<br> +—From "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +HENRY FRANCIS LYTE <br> +ENGLAND, 1793-1847 <br> +<a name="abide"></a> <br> +<b>Abide with Me</b> <br> +<br> +Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide; <br> +The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide: <br> +When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, <br> +Help of the helpless, O abide with me. <br> +<br> +Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; <br> +Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; <br> +Change and decay in all around I see; <br> +O Thou who changest not, abide with me. <br> +<br> +I need Thy presence every passing hour; <br> +What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power? <br> +Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be? <br> +Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. <br> +<br> +I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless: <br> +Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. <br> +Where is Death's sting? Where, Grave, thy victory? <br> +I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. <br> +<br> +Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes, <br> +Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies; <br> +Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; <br> +In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +THOMAS B. MACAULAY <br> +ENGLAND, 1800-1859 <br> +<a name="horat"></a> <br> +<b>Horatius at the Bridge</b> <br> +<br> +The consul's brow was sad, and the consul's speech was low, <br> +And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. <br> +"Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down; <br> +And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?" +<br> +Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate: <br> +"To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. <br> +Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may; <br> +I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. <br> +In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three. <br> +<br> +Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me?" +<br> +Then out spake Spurius Lartius—a Ramnian proud was he— <br> +"Lo! I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with +thee." <br> +And out spake strong Herminius—of Titian blood was he— <br> +"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." +<br> +"Horatius," quoth the consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be." +<br> +And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless +three. <br> +Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see <br> +On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three. +<br> +And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, +<br> +The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. +<br> +But meanwhile ax and lever have manfully been plied, <br> +And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. <br> +"Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cried the fathers all; +<br> +"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall!" <br> +Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back; <br> +And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers +crack; <br> +But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore <br> +Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once +more. <br> +But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, <br> +And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream. +<br> +And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, <br> +As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. <br> +<br> +And, like a horse unbroken, when first he feels the rein, <br> +The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, <br> +And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, <br> +And battlement, and plank, and pier whirled headlong to the sea. +<br> +<br> +Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind; <br> +Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. +<br> +"Down with him!" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale +face. <br> +"Now yield thee!" cried Lars Porsena, "now yield thee to our +grace!" <br> +<br> +Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; <br> +Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he; <br> +But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home, <br> +And he spoke to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome: +<br> +"O Tiber! Father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray, <br> +A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" +<br> +So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, +<br> +And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide. +<br> +<br> +No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; <br> +But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he +sank, <br> +And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, <br> +Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. +<br> +<br> +But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain: +<br> +And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, <br> +And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows: <br> +And oft they thought him sinking—but still again he rose. <br> +<br> +Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, <br> +Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place: +<br> +But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, +<br> +And our good Father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. <br> +<br> +"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown? +<br> +But for his stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the +town!" <br> +"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena; "and bring him safe to +shore; <br> +For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." <br> +<br> +And now he feels the bottom;—now on dry earth he stands; <br> +Now round him throng the fathers to press his gory hands. <br> +And now, with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, +<br> +He enters through the river gate, borne by the joyous crowd. <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="second"></a> <br> +<b>SEVENTH YEAR—SECOND HALF</b> <br> +<br> +<br> +ALFRED TENNYSON <br> +ENGLAND, 1809-1892 <br> +<a name="spring"></a> <br> +<b>Early Spring</b> <br> +<br> +Once more the Heavenly Power <br> +Makes all things new, <br> +And domes the red-plow'd hills <br> +With loving blue; <br> +The blackbirds have their wills, <br> +The throstles too. <br> +<br> +Opens a door in Heaven; <br> +From skies of glass <br> +A Jacob's ladder falls <br> +On greening grass, <br> +And o'er the mountain-walls <br> +Young angels pass. <br> +<br> +Before them fleets the shower, <br> +And bursts the buds, <br> +And shine the level lands, <br> +And flash the floods; <br> +The stars are from their hands <br> +Flung thro' the woods. <br> +<br> +The woods with living airs <br> +How softly fann'd, <br> +Light airs from where the deep, <br> +All down the sand, <br> +Is breathing in his sleep, <br> +Heard by the land. <br> +<br> +O follow, leaping blood, <br> +The season's lure! <br> +O heart, look down and up <br> +Serene, secure. <br> +Warm as the crocus cup, <br> +Like snowdrops, pure! <br> +<br> +Past, Future, glimpse and fade <br> +Thro' some slight spell, <br> +A gleam from yonder vale, <br> +Some far blue fell, <br> +And sympathies, how frail, <br> +In sound and smell. <br> +<br> +Till at thy chuckled note, <br> +Thou twinkling bird, <br> +The fairy fancies range, <br> +And, lightly stirr'd, <br> +Ring little bells of change <br> +From word to word. <br> +<br> +For now the Heavenly Power <br> +Makes all things new, <br> +And thaws the cold, and fills <br> +The flower with dew; <br> +The blackbirds have their wills, <br> +The poets too. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="galhad"></a> <br> +<b>Sir Galahad</b> <br> +<br> +My good blade carves the casques of men, <br> +My tough lance thrusteth sure, <br> +My strength is as the strength of ten, <br> +Because my heart is pure. <br> +The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, <br> +The hard brands shiver on the steel, <br> +The splintered spear shafts crack and fly, <br> +The horse and rider reel; <br> +They reel, they roll in clanging lists, <br> +And when the tide of combat stands, <br> +Perfume and flowers fall in showers, <br> +That lightly rain from ladies' hands. <br> +<br> +How sweet are looks that ladies bend <br> +On whom their favors fall! <br> +For them I battle till the end, <br> +To save from shame and thrall; <br> +But all my heart is drawn above, <br> +My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: <br> +I never felt the kiss of love, <br> +Nor maiden's hand in mine. <br> +More bounteous aspects on me beam, <br> +Me mightier transports move and thrill; <br> +So keep I fair through faith and prayer <br> +A virgin heart in work and will. <br> +<br> +When down the stormy crescent goes, <br> +A light before me swims, <br> +Between dark stems the forest glows, <br> +I hear a noise of hymns: <br> +Then by some secret shrine I ride; <br> +I hear a voice, but none are there; <br> +The stalls are void, the doors are wide, <br> +The tapers burning fair. <br> +Fair gleams the snowy altar cloth, <br> +The silver vessels sparkle clean, <br> +The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, <br> +And solemn chants resound between. <br> +<br> +Sometimes on lonely mountain meres <br> +I find a magic bark; <br> +I leap on board: no helmsman steers: <br> +I float till all is dark. <br> +A gentle sound, an awful light! <br> +Three angels bear the Holy Grail; <br> +With folded feet, in stoles of white, <br> +On sleeping wings they sail. <br> +Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! <br> +My spirit beats her mortal bars, <br> +As down dark tides the glory slides, <br> +And starlike mingles with the stars. <br> +<br> +When on my goodly charger borne <br> +Through dreaming towns I go, <br> +The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, <br> +The streets are dumb with snow. <br> +The tempest crackles on the leads, <br> +And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; <br> +But o'er the dark a glory spreads, <br> +And gilds the driving hail. <br> +I leave the plain, I climb the height; <br> +No branchy thicket shelter yields; <br> +But blessed forms in whistling storms <br> +Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. <br> +<br> +A maiden knight—to me is given <br> +Such hope, I know not fear; <br> +I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven <br> +That often meet me here. <br> +I muse on joy that will not cease, <br> +Pure spaces clothed in living beams, <br> +Pure lilies of eternal peace, <br> +Whose odors haunt my dreams, <br> +And, stricken by an angel's hand, <br> +This mortal armor that I wear, <br> +This weight and size, this heart and eyes, <br> +Are touched, are turned to finest air. <br> +<br> +The clouds are broken in the sky, <br> +And through the mountain walls <br> +A rolling organ-harmony <br> +Swells up, and shakes and falls. <br> +Then move the trees, the copses nod, <br> +Wings flutter, voices hover clear: <br> +"O just and faithful knight of God! <br> +Ride on! the prize is near." <br> +So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; <br> +By bridge and ford, by park and pale, <br> +All armed I ride, whate'er betide, <br> +Until I find the Holy Grail. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="chglght"></a> <br> +<b>The Charge of the Light Brigade</b> <br> +<br> +Half a league, half a league, <br> +Half a league onward, <br> +All in the valley of death <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +"Forward, the Light Brigade! <br> +Charge for the guns!" he said; <br> +Into the valley of death <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +"Forward, the Light Brigade!" <br> +Was there a man dismayed? <br> +Not though the soldier knew <br> +Some one had blundered; <br> +Theirs not to make reply, <br> +Theirs not to reason why, <br> +Theirs but to do and die: <br> +Into the valley of death <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +Cannon to right of them, <br> +Cannon to left of them, <br> +Cannon in front of them <br> +Volleyed and thundered; <br> +Stormed at with shot and shell, <br> +Boldly they rode and well, <br> +Into the jaws of death, <br> +Into the mouth of hell <br> +Rode the six hundred. <br> +<br> +Flashed all their sabers bare, <br> +Flashed as they turned in air <br> +Sabring the gunners there, <br> +Charging an army, while <br> +All the world wondered. <br> +Plunged in the battery smoke, <br> +Right through the line they broke; <br> +Cossack and Russian <br> +Reeled from the saber-stroke— <br> +Shattered and sundered. <br> +Then they rode back, but not— <br> +Not the six hundred. <br> +<br> +Cannon to right of them, <br> +Cannon to left of them, <br> +Cannon behind them <br> +Volleyed and thundered; <br> +Stormed at with shot and shell, <br> +While horse and hero fell, <br> +They that had fought so well <br> +Came through the jaws of death, <br> +Back from the mouth of hell, <br> +All that was left of them, <br> +Left of six hundred. <br> +<br> +When can their glory fade? <br> +Oh, the wild charge they made! <br> +All the world wondered. <br> +Honor the charge they made, <br> +Honor the Light Brigade, <br> +Noble six hundred! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="ringout"></a> <br> +<b>Ring Out, Wild Bells</b> <br> +<br> +Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, <br> +The flying cloud, the frosty light; <br> +The year is dying in the night: <br> +Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. <br> +<br> +Ring out the old, ring in the new, <br> +Ring, happy bells, across the snow; <br> +The year is going, let him go; <br> +Ring out the false, ring in the true. <br> +<br> +Ring out the grief that saps the mind, <br> +For those that here we see no more; <br> +Ring out the feud of rich and poor, <br> +Ring in redress to all mankind. <br> +<br> +Ring out a slowly dying cause, <br> +And ancient forms of party strife; <br> +Ring in the nobler modes of life, <br> +With sweeter manners, purer laws. <br> +<br> +Ring out the want, the care, the sin, <br> +The faithless coldness of the times; <br> +Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, <br> +But ring the fuller minstrel in. <br> +<br> +Ring out false pride in place and blood, <br> +The civic slander and the spite; <br> +Ring in the love of truth and right, <br> +Ring in the common love of good. <br> +<br> +Ring out old shapes of foul disease; <br> +Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; <br> +Ring out the thousand wars of old, <br> +Ring in the thousand years of peace. <br> +<br> +Ring in the valiant man and free, <br> +The larger heart, the kindlier hand; <br> +Ring out the darkness of the land, <br> +Ring in the Christ that is to be. <br> +<br> +—From "IN MEMORIAM." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ALFRED DOMETT <br> +ENGLAND, 1811-1887 <br> +<a name="xmashymn"></a> <br> +<b>A CHRISTMAS HYMN</b> <br> +<br> +It was the calm and silent night! <br> +Seven hundred years and fifty-three <br> +Had Rome been growing up to might, <br> +And now was queen of land and sea. <br> +No sound was heard of clashing wars; <br> +Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain: <br> +Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars <br> +Held undisturbed their ancient reign, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago. <br> +<br> +'Twas in the calm and silent night! <br> +The senator of haughty Rome, <br> +Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, <br> +From lordly revel rolling home; <br> +Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell. <br> +His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; <br> +What recked the Roman what befell <br> +A paltry province far away, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago. <br> +<br> +Within that province far away <br> +Went plodding home a weary boor <br> +A streak of light before him lay, <br> +Fallen through a half-shut stable-door <br> +Across his path. He passed—for naught <br> +Told what was going on within; <br> +How keen the stars, his only thought; <br> +The air how calm and cold and thin, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago! <br> +<br> +Oh, strange indifference! low and high <br> +Drowsed over common joys and cares; <br> +The earth was still—but knew not why; <br> +The world was listening, unawares. <br> +How calm a moment may precede <br> +One that shall thrill the world for ever! <br> +To that still moment none would heed, <br> +Man's doom was linked no more to sever— <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago! <br> +<br> +It is the calm and solemn night! <br> +A thousand bells ring out, and throw <br> +Their joyous peals abroad, and smite <br> +The darkness—charmed and holy now! <br> +The night that erst no name had worn, <br> +To it a happy name is given; <br> +For in that stable lay, new-born, <br> +The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, <br> +In the solemn midnight, <br> +Centuries ago! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ROBERT BROWNING <br> +ENGLAND, 1812-1889 <br> +<a name="hometh"></a> <br> +<b>Home-Thoughts from Abroad</b> <br> +<br> +Oh, to be in England <br> +Now that April's there, <br> +And whoever wakes in England <br> +Sees, some morning unaware, <br> +That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf <br> +Round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf, <br> +While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough <br> +In England—now! <br> +<br> +And after April, when May follows, <br> +And the whitethroat builds and all the swallows! <br> +Hark, where my blossomed pear tree in the hedge <br> +Leans to the field and scatters on the clover <br> +Blossoms and dewdrops, at the bent spray's edge— <br> +That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, <br> +Lest you should think he never could recapture <br> +The first fine careless rapture! <br> +And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, <br> +All will be gay when noontide wakes anew <br> +The buttercups, the little children's dower— <br> +Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="pheid"></a> <br> +<b>Pheidippides</b> <br> +<br> +First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! <br> +Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all! <br> +Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise +<br> +—Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the aegis and spear! +<br> +Also ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer, <br> +Now, henceforth and forever,—O latest to whom I upraise <br> +Hand and heart and voice! For Athens, leave pasture and flock! +<br> +Present to help, potent to save, Pan—patron I call! <br> +<br> +Archons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return! <br> +See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no specter that speaks! +<br> +Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, <br> +"Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid! <br> +Persia has come, we are here, where is She?" Your command I +obeyed, <br> +Ran and raced: like stubble, some field which a fire runs through +<br> +Was the space between city and city; two days, two nights did I +burn <br> +<br> +Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. <br> +Into their midst I broke: breath served but for "Persia has come! +<br> +Persia bids Athens proffer slaves'-tribute, water and earth; <br> +Razed to the ground is Eretria—but Athens, shall Athens sink, +<br> +Drop into dust and die—the flower of Hellas utterly die, <br> +Die with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the +stander-by? <br> +Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er <br> +destruction's brink? <br> +How—when? No care for my limbs!—there's lightning in all and +some— <br> +Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth!" +<br> +<br> +O my Athens—Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond? <br> +Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust, <br> +Malice,—each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate! +<br> +Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood +<br> +Quivering,—the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from +dry wood: <br> +"Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate? <br> +Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond <br> +Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them 'Ye must'!" +<br> +<br> +No bolt launched from Olumpos! Lo, their answer at last! <br> +"Has Persia come,—does Athens ask aid,—may Sparta befriend? +<br> +Nowise precipitate judgment—too weighty the issue at stake! <br> +Count we no time lost time which lags thro' respect to the Gods! +<br> +Ponder that precept of old, 'No warfare, whatever the odds <br> +In your favor, so long as the moon, half-orbed, is unable to take +<br> +Full-circle her state in the sky!' Already she rounds to it fast: +<br> +Athens must wait, patient as we—who judgment suspend." <br> +<br> +Athens,—except for that sparkle,—thy name, I had moldered to +ash! <br> +That sent a blaze thro' my blood; off, off and away was I back, +<br> +—Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the +vile! <br> +Yet "O Gods of my land!" I cried, as each hillock and plain, <br> +Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, <br> +"Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you +erewhile? <br> +Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash <br> +Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack! <br> +<br> +"Oak and olive and bay,—I bid you cease to enwreathe <br> +Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot, <br> +You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave! +<br> +Rather I hail thee, Parnes,—trust to thy wild waste tract! <br> +Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked +<br> +My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave <br> +No deity deigns to drape with verdure?—at least I can breathe, +<br> +Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute!" <br> +Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; <br> +Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar <br> +Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. <br> +Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across: +<br> +"Where I could enter, there I depart by! Night in the fosse? <br> +Athens to aid? Tho' the dive were thro' Erebos, thus I obey— +<br> +Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise! No bridge +<br> +Better!"—when—ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are? +<br> +<br> +There, in the cool of a cleft, sat he—majestical Pan! <br> +Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof; +<br> +All the great God was good in the eyes grave-kindly—the curl +<br> +Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe <br> +As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. <br> +"Halt, Pheidippides!"—halt I did, my brain of a whirl: <br> +"Hither to me! Why pale in my presence?" he gracious began: <br> +"How is it,—Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof? <br> +<br> +"Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast! <br> +Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old? +<br> +Aye, and still, and forever her friend! Test Pan, trust me! <br> +Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith <br> +In the temples and tombs! Go, say to Athens, 'The Goat-God saith: +<br> +When Persia—so much as strews not the soil—is cast in the sea, +<br> +Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and least, +<br> +Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the +bold!' <br> +<br> +"Say Pan saith: 'Let this, foreshowing the place, be the +pledge!'" <br> +(Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear <br> +—Fennel,—I grasped it a-tremble with Dew—whatever it bode), +<br> +"While, as for thee ..." But enough! He was gone. If I ran +hitherto— <br> +Be sure that the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew. +<br> +Parnes to Athens—earth no more, the air was my road; <br> +Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's edge! +<br> +Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare! <br> +<br> +Then spoke Miltiades. "And then, best runner of Greece, <br> +Whose limbs did duty indeed,—what gift is promised thyself? <br> +Tell it us straightway,—Athens the mother demands of her son!" +<br> +Rosily blushed the youth: he paused: but, lifting at length <br> +His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of +his strength <br> +Into the utterance—"Pan spoke thus: 'For what thou hast done +<br> +Count on a worthy reward! Henceforth be allowed thee release <br> +From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf!' +<br> +<br> +"I am bold to believe, Pan means reward the most to my mind! <br> +Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may +grow,— <br> +Pound—Pan helping us—Persia to dust, and, under the deep, <br> +Whelm her away forever; and then,—no Athens to save,— <br> +Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave,— <br> +Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall creep <br> +Close to my knees,—recount how the God was awful yet kind, <br> +Promised their sire reward to the full—rewarding him—so!" <br> +<br> +Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: <br> +So, when Persia was dust, all cried "To Akropolis! <br> +Run, Pheidippides, one race more! the meed is thy due! <br> +'Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout!" He flung down his +shield, <br> +Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the Fennel-field +<br> +And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through, +<br> +Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine thro' clay, +<br> +Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died—the bliss! <br> +<br> +So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute +<br> +Is still "Rejoice!"—his word which brought rejoicing indeed. +<br> +So is Pheidippides happy forever,—then noble strong man <br> +Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god +loved so well, <br> +He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered to +tell <br> +Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, +<br> +So to end gloriously—once to shout, thereafter be mute: <br> +"Athens is saved!"—Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed. +<br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +HELEN HUNT JACKSON <br> +AMERICA, 1831-1885 <br> +<a name="clover"></a> <br> +<b>A Song of Clover</b> <br> +<br> +I wonder what the Clover thinks, <br> +Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links, <br> +Lover of Daisies slim and white, <br> +Waltzer with Buttercups at night; <br> +Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees, <br> +Serving to them wine-dregs and lees, <br> +Left by the Royal Humming Birds, <br> +Who sip and pay with fine-spun words; <br> +Fellow with all the lowliest, <br> +Peer of the gayest and the best; <br> +Comrade of winds, beloved of sun, <br> +Kissed by the Dew-drops, one by one; <br> +Prophet of Good-Luck mystery <br> +By sign of four which few may see; <br> +Symbol of Nature's magic zone, <br> +One out of three, and three in one; <br> +Emblem of comfort in the speech <br> +Which poor men's babies early reach; <br> +Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills, <br> +Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills, <br> +Sweet in its white, sweet in its red,— <br> +Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said;— <br> +Sweet in its every living breath, <br> +Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death! <br> +Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks? <br> +No one! unless the Bob-o'-links! <br> +<br> +—"SAXE HOLM." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +LEWIS CARROLL <br> +ENGLAND, 1832-1898 <br> +<a name="songlove"></a> <br> +<b>A Song of Love</b> <br> +<br> +Say, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping, <br> +That lures the bird home to her nest? <br> +Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping, <br> +To cuddle and croon it to rest? <br> +What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms, <br> +Till it cooes with the voice of the dove? <br> +'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low— <br> +And the name of the secret is Love! <br> +For I think it is Love, <br> +For I feel it is Love, <br> +For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! <br> +<br> +Say, whence is the voice that when anger is burning, <br> +Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease? <br> +That stirs the vexed soul with an aching—a yearning <br> +For the brotherly hand-grip of peace? <br> +Whence the music that fills all our being—that thrills <br> +Around us, beneath, and above? <br> +'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, or it goes— <br> +But the name of the secret is Love! <br> +For I think it is Love, <br> +For I feel it is Love, <br> +For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! <br> +<br> +Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill, <br> +Like a picture so fair to the sight? <br> +That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow, <br> +Till the little lambs leap with delight? <br> +'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold, <br> +Though 'tis sung, by the angels above, <br> +In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear— <br> +And the name of the secret is Love! <br> +For I think it is Love, <br> +For I feel it is Love, <br> +For I'm sure it is nothing but Love! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ANDREW LANG <br> +ENGLAND, 1844- <br> +<a name="scythe"></a> <br> +<b>Scythe Song</b> <br> +<br> +Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe, <br> +What is the word methinks you know, <br> +Endless over-word that the Scythe <br> +Sings to the blades of the grass below? <br> +Scythes that swing in the glass and clover, <br> +Something, still, they say as they pass; <br> +What is the word that, over and over, <br> +Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass? <br> +<br> +<i>Hush, ah hush</i>, the Scythes are saying, <br> +<i>Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep;<br> + Hush</i>, they say to the grasses swaying; <br> +<i>Hush</i>, they sing to the clover deep! <br> +<i>Hush</i>—'tis the lullaby Time is singing— <br> +<i>Hush, and heed not, for all things pass</i>; <br> +<i>Hush, ah hush! and the Scythes are swinging</i> <br> +Over the clover, over the grass! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE <br> +ENGLAND, 1837- <br> +<a name="whiteb"></a> <br> +<b>White Butterflies</b> <br> +<br> +Fly, white butterflies, out to sea, <br> +Frail, pale wings for the wind to try, <br> +Small white wings that we scarce can see, <br> +Fly! <br> +<br> +Some fly light as a laugh of glee, <br> +Some fly soft as a long, low sigh; <br> +All to the haven where each would be, <br> +Fly! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +RUDYARD KIPLING <br> +ENGLAND, 1865- <br> +<a name="vicode"></a> <br> +<b>Recessional</b> <br> +<br> +<b>A Victorian Ode</b> <br> +<br> +God of our fathers, known of old— <br> +Lord of our far-flung battle line— <br> +Beneath whose awful hand we hold <br> +Dominion over palm and pine— <br> +Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +The tumult and the shouting dies— <br> +The captains and the kings depart— <br> +Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, <br> +An humble and a contrite heart. <br> +Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +Far-called our navies melt away— <br> +On dune and headland sinks the fire— <br> +Lo, all our pomp of yesterday <br> +Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! <br> +Judge of the nations, spare us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +If, drunk with sight of power, we loose <br> +Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe— <br> +Such boasting as the Gentiles use, <br> +Or lesser breeds without the Law— <br> +Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, <br> +Lest we forget—lest we forget! <br> +<br> +For heathen heart that puts her trust <br> +In reeking tube and iron shard— <br> +All valiant dust that builds on dust, <br> +And guarding calls not Thee to guard. <br> +For frantic boast and foolish word, <br> +Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord! <br> +<br> +Amen. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT <br> +AMERICA, 1794-1878 <br> +<a name="waterf"></a> <br> +<b>To a Waterfowl</b> <br> +<br> +Whither, midst falling dew, <br> +While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, <br> +Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue <br> +Thy solitary way? <br> +<br> +Vainly the fowler's eye <br> +Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, <br> +As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, <br> +Thy figure floats along. <br> +<br> +Seek'st thou the plashy brink <br> +Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, <br> +Or where the rocking billows rise and sink <br> +On the chafed ocean side? <br> +<br> +There is a Power whose care <br> +Teaches thy way along that pathless coast— <br> +The desert and illimitable air— <br> +Lone wandering, but not lost. <br> +<br> +All day thy wings have fanned, <br> +At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, <br> +Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, <br> +Though the dark night is near. <br> +<br> +And soon that toil shall end; <br> +Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, <br> +And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, <br> +Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. <br> +<br> +Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven <br> +Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart <br> +Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, <br> +And shall not soon depart. <br> +<br> +He who, from zone to zone, <br> +Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, <br> +In the long way that I must tread alone, <br> +Will lead my steps aright. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="death"></a> <br> +<b>The Death of the Flowers</b> <br> +<br> +The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, <br> +Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. +<br> +Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; +<br> +They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; <br> +The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, +<br> +And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. +<br> +<br> +Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang +and stood <br> +In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? <br> +Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers +<br> +Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of ours. +<br> +The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain +<br> +Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. <br> +The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago, <br> +And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; <br> +But on the hills the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, <br> +And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, +<br> +Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the +plague on men, <br> +And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, +and glen. <br> +<br> +And now when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will +come, <br> +To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; <br> +When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees +are still, <br> +And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, <br> +The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he +bore, <br> +And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. +<br> +<br> +And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, <br> +The fair, meek blossom that grew up, and perished by my side. +<br> +In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the +leaf, <br> +And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief: <br> +Yet not unmeet was it that one like that young friend of ours, +<br> +So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="thanat"></a> <br> +<b>Thanatopsis</b> <br> +<br> +To him who in the love of Nature holds <br> +Communion with her visible forms, she speaks <br> +A various language; for his gayer hours <br> +She has a voice of gladness, and a smile <br> +And eloquence of beauty, and she glides <br> +Into his darker musings, with a mild <br> +And healing sympathy, that steals away <br> +Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts <br> +Of the last bitter hour come like a blight <br> +Over thy spirit, and sad images <br> +Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, <br> +And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, <br> +Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— <br> +Go forth, under the open sky, and list <br> +To Nature's teachings, while from all around— <br> +Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— <br> +Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee <br> +The all-beholding sun shall see no more <br> +In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, <br> +Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, <br> +Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist <br> +Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim <br> +Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, <br> +And, lost each human trace, surrendering up <br> +Thine individual being, shalt thou go <br> +To mix for ever with the elements, <br> +To be a brother to the insensible rock <br> +And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain <br> +Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak <br> +Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. <br> +<br> +Yet not to thine eternal resting-place <br> +Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish <br> +Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down <br> +With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, <br> +The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, <br> +Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, <br> +All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills <br> +Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales <br> +Stretching in pensive quietness between; <br> +The venerable woods—rivers that move <br> +In majesty, and the complaining brooks <br> +That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, <br> +Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,— <br> +Are but the solemn decorations all <br> +Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, <br> +The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, <br> +Are shining on the sad abodes of death, <br> +Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread <br> +The globe are but a handful to the tribes <br> +That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings <br> +Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, <br> +Or lose thyself in the continuous woods <br> +Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, <br> +Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there: <br> +And millions in those solitudes, since first <br> +The flight of years began, have laid them down <br> +In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. <br> +So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw <br> +In silence from the living, and no friend <br> +Take note of thy departure? All that breathe <br> +Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh <br> +When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care <br> +Plod on, and each one as before will chase <br> +His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave <br> +Their mirth and their employments, and shall come <br> +And make their bed with thee. As the long train <br> +Of ages glides away, the sons of men, <br> +The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes <br> +In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, <br> +The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,— <br> +Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, <br> +By those, who in their turn shall follow them. <br> +<br> +So live, that when thy summons comes to join <br> +The innumerable caravan, which moves <br> +To that mysterious realm, where each shall take <br> +His chamber in the silent halls of death, <br> +Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, <br> +Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed <br> +By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, <br> +Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch <br> +About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +RALPH WALDO EMERSON <br> +AMERICA, 1803-1882 <a name="woodnt"></a> <br> +<br> +'Twas one of the charméd days <br> +When the genius of God doth flow, <br> +The wind may alter twenty ways, <br> +A tempest cannot blow; <br> +It may blow north, it still is warm; <br> +Or south, it still is clear; <br> +Or east, it smells like a clover-farm; <br> +Or west, no thunder fear. <br> +The musing peasant lowly great <br> +Beside the forest water sate; <br> +The rope-like pine roots crosswise grown <br> +Compose the network of his throne; <br> +The wide lake, edged with sand and grass, <br> +Was burnished to a floor of glass, <br> +Painted with green and proud <br> +Of the tree and of the cloud. <br> +He was the heart of all the scene; <br> +On him the sun looked more serene; <br> +To hill and cloud his face was known,— <br> +It seemed the likeness of their own; <br> +They knew by secret sympathy <br> +The public child of earth and sky. <br> +"You ask," he said, "what guide <br> +Me through trackless thickets led, <br> +Through thick-stemmed woodlands rough and wide. <br> +I found the water's bed. <br> +The watercourses were my guide; <br> +I traveled grateful by their side, <br> +Or through their channel dry; <br> +They led me through the thicket damp, <br> +Through brake and fern, the beaver's camp, <br> +Through beds of granite cut my road, <br> +And their resistless friendship showed: <br> +The falling waters led me, <br> +The foodful waters fed me, <br> +And brought me to the lowest land, <br> +Unerring to the ocean sand. <br> +The moss upon the forest bark <br> +Was pole-star when the night was dark; <br> +The purple berries in the wood <br> +Supplied me necessary food; <br> +For Nature ever faithful is <br> +To such as trust her faithfulness. <br> +When the forest shall mislead me, <br> +When the night and morning lie, <br> +When sea and land refuse to feed me, <br> +'Twill be time enough to die; <br> +Then will yet my mother yield <br> +A pillow in her greenest field, <br> +Nor the June flowers scorn to cover <br> +The clay of their departed lover." <br> +<br> +—From "WOODNOTES." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW <br> +AMERICA, 1807-1882 <br> +<a name="daybrk"></a> <br> +<b>Daybreak</b> <br> +<br> +A wind came up out of the sea, <br> +And said, "O mists, make room for me." <br> +<br> +It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, <br> +Ye mariners, the night is gone." <br> +<br> +And hurried landward far away, <br> +Crying, "Awake! it is the day." <br> +<br> +It said unto the forest, "Shout! <br> +Hang all your leafy banners out!" <br> +<br> +It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, <br> +And said, "O bird, awake and sing." <br> +<br> +And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, <br> +Your clarion blow; the day is near." <br> +<br> +It whispered to the fields of corn, <br> +"Bow down, and hail the coming morn." <br> +<br> +It shouted through the belfry-tower, <br> +"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." <br> +<br> +It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, <br> +And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie." <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="agass"></a> <br> +<b>The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz</b> <br> +<br> +May 28, 1857 <br> +<br> +It was fifty years ago <br> +In the pleasant month of May, <br> +In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, <br> +A child in its cradle lay. <br> +<br> +And Nature, the old nurse, took <br> +The child upon her knee, <br> +Saying: "Here is a story-book <br> +Thy Father has written for thee. <br> +<br> +"Come, wander with me," she said, <br> +"Into regions yet untrod; <br> +And read what is still unread <br> +In the manuscripts of God." <br> +<br> +And he wandered away and away <br> +With Nature, the dear old nurse, <br> +Who sang to him night and day <br> +The rhymes of the universe. <br> +<br> +And whenever the way seemed long, <br> +Or his heart began to fail, <br> +She would sing a more wonderful song, <br> +Or tell a more marvelous tale. <br> +<br> +So she keeps him still a child, <br> +And will not let him go, <br> +Though at times his heart beats wild <br> +For the beautiful Pays de Vaud; <br> +<br> +Though at times he hears in his dreams <br> +The Ranz des Vaches of old, <br> +And the rush of mountain streams <br> +From the glaciers clear and cold; <br> +<br> +And the mother at home says, "Hark! <br> +For his voice I listen and yearn; <br> +It is growing late and dark, <br> +And my boy does not return!" <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="nitehy"></a> <br> +<b>Hymn to the Night</b> <br> +<br> +I heard the trailing garments of the Night <br> +Sweep through her marble halls! <br> +I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light <br> +From the celestial walls! <br> +<br> +I felt her presence, by its spell of might, <br> +Stoop o'er me from above; <br> +The calm, majestic presence of the Night, <br> +As of the one I love. <br> +<br> +I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, <br> +The manifold, soft chimes, <br> +That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, <br> +Like some old poet's rhymes. <br> +<br> +From the cool cisterns of the midnight air <br> +My spirit drank repose; <br> +The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,— <br> +From those deep cisterns flows. <br> +<br> +O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear <br> +What man has borne before! <br> +Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, <br> +And they complain no more. <br> +<br> +Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! <br> +Descend with broad-winged flight, <br> +The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, <br> +The best-beloved Night! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL <br> +AMERICA, 1819-1891 <br> +<a name="long"></a> <br> +<b>Longing</b> <br> +<br> +Of all the myriad moods of mind <br> +That through the soul come thronging, <br> +Which one was e'er so dear, so kind, <br> +So beautiful as Longing? <br> +The thing we long for, that we are <br> +For one transcendent moment <br> +Before the Present poor and bare <br> +Can make its sneering comment. <br> +<br> +Still, through our paltry stir and strife, <br> +Glows down the wished Ideal, <br> +And Longing molds in clay what Life <br> +Carves in the marble Real; <br> +To let the new life in, we know, <br> +Desire must ope the portal; <br> +Perhaps the longing to be so <br> +Helps make the soul immortal. <br> +<br> +Longing is God's fresh heavenward will <br> +With our poor earthward striving; <br> +We quench it that we may be still <br> +Content with merely living: <br> +But, would we learn that heart's full scope <br> +Which we are hourly wronging, <br> +Our lives must climb from hope to hope <br> +And realize our longing. <br> +<br> +Ah! let us hope that to our praise <br> +Good God not only reckons <br> +The moments when we tread His ways, <br> +But when the spirit beckons,— <br> +That some slight good is also wrought <br> +Beyond self-satisfaction, <br> +When we are simply good in thought, <br> +Howe'er we fail in action. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<a name="lyre"></a> <br> +<b>The Finding of the Lyre</b> <br> +<br> +There lay upon the ocean's shore <br> +What once a tortoise served to cover. <br> +A year and more, with rush and roar, <br> +The surf had rolled it over, <br> +Had played with it, and flung it by, <br> +As wind and weather might decide it, <br> +Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry <br> +Cheap burial might provide it. <br> +<br> +It rested there to bleach or tan, <br> +The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it; <br> +With many a ban the fisherman <br> +Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; <br> +And there the fisher-girl would stay, <br> +Conjecturing with her brother <br> +How in their play the poor estray <br> +Might serve some use or other. <br> +<br> +So there it lay, through wet and dry, <br> +As empty as the last new sonnet, <br> +Till by and by came Mercury, <br> +And, having mused upon it, <br> +"Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things <br> +In shape, material, and dimensions! <br> +Give it but strings, and lo, it sings, <br> +A wonderful invention!" <br> +<br> +So said, so done; the chords he strained, <br> +And, as his fingers o'er them hovered, <br> +The shell disdained, a soul had gained, <br> +The lyre had been discovered. <br> +O empty world that round us lies, <br> +Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken, <br> +Brought we but eyes like Mercury's, <br> +In thee what songs should waken! <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JOHN BURROUGHS <br> +AMERICA, 1837- <br> +<a name="wait"></a> <br> +<b>Waiting</b>[<a href="#foot2">1</a>] <br> +<br> +Serene, I fold my hands and wait, <br> +Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea; <br> +I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, <br> +For lo! my own shall come to me. <br> +<br> +I stay my haste, I make delays, <br> +For what avails this eager pace? <br> +I stand amid the eternal ways, <br> +And what is mine shall know my face. <br> +<br> +Asleep, awake, by night or day, <br> +The friends I seek are seeking me; <br> +No wind can drive my bark astray, <br> +Or change the tide of destiny. <br> +<br> +What matter if I stand alone? <br> +I wait with joy the coming years; <br> +My heart shall reap where it has sown, <br> +And garner up its fruit of tears. <br> +<br> +The waters know their own, and draw <br> +The brook that springs in yonder height; <br> +So flows the good with equal law <br> +Unto the soul of pure delight. <br> +<br> +The stars come nightly to the sky; <br> +The tidal wave unto the sea; <br> +Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, <br> +Can keep my own away from me. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot2"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: Used by courteous permission of the publishers, <br> +Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston.] <br> +<br> +JOAQUIN MILLER <br> +AMERICA, 1841- <br> +<a name="colum"></a> <br> +<b>Columbus</b> <br> +<br> +Behind him lay the gray Azores, <br> +Behind him the gates of Hercules; <br> +Before him not the ghost of shores, <br> +Before him only shoreless seas. <br> +The good mate said: "Now must we pray, <br> +For lo! the very stars are gone. <br> +Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?" <br> +"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" <br> +<br> +"My men grow mutinous day by day; <br> +My men grow ghastly wan and weak," <br> +The stout mate thought of home; a spray <br> +Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. <br> +"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, <br> +If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" <br> +"Why, you shall say, at break of day, <br> +'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'" <br> +<br> +They sailed and sailed as winds might blow, <br> +Until at last the blanched mate said: <br> +"Why, now not even God would know <br> +Should I and all my men fall dead. <br> +These very winds forget their way, <br> +For God from these dread seas is gone. <br> +Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say—" <br> +He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!" <br> +<br> +They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: <br> +"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night. <br> +He curls his lip, he lies in wait, <br> +With lifted teeth, as if to bite! <br> +Brave Admiral, say but one good word: <br> +What shall we do when hope is gone?" <br> +The words leapt as a leaping sword: <br> +"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!" <br> +<br> +Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, <br> +And peered through darkness. Ah, that night <br> +Of all dark nights! And then a speck— <br> +A light! a light! a light! a light! <br> +It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! <br> +It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. <br> +He gained a world; he gave that world <br> +Its greatest lesson: "On! sail on!" <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +JOHN VANCE CHENEY <br> +AMERICA, 1848- <br> +<a name="evensong"></a> <br> +<b>Evening Songs</b>[<a href="#foot3">1</a>] <br> +<br> +I <br> +<br> +The birds have hid, the winds are low, <br> +The brake is awake, the grass aglow: <br> +The bat is the rover, <br> +No bee on the clover, <br> +The day is over, <br> +And evening come. <br> +<br> +The heavy beetle spreads her wings, <br> +The toad has the road, the cricket sings: <br> +The bat is the rover, <br> +No bee on the clover, <br> +The day is over, <br> +And evening come. <br> +<br> +II <br> +<br> +It is that pale, delaying hour <br> +When nature closes like a flower, <br> +And on the spirit lies, <br> +The silence of the earth and skies. <br> +The world has thoughts she will not own <br> +When shade and dream with night have flown; <br> +Bright overhead, a star <br> +Makes golden guesses what they are. <br> +<br> +<br> +III <br> +<br> +Now is Light, sweet mother, down the west, <br> +With little Song against her breast; <br> +She took him up, all tired with play, <br> +And fondly bore him far away. <br> +<br> +While he sleeps, one wanders in his stead, <br> +A fainter glory round her head; <br> +She follows happy waters after, <br> +Leaving behind low, rippling laughter. <br> +<br> +IV <br> +<br> +Behind the hilltop drops the sun, <br> +The curled heat falters on the sand, <br> +While evening's ushers, one by one, <br> +Lead in the guests of Twilight Land. <br> +<br> +The bird is silent overhead, <br> +Below the beast has laid him down; <br> +Afar, the marbles watch the dead, <br> +The lonely steeple guards the town. <br> +<br> +The south wind feels its amorous course <br> +To cloistered sweet in thickets found; <br> +The leaves obey its tender force, <br> +And stir 'twixt silence and a sound. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot3"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: From "Poems," published by Messrs. Houghton, +Mifflin, <br> +& Co., Boston.] <br> +<br> +BLISS CARMAN <br> +CANADA, 1861- <br> +<a name="vagsong"></a> <br> +<b>A Vagabond Song</b>[<a href="#foot4">1</a>] <br> +<br> +There is something in the Autumn that is native to my blood— +<br> +Touch of manner, hint of mood; <br> +And my heart is like a rhyme, <br> +With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. <br> +<br> +The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry <br> +Of bugles going by. <br> +And my lonely spirit thrills <br> +To see the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. <br> +<br> +There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir; <br> +We must rise and follow her, <br> +When from every hill of fame <br> +She calls and calls each vagabond by name. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot4"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: From "Songs from Vagabondia," by Bliss Carman. Used +<br> +by the courteous permission of the author and the publishers, +<br> +Messrs. Small, Maynard, & Co.] <br> +<br> +JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY <br> +AMERICA, 1852- <br> +<a name="oldglo"></a> <br> +<b>Old Glory</b>[<a href="#foot5">1</a>] <br> +<br> +Old Glory! say, who, <br> +By the ships and the crew, <br> +And the long, blended ranks of the gray and the blue— <br> +Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear <br> +With such pride everywhere, <br> +As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air <br> +And leap out full length, as we're wanting you to?— <br> +Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same, <br> +And the honor and fame so becoming to you? <br> +Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, <br> +With your stars at their glittering best overhead— <br> +By day or by night <br> +Their delightfullest light <br> +Laughing down from their little square heaven of blue! <br> +Who gave you the name of Old Glory—say, who— <br> +Who gave you the name of Old Glory? <br> +<br> +The old banner lifted and faltering then <br> +In vague lisps and whispers fell silent again. <br> +Old Glory: the story we're wanting to hear <br> +Is what the plain facts of your christening were,— <br> +For your name—just to hear it, <br> +Repeat it, and cheer it, 's a tang to the spirit <br> +As salt as a tear;— <br> +And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by, <br> +There's a shout in the throat and a blur in the eye, <br> +And an aching to live for you always—or die, <br> +If, dying, we still keep you waving on high <br> +And so, by our love <br> +For you, floating above, <br> +And the scars of all wars and the sorrows thereof, <br> +Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why <br> +Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory? <br> +<br> +Then the old banner leaped like a sail in the blast, <br> +And fluttered an audible answer at last <br> +And it spake with a shake of the voice, and it said: <br> +By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red <br> +Of my bars and their heaven of stars overhead— <br> +By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast, <br> +As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast, <br> +Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod,— <br> +My name is as old as the glory of God <br> +So I came by the name of Old Glory. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <a name="foot5"></a> <br> +[Footnote 1: This and the following poems are used by the +courteous <br> +permission of the publishers, Messrs. Bobbs, Merrill, & Co., +<br> +Indianapolis.] <br> +<br> +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW <br> +AMERICA, 1807-1882 <br> +<a name="kavan"></a> <br> +<b>Kavanagh</b> <br> +<br> +Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the spring!— <br> +the great annual miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's <br> +rod, repeated on myriads and myriads of branches! <br> +—the gentle progression and growth of herbs, <br> +flowers, trees,—gentle, and yet irrepressible,— <br> +which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like <br> +love, that wins its way and cannot be withstood by <br> +any human power, because itself is divine power. If <br> +spring came but once a century, instead of once a <br> +year, or burst forth with a sound of an earthquake <br> +and not in silence, what wonder and expectation <br> +would there be in all hearts to behold the miraculous <br> +change! <br> +<br> +But now the silent succession suggests nothing <br> +but necessity. To most men, only the cessation of <br> +the miracle would be miraculous, and the perpetual <br> +exercise of God's power seems less wonderful than <br> +its withdrawal would be. We are like children who <br> +are astonished and delighted only by the second-hand <br> +of the clock, not by the hour-hand. <br> +<br> +In the fields and woods, meanwhile, there were <br> +other signs and signals of the summer. The darkening <br> +foliage; the embrowning grain; the golden dragonfly <br> +haunting the blackberry bushes; the cawing <br> +crows, that looked down from the mountain on the <br> +cornfield, and waited day after day for the scarecrow <br> +to finish his work and depart; and the smoke of far-off <br> +burning woods, that pervaded the air and hung <br> +in purple haze about the summits of the mountains, <br> +—these were the vaunt-couriers and attendants of <br> +the hot August. <br> +<br> +The brown autumn came. Out of doors, it brought <br> +to the fields the prodigality of the golden harvest,— <br> +to the forest, revelations of light,—and to the sky, <br> +the sharp air, the morning mist, the red clouds at <br> +evening. Within doors, the sense of seclusion, the <br> +stillness of closed and curtained windows, musings by <br> +the fireside, books, friends, conversation, and the long, <br> +meditative evenings. To the farmer, it brought surcease <br> +of toil,—to the scholar, that sweet delirium of <br> +the brain which changes toil to pleasure. It brought <br> +the wild duck back to the reedy marshes of the south; <br> +it brought the wild song back to the fervid brain of the <br> +poet. Without, the village street was paved with gold; <br> +the river ran red with the reflection of the leaves. <br> +Within, the faces of friends brightened the gloomy <br> +walls; the returning footsteps of the long-absent <br> +gladdened the threshold; and all the sweet amenities <br> +of social life again resumed their interrupted reign. <br> +<br> +The first snow came. How beautiful it was, falling <br> +so silently, all day long, all night long, on the <br> +mountains, on the meadows, on the roofs of the <br> +living, on the graves of the dead! All white save <br> +the river, that marked its course by a winding black <br> +line across the landscape; and the leafless trees, that <br> +against the leaden sky now revealed more fully the <br> +wonderful beauty and intricacy of their branches! <br> +<br> +What silence, too, came with the snow, and what <br> +seclusion! Every sound was muffled, every noise <br> +changed to something soft and musical. No more <br> +trampling hoofs,—no more rattling wheels! Only <br> +the chiming sleigh bells, beating as swift and merrily <br> +as the hearts of children. <br> +<br> + * * * * * <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<a name="bios"></a> <br> +APPENDIX: BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES <br> +<br> +<br> +ENGLISH AUTHORS <br> +<br> +<b>Geoffrey Chaucer</b>, the father of English poetry, was born +in <br> +London in 1340. The colleges of Oxford and Cambridge both claim +him <br> +as a student. He enjoyed the favor of King Edward the Third, and +<br> +passed much of his time at court. In 1386 he was made a knight, +and <br> +during the latter part of his life he received an annual pension. +<br> +He died in 1400. His writings are in a language so different from +<br> +modern English that many persons cannot enjoy their beauties. His +<br> +principal poems are "Canterbury Tales," "The Legend of Good +Women," <br> +"The Court of Love," and "Troilus and Cressida." <br> +<br> +<b>Edmund Spenser</b> was born in London about 1553. He was <br> +graduated at Cambridge in 1576, and soon after wrote "The +Shepherd's <br> +Calendar." Sir Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh were his +friends <br> +and patrons. In 1598 Spenser was appointed a sheriff in Ireland, +and <br> +not long afterward in a rebellion his property was destroyed and +his <br> +child killed. He did not long survive this calamity. His +best-known <br> +poem is "The Faery Queen." <br> +<br> +<b>The reign of Queen Elizabeth</b> is often called the Golden +Age of <br> +English literature. Not only did Spenser and Shakespeare live +then, <br> +but a large number of minor poets also rendered the period <br> +illustrious. Among the dramatic poets Christopher Marlowe, +Beaumont <br> +and Fletcher, who wrote together, and Ben Jonson hold an +honorable <br> +position. The most noted lyric poets of the day were George +Herbert, <a name="shake"></a> <br> +Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir Philip Sidney. <b>William +Shakespeare</b>, <br> +the greatest of English poets, was born at Stratford-on-Avon in +<br> +April, 1564. He is supposed to have been educated at the free +school <br> +of Stratford. When he was about twenty-two, he went to London, +and <br> +after a hard struggle with poverty, he became first an actor, +then a <br> +successful playwright and theater manager. Having gained not only +<br> +fame but a modest fortune, he retired in 1611 to live at ease in +<br> +Stratford until his death in 1616. Besides the two long poems, +<br> +"Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece," which first won popularity for +<br> +him, he has written thirty-seven plays, ranging from the lightest +<br> +comedy, through romance and historical narrative, to the darkest +<br> +tragedy. Whatever form his verse takes,—sonnet, song, or +dramatic <br> +poetry,—it shows the touch of the master hand, the inspiration +of <br> +the master mind. Of his plays those which are still most +frequently <br> +acted are the tragedies "Hamlet," "Macbeth," "King Lear," and +<br> +"Othello," the comedies "Midsummer-night's Dream," "The Merchant +of <br> +Venice," "As You Like It," and "The Comedy of Errors," and the +<br> +historical plays "Julius Caesar," "King Henry IV," "King Henry +V," <br> +and "Richard III." <br> +<a name="bjon"></a> <br> +<b>Ben Jonson</b> was born at Westminster, England, about 1573. +He <br> +was the friend of Shakespeare and a famous dramatist in his day, +but <br> +his plays no longer hold the stage. His best play is "Every Man +in <br> +his Humour." His songs and short poems are beautiful. He died in +<br> +1637. His tomb in Westminster Abbey is inscribed "O Rare Ben +Jonson!" <br> +<br> +<b>George Herbert</b> was born in Montgomery Castle, Wales, April +3, <br> +1593. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. Later he +<br> +studied for the ministry and was appointed vicar of Bremerton. +His <br> +"Sacred Poems" are noted for their purity and beauty of +sentiment. <br> +He died in 1633. <br> +<a name="milton"></a> <br> +<b>John Milton</b> was born in London, December 9, 1608. He was +<br> +educated at Christ's College, Cambridge. Later he spent a year in +<br> +travel, meeting the great Galileo while in Italy. He was an +ardent <br> +advocate of freedom, and under the Protectorate he was the +secretary <br> +of the Protector, Oliver Cromwell. When only forty-six, he became +<br> +totally blind, yet his greatest work was done after this +misfortune <br> +overtook him. As a poet he stands second only to Shakespeare. His +<br> +early poems, "Comus," "L'Allegro," "Il Penseroso," and "Lycidas," +<br> +are very beautiful, and his "Paradise Lost" is the finest epic +poem <br> +in the English language. He died in 1674. <br> +<br> +<b>The minor poets</b> of the age of Milton were Edmund Waller, +<br> +Robert Herrick, George Wither, Sir John Suckling, and Sir Richard +<br> +Lovelace. <br> +<br> +<b>John Dryden</b> was born August 9, 1631. He was educated at +<br> +Trinity College, Cambridge. His poem in honor of the restoration +<br> +of Charles II won him the position of Poet Laureate. His +best-known <br> +works are the poetic "Translation of Virgil's Aeneid," +"Alexander's <br> +Feast," "The Hind and the Panther," and the drama "The Indian +<br> +Emperor." He died in 1700. <br> +<br> +<b>The reign of Queen Anne</b> was rendered brilliant by the +writings <br> +of Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison, Edward Young, James Thompson, +<br> +William Collins, Sir Richard Steele, Jonathan Swift, and Daniel +<br> +Defoe. Not only were the poems of this period beautiful, but +prose <br> +also reached a high development. <br> +<br> +<b>Joseph Addison</b> was born at Milston, England, May 1, 1672. +He <br> +completed his education at Queen's and Magdalen colleges, Oxford. +He <br> +entered the diplomatic service and rose steadily, becoming one of +the <br> +two principal secretaries of state two years before his death. He +<br> +attained a higher political position than any other writer has +ever <br> +achieved through his literary ability. With Steele he published +<br> +<i>The Tatler</i>, and later <i>The Spectator</i>, at first a +daily <br> +paper and afterward a tri-weekly one. He was a master of English +<br> +prose, and his poems are elevated and serious in style. He died +in <br> +1719. <br> +<a name="watts"></a> <br> +<b>Isaac Watts</b> was born at Southampton, July 17, 1674. He +studied <br> +for the ministry. He wrote nearly five hundred hymns besides his +<br> +"Divine and Moral Songs for Children." Many of his hymns are +still <br> +favorites. He died in 1748. <br> +<br> +<b>Alexander Pope</b> was born in London, May 21, 1688. Sickly +and <br> +deformed, he was unable to attend school, but he was nevertheless +<br> +a great student. His writings are witty and satirical. His +best-known <br> +poems are "Essay on Man," "Translation of the Iliad," "Essay on +<br> +Criticism," and "The Rape of the Lock." He died in 1744. <br> +<br> +<b>Thomas Gray</b> was born in London in 1716. He was educated at +<br> +Eton, and Peter-House College, Cambridge. He lived all his life +at <br> +Cambridge, ultimately being appointed professor of Modern +History. <br> +His most famous poem is the "Elegy Written in a Country +Churchyard." <br> +He died in 1771. <br> +<a name="cowper"></a> <br> +<b>William Cowper</b> was born at Great Berkhamstead, England, +<br> +November 26, 1731. He was educated at Westminster School, and +studied <br> +law at the Middle Temple, being called to the bar in 1754. He was +<br> +very delicate and afflicted with nervousness that amounted to +<br> +insanity at times. Not until 1780 did he seriously begin his +literary <br> +career. Then for a period of a little more than ten years he +worked <br> +with success and was happy. His most famous poems are "John +Gilpin," <br> +"The Task," "Hope," and "Lines on my Mother's Portrait." In the +<br> +latter part of his life his nervous melancholy again affected +him. <br> +He died in 1800. <br> +<a name="burns"></a> <br> +<b>Robert Burns</b> was born at Ayr in Scotland, January 25, +1759. <br> +He was the son of a poor farmer, and he himself followed the plow +<br> +in his earlier days. He was about to seek his fortune in America +<br> +when his first volume of poems was published and won him fame at +<br> +once. His style is simple and sincere, with a fire of intensity. +<br> +His best poems are "Tam o'Shanter" and "The Cottar's Saturday +Night." <br> +He died July 21, 1796. <br> +<a name="wordw"></a> <br> +<b>William Wordsworth</b> was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, +<br> +England, on April 7, 1770. He completed his education at St +John's <br> +College, Cambridge, taking his degree of B A in 1791. He was <br> +appointed Poet Laureate in 1843, succeeding Robert Southey. He is +<br> +the poet of nature and of simple life. Among his best known poems +<br> +are "The Ode to Immortality," "The Excursion," and "Yarrow <br> +Revisited." He died April 23, 1850. <br> +<a name="scott"></a> <br> +<b>Sir Walter Scott</b> was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. +He <br> +was educated at Edinburgh University and afterward studied law in +<br> +his father's office. His energy and tireless work were marvelous. +<br> +He followed the practice of his profession until he was appointed +<br> +Clerk of Session. His official duties were scrupulously +performed, <br> +yet his literary work surpasses in volume and ability that of any +of <br> +his contemporaries. Novelist, historian, poet, he excelled in +whatever <br> +style of literature he attempted. His best-known poems are "The +Lady <br> +of the Lake," "Marmion," and "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." He +died <br> +in 1832. <br> +<br> +<b>Robert Southey</b> was born at Bristol, August 12, 1774. He +was <br> +expelled from Westminster School for writing an article against +<br> +school flogging. Later he studied at Balliol College, Oxford. He +was <br> +an incessant worker, laboring at all branches of literature, from +<br> +his famous nursery story, "The Three Bears," to "The Life of +Nelson." <br> +He was appointed Laureate in 1813. His most successful long poems +are <br> +"Thalaba," and "The Curse of Kehama." He died in 1843. <br> +<a name="tomcam"></a> <br> +<b>Thomas Campbell</b> was born in Glasgow, Scotland, in 1777. He +was <br> +educated at the university of his native town, and he was +regarded as <br> +its most brilliant scholar, in his later life he was elected Lord +<br> +Rector of the university. His best known poems are "The Pleasures +of <br> +Hope," "Gertrude of Wyoming," and "Ye Mariners of England." He +died <br> +in 1844. <br> +<a name="moore"></a> <br> +<b>Thomas Moore</b> was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1779. He was +<br> +educated at Trinity College, and afterward studied law at the +Middle <br> +Temple, London. "Lalla Rookh," and his "Irish Melodies" have won +for <br> +him a lasting fame as a poet. He died February 26, 1852. <br> +<br> +<b>James Henry Leigh Hunt</b> was born near London in 1784. He +left <br> +school when only fifteen to become a clerk in the War Office, +where <br> +he remained until 1808, when he and his brother published +<i>The<br> + Examiner</i>. From that time he was occupied as an editor and +writer, <br> +being connected with different periodicals. He was the intimate +<br> +friend of Byron, Moore, Shelley, and Keats. One of his best +poems, <br> +"Rimini," was written in prison, where he was condemned to remain +for <br> +two years because he had published a satirical article about the +<br> +prince regent. In his later years a pension of two hundred pounds +<br> +was granted him. He died August 28, 1859. <br> +<a name="byron"></a> <br> +<b>George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron</b>, was born in London, +January <br> +22, 1788. He studied at Trinity College, Cambridge, but did not +<br> +remain to take his degree. While at the university he published a +<br> +volume of poems, "Hours of Idleness," which he followed shortly +by <br> +the satirical poem "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," which +won <br> +him immediate recognition. He wrote many dramatic poems, but his +most <br> +beautiful work is "Childe Harold." He was the friend of Shelley +and <br> +Leigh Hunt, and together they published <i>The Liberal</i>. In +1823 <br> +he joined the Greeks in their struggle for freedom, and the +exposure <br> +and exertion that he suffered in this war brought on the fever of +<br> +which he died in April, 1824. <br> +<br> +<b>Percy Bysshe Shelley</b> was born at Field Place, England, +August <br> +4, 1792. He was entered at University College, Oxford, but was +<br> +shortly expelled as an atheist. His life was a sad one, his first +<br> +marriage was unhappy, and he was drowned when only thirty years +old, <br> +in July, 1822. His longest and best works are "The Cenci," <br> +"Prometheus Unbound," "The Revolt of Islam," and "Adonais," an +elegy <br> +on the death of his friend, the poet Keats, near whom he was +buried. <br> +<br> +<b>John Keats</b> was born in London, England, in 1795 or 1796. +His <br> +poem "Endymion" was criticised severely in the <i>Quarterly<br> + Review</i>. Keats was so sensitive that this criticism is +supposed to <br> +have aggravated his malady, and thus to be responsible for his +early <br> +death. Among his other poems may be noted "Hyperion," "Lamia," +and <br> +"The Eve of St Agnes." He died at Rome in 1821. <br> +<br> +<b>Thomas Hood</b> was born in London, England, May 23, 1799. His +<br> +humorous verses first attracted attention, but his serious poems +have <br> +given him a lasting place in literature. Among these are "The +Song of <br> +the Shirt," "The Bridge of Sighs," "Eugene Aram," and "Ode to +<br> +Melancholy." He died in 1845. <br> +<a name="maca"></a> <br> +<b>Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay</b>, was born in +Leicestershire, <br> +October 25, 1800. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, +and <br> +studied law. He disliked his profession, greatly preferring <br> +literature. In 1830 he entered Parliament and was made Secretary +of <br> +War in 1839. He was elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University and +<br> +was raised to the peerage in 1857. He died in 1859. His +best-known <br> +poems are "Ivry" and "The Lays of Ancient Rome." <br> +<br> +<b>The reign of Queen Victoria</b> from a literary standpoint is +<br> +second only to that of Elizabeth in brilliancy. The Victorian Age +is <br> +usually applied to the whole century, during the better part of +which <br> +Victoria reigned. The literature of this age is rich with the +writings <br> +of Robert Browning, Alfred Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, +<br> +Algernon Charles Swinburne, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his sister +<br> +Christina, William Morris, Matthew Arnold, Edwin Arnold, Jean +<br> +Ingelow, Owen Meredith, Arthur Hugh Clough, Adelaide Procter, and +a <br> +host of minor poets. <br> +<a name="tenny"></a> <br> +<b>Alfred, Lord Tennyson</b>, was born at Somersby, August 6, +1809. <br> +He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. His first book of +<br> +poems, written with his brother Charles, was published two years +<br> +before he entered college; from that time until his death his +literary <br> +work was continuous. In 1850 he succeeded Wordsworth as Poet +Laureate, <br> +and thirty-four years later was raised to the peerage. His poems +<br> +cover a wide range—lyrics, ballads, idyls, and dramas. His most +<br> +important works are "The Princess," "In Memoriam," "Maud," and +"The <br> +Idylls of the King." He died in 1892. <br> +<br> +<b>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</b> was born at Durham, England, +March <br> +6, 1809. She was highly educated and was proficient in both Greek +and <br> +Latin. She wrote her first verses at the age of ten, and her +first <br> +volume of poems was published when she was but seventeen years +old. <br> +In 1846 she was married to the poet Robert Browning. Her first +known <br> +works are "Aurora Leigh," a novel in verse, "The Portuguese +Sonnets," <br> +"Casa Guidi Windows," and "The Cry of the Children," a poem +written <br> +to show the wretchedness of the little children employed in the +mines <br> +and factories of England. She died at Florence, Italy, in June, +1861. <br> +<a name="brown"></a> <br> +<b>Robert Browning</b> was born in Camberwell, England, in 1812. +He <br> +was educated at the University of London. He married Elizabeth +<br> +Barrett, the poet, and together they lived much of their time in +<br> +Italy. They were deeply interested in the struggle of Italy for +<br> +freedom, and both wrote on this subject. In his long life +Browning <br> +wrote many volumes of poems, and it is difficult to choose among +<br> +them. "The Pied Piper of Hamelin" is always a favorite with the +young <br> +people, as are "How they brought the Good News from Ghent to +Aix," <br> +"Herve Riel," and "Ratisbon." His most popular poems are "Pippa +<br> +Passes," "The Ring and the Book," "A Blot on the 'Scutcheon," and +<br> +"Saul." He died in 1889. <br> +<br> +<b>Marian Evans</b>, who wrote under the name of George Eliot, +was <br> +born at Aubury Farm, near Nuneaton, England, November 22, 1819. +She <br> +was carefully educated and was a most earnest student. While her +<br> +poems are beautiful, her best work is in prose, and she ranks as +one <br> +of England's greatest novelists. Her most famous novels are "Adam +<br> +Bede," "The Mill on the Floss," "Silas Marner," and +"Middlemarch." <br> +She married Mr John Cross, in May, 1880, and died December 22 of +the <br> +same year. <br> +<br> +<b>Jean Ingelow</b> was born at Boston, England, in 1820. She is +<br> +known both as a poet and novelist. Her best-known poems are +"Songs <br> +of Seven" and "The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." She +died <br> +in 1897. <br> +<br> +<b>Matthew Arnold</b>, son of Thomas Arnold of Rugby, was born at +<br> +Laleham, England, December 24, 1822. He was educated at Rugby and +<br> +Oxford. In 1857 he was elected professor of Poetry at Oxford. He +is <br> +chiefly noted for his essays, though his poems are lofty in +sentiment <br> +and polished in diction. "Sohrab and Rustum" is his most +important <br> +poem. He died in 1888. <br> +<br> +<b>Dinah Maria Mulock Craik</b> was born in Staffordshire, +England, <br> +in 1826. She won her fame as a writer of novels, of which the +best <br> +is "John Halifax, Gentleman." She died in 1887. <br> +<br> +<b>William Morris</b> was born in Walthamstow, March 24, 1834. He +<br> +was educated at Exeter College, Oxford. Before he was thirty +years <br> +old he founded an establishment for the manufacture of artistic +<br> +materials for household decoration. His work in this direction +has <br> +improved the beauty of all household fabrics, and has affected +the <br> +taste in household art in both England and America. Nevertheless +<br> +he is best known as a poet. His finest poems are "The Earthly +<br> +Paradise," a series of Norse legends, "Three Northern Stones," +<br> +translated from Icelandic poems, and his translations of "The +<br> +Odyssey." He died in 1896. <br> +<a name="swin"></a> <br> +<b>Algernon Charles Swinburne</b> was born in London, April 5, +1837. <br> +He was educated partly in France, at Eton, and at Balliol +College, <br> +Oxford. He left the University without a degree to spend several +<br> +years in travel. He is a master of English, using a wider +vocabulary <br> +than any of his contemporaries, and the musical effects of his +many <br> +varied meters have won for him a unique position in poetry. He +has <br> +been called "the greatest metrical inventor in English +literature." <br> +His works in French and Latin show him to be a poet in three <br> +languages. His best-known works are "Poems and Ballads," "Songs +<br> +before Sunrise," and "Mary Stuart." He is the greatest living +<br> +English poet. <br> +<br> +<b>Dante Gabriel Rossetti</b> was born in London, May 12, 1828. +He <br> +studied art in the antique school of the Royal Academy, and +became <br> +known as an artist before he won fame as a poet. His most widely +<br> +known poem is "The Blessed Damozel." He died in 1882. <br> +<br> +<b>Christina Georgina Rossetti</b>, the sister of D.G. Rossetti, +was <br> +born in London, December 5, 1830. She ranks as one of the +greatest <br> +and most spiritual of English poetesses. <br> +<br> +<b>Sir Edwin Arnold</b> was born in Sussex, June 10, 1832. He was +<br> +educated at King's College, London, and at University College, +<br> +Oxford. He was appointed principal of the Government Sanscrit +<br> +College at Poonah, India, and Fellow of the University of Bombay, +and <br> +held these posts through the Sepoy Rebellion. Returning to London +in <br> +1861, he was one of the editors of the <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, +and <br> +through his influence Henry M. Stanley undertook his first +expedition <br> +into Africa to find Livingstone. Nearly all of his poetry deals +with <br> +Oriental legends, and much of his time was spent in India and +Japan. <br> +His principal works are "The Light of Asia," "Pearls of the +Faith," <br> +"Indian Song of Songs," "Japonica," and "The Light of the World." +<br> +<a name="kipling"></a> <br> +<b>Rudyard Kipling</b> was born in Bombay, India, December 30, +1865. <br> +He was educated partly in England, but returned to India when he +was <br> +only fifteen, and there began his literary work and first won +fame. <br> +His writings are mainly in prose, and he is at his best when +writing <br> +of India. His poems are all short, and "The Recessional" and "The +<br> +Dove of Dacca" are especially fine. In prose the "Jungle Books," +<br> +"The Naulakha," and "Kim" are the most popular. <br> +<br> +<b>Among the minor poets</b> of the Victorian Age may be +mentioned <br> +the following:— <br> +<br> +John Henry, Cardinal Newman, 1801-1890. Author of many volumes of +<br> +sermons and the hymn "Lead Kindly Light." <br> +<a name="hflyte"></a> <br> +Henry Francis Lyte, 1763-1847. Author of many hymns, the most +<br> +popular of which is "Abide with Me." <br> +<a name="domett"></a> <br> +Alfred Domett, 1811-1887. Author of "Christmas Hymn." <br> +<br> +Arthur Hugh Clough, 1810-1861. Author of "Bothie of +Tober-na-vuolich." <br> +<br> +Charles Mackay, 1814-1889. Author of many songs, among them +"There is <br> +a Good Time Coming" and "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" <br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +AMERICAN AUTHORS <br> +<br> +<br> +In the early days of this country the time and thought of the +<br> +settlers were taken up in struggling with the difficulties of +their <br> +surroundings, so that there was little opportunity for the <br> +establishment of an American literature. For art, poetry, and the +<br> +beautiful in life, the colonists naturally turned to the mother +<br> +country—to the home which they had so lately left. During the +period <br> +before the French and Indian War the subject of religion and nice +<br> +points of doctrine filled the minds of the Americans, hence we +find <br> +that the first American writer who attained to a European +reputation <br> +was the Rev. Jonathan Edwards, a distinguished divine and +president <br> +of Princeton College. His books on "The Religious Affections" and +<br> +"The Freedom of the Will" are still studied. <br> +<br> +After the French and Indian War, politics became the absorbing +topic <br> +of the day, and Benjamin Franklin was the first to achieve fame +in <br> +this field of letters. His writings in "Poor Richard's Almanac," +<br> +honest and wholesome in tone, exercised a marked influence upon +the <br> +literature of his time. Among the orators who won distinction in +the <br> +discussion of civil liberty are James Otis, John and Samuel +Adams, <br> +and Patrick Henry. The writings of John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, +and <br> +James Madison in <i>The Federalist</i> secured the adoption of +the <br> +Constitution and survive to this day as brilliant examples of +<br> +political essays, while the state papers of George Washington and +<br> +Thomas Jefferson are models of clearness and elegance of style. +<br> +<br> +With the peace and prosperity that followed the establishment of +our <br> +republic came the opportunity to cultivate the broader fields of +<br> +literature. Relieved of the strain of the struggle for civil and +<br> +religious liberty, the people could satisfy their inclinations +toward <br> +the beautiful in art and life, and from that time until the +present <br> +day the writers of America have held their own in the front ranks +<br> +of the authors of the English-speaking peoples. <br> +<br> +<b>Joseph Rodman Drake</b>, the first American poet to win <br> +distinction, was born in New York City in 1795. He was educated +in <br> +Columbia College. He died prematurely when only twenty-five years +old. <br> +His best-known poems are "The Culprit Fay" and "The American +Flag." <br> +He was the intimate friend of Fitz-Greene Halleck, the +Connecticut <br> +poet, author of "Marco Bozzaris." The last four lines of Drake's +<br> +"American Flag" were written by Fitz-Greene Halleck. <br> +<a name="bryant"></a> <br> +<b>William Cullen Bryant</b> was born in Cummington, +Massachusetts, <br> +November 3, 1794. He was educated at Williams College. He studied +<br> +law and was admitted to the bar. His first poem was published +when <br> +he was thirteen. His best-known poem, "Thanatopsis," was written +<br> +when he was only nineteen and delivered at his college +commencement. <br> +After practicing law for a short time, he became editor of +<i>The<br> + Evening Post</i> and continued this work until his death. When +he was <br> +seventy-two, he began his translation of Homer, which occupied +him <br> +for six years. He died in 1878. <br> +<a name="emerson"></a> <br> +<b>Ralph Waldo Emerson</b> was born in Boston, May 20, 1803. He +<br> +studied at Harvard College, and after a period of teaching, +became <br> +pastor of a Unitarian church in Boston for a short time. Later he +<br> +settled in Concord, spending his time in writing and lecturing in +<br> +this country and England. He was the founder of what has been +called <br> +"The Concord School of Philosophy." His best-known poems are "The +<br> +Concord Hymn," "Rhodora," "The Snow Storm," "Each and All," "The +<br> +Days," and "The Humble Bee." He died in 1882. <br> +<a name="longfellow"></a> <br> +<b>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</b> was born in Portland, Maine, +<br> +February 27, 1807. He was educated at Bowdoin College and, after +a <br> +period of study abroad, was appointed professor of Foreign +Languages <br> +there. This position he gave up to become professor of Modern +<br> +Languages and Literature at Harvard College. At Cambridge he was +a <br> +friend of Hawthorne, Holmes, Emerson, Lowell, and Alcott. His +<br> +best-known long poems are "Evangeline," "Hiawatha," "The Building +<br> +of the Ship," and "The Courtship of Miles Standish." He made a +fine <br> +translation of Dante's "Divine Comedy." Among his many short +poems, <br> +"Excelsior," "The Psalm of Life," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," +"The <br> +Village Blacksmith," and "Paul Revere's Ride" are continuously +<br> +popular. He died in 1882. He was the first American writer who +was <br> +honored by a memorial in Westminster Abbey. <br> +<br> +<b>John Greenleaf Whittier</b> was born near Haverhill, +Massachusetts, <br> +December 17, 1807. He was educated in the public school, working +at <br> +the same time on his father's farm or at making shoes. Having +left <br> +the academy, he devoted himself to literature. He was an ardent +<br> +abolitionist, and many of his poems are written to aid the cause +of <br> +freedom in which he was so deeply interested. His best-known +poems <br> +are "Snow-Bound," "Barbara Frietchie," "Maude Muller," and +"Voices of <br> +Freedom." He died in 1892. <br> +<br> +<b>Edgar Allan Poe</b> was born in Boston, Massachusetts, January +19, <br> +1809. The story of his life is as melancholy as was his genius. +<br> +Wild, dissipated, reckless, he was dismissed from West Point. He +<br> +alienated his best friends and lived the greatest part of his +life in <br> +the deepest poverty, dying in 1849 from the effects of +dissipation <br> +and exposure. His best poems are "The Raven," "The Bells," and +<br> +"Annabel Lee." <br> +<br> +<b>Oliver Wendell Holmes</b> was born in Cambridge, +Massachusetts, <br> +August 29, 1809. He was educated at Harvard College and studied +<br> +medicine, spending two years in the hospitals of Europe. He was +<br> +successively professor of Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth +<br> +College, a physician in regular practice in Boston, and professor +of <br> +anatomy at Harvard College—this position he held from 1847 to +1882. <br> +He was nearly fifty before he became widely known as a writer, +when <br> +"The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" was published. He was +successful <br> +as essayist, novelist, poet, a kindly wit playing through much of +his <br> +work. His best-known poems are "Old Ironsides," "The Chambered +<br> +Nautilus," "The One-hoss Shay," "The Last Leaf," and "The Boys." +He <br> +died in 1894. <br> +<a name="lowell"></a> <br> +<b>James Russell Lowell</b> was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, +<br> +February 22, 1819. He was educated at Harvard College. He +succeeded <br> +Longfellow as professor of Modern Languages and Literature at +<br> +Harvard. He was also editor of the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i> and of +<br> +the <i>North American Review</i>. He was appointed minister to +Spain <br> +and later to England, where he was our ambassador for five years. +His <br> +best-known poems are "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "Commemoration +Ode," <br> +"The Biglow Papers," "The Present Crisis," and "The First +Snowfall." <br> +He died in 1891. <br> +<br> +<b>Walt Whitman</b> was born in West Hills, Long Island, May 31, +1819. <br> +He was unable to go to college. He served in various occupations, +<br> +teacher, printer, writer, until in the great Civil War he +volunteered <br> +as a war nurse. His exertions and exposure in this work destroyed +his <br> +health, so that most of his remaining years he was dependent upon +his <br> +friends. His most beautiful poem is "O Captain, My Captain," +written <br> +after the assassination of Lincoln. He died in 1892. <br> +<a name="miller"></a> <br> +<b>Cincinnatus Heine Miller</b>, who wrote under the name of +Joaquin <br> +Miller, was born in Indiana in 1841. While yet a boy he went to +Oregon <br> +and later to California, where he led a wild life among the +miners, <br> +fighting the Indians, practicing law, and becoming a county +judge. <br> +After several years in Europe and New York, he settled down as a +<br> +fruit grower in California. He wrote "Songs of the Sierras," +"Songs <br> +of the Sun-Lands," and "The Ship in the Desert." <br> +<br> +<b>Among the minor American poets</b> the following are worthy of +<br> +note:— <br> +<a name="fskey"></a> <br> +Francis Scott Key, 1779-1843. "The Star-Spangled Banner." <br> +<br> +Emma Hart Willard, 1787-1870. "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep." +<br> +<br> +John Howard Payne, 1792-1852. "Home Sweet Home." <br> +<br> +Josiah Gilbert Holland, 1819-1881. "Bittersweet." <br> +<br> +Julia Ward Howe, 1819-. "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." <br> +<br> +Alice Cary, 1820-1871. Phoebe Cary, 1824-1871. Joint authors of +<br> +several volumes of poems. "Order for a Picture," A.C. "Nearer +Home," P.C. <br> +<br> +Thomas Buchanan Read, 1822-1872. "Drifting," "Sheridan's Ride." +<br> +<a name="burro"></a> <br> +John Burroughs, naturalist, 1837-. "Waiting." <br> +<br> +Edward Rowland Sill, 1841-1887. "The Fool's Prayer," +"Opportunity." <br> +<br> +Sidney Lanier, 1842-1881. "The Song of the Chattahoochee," "The +<br> +Marshes of Glynn," "A Song of the Future." <br> +<a name="cheney"></a> <br> +John Vance Cheney, 1848-. "Thistle Drift," "Wood Blooms," +"Evening <br> +Songs." <br> +<a name="riley"></a> <br> +James Whitcomb Riley, 1853-. "Rhymes of Childhood." <br> +<br> +Eugene Field, 1850-1895. "With Trumpet and Drum," and "Love Songs +of <br> +Childhood." + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graded Poetry: Seventh Year, by Various +Edited by Katherine D. 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