CIHM 
 Microfiche 
 Series 
 (IMonographs) 
 
 ICMH 
 
 Collection de 
 microfiches 
 (monographles) 
 
 Canadian Inathuta for Historical Mieroroproductions / Institut Canadian da microraproductiona Natoriquaa 
 
 1 
 
Tin imtiwtt hM MiMnpiid to ok«in tfM kMt oriiiMl 
 copy a wil i fcli for nimlnt. PmOiiw of Ms oopy «Meh 
 
 ortfMimMMiiiilw 
 
 offHiiiin^ fg% 
 
 FTJ Coloond eovm/ 
 
 □ COMTt 
 Comortim 
 
 □ Cnmtmtoinimi/otlamimmi/ 
 Cmmnan iwtwifto w^o pillliMlli 
 
 □ CowrtMtMiniiig/ 
 UtHradx 
 
 □ Oolumtd ■■■■/ 
 Carmi 
 
 □ Coloiirad ink (U. otiMr tNn bkM or Naek)/ 
 Encrt tfc eoMlMir (i A mitr* «w Mm* ou noiro) 
 
 □ Colooiod plaiM and/or Hhntratiom/ 
 nmdM> vt/oM iNuttratiom an coulMir 
 
 «ri1h otiMr Hwttrial/ 
 fMH WW d'MMras < 
 
 n 
 
 I I TigbtbMhigiiwy 
 
 
 dtl'oMkrtoudtla 
 
 tfnonion It tout * la HMTii iirtiriMirt 
 
 □ Btaok laatm aMad durini raitoration Hiay app 
 wMiintfMtaiit W h ai i awi p a n ibl a . maw lm» 
 lOMitiatfffomfltaibii/ 
 
 III 
 
 Ion d'una rattauration apparaittant dana la laKta. 
 man, tonwnealaMaitponiMa. flat papas n'ont 
 
 r~^ Additional eommantt:/ Various pogfngs. 
 
 UU Cowaaamairat tu p pHm a i itaifaB 
 
 TMt itam it f Nmad at tfca r adu cii ow ratio rtiacfcad balow/ 
 
 L'lmtHiit a wiaroniaii to 
 toiaM 
 
 «i'H 
 
 onqvi 
 
 □ Cotourad papat/ 
 
 D 
 
 n 
 
 
 and/or 
 
 t(/OH 
 
 •tatoadorfeaad/ 
 
 □ Quality Of print vartoi/ 
 Qualit* inApato da I'impratiton 
 
 □ ContiHMoyi pagin a t i on/ 
 Papination continua 
 
 □ Inc to d w indax(ai)/ 
 Comprand un (dat) indax 
 
 Titto on haodar takan from:/ 
 U titra da I'an-iHa proviant: 
 
 □ Tittopapaefiia 
 Npa da titra da to livraiton 
 
 □ Caption of ittua/ 
 Titra da dipart da to livraiton 
 
 j iMatttiaad/ 
 
 I 1 <Mn«riqua (p«rtodi<9uat) da to 
 
 10X 
 
 
 ^i^ 
 
 -,„^— 
 
 14X 
 
 
 
 lax 
 
 
 22X 
 
 
 
 
 2CX 
 
 
 
 
 XX 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 12X 
 
 
 
 IfX 
 
 
 
 ax 
 
 
 
 24X 
 
 
 
 L«J 
 
 MX 
 
 
 
 n 
 
 32X 
 
Th« copy fUmad h«r« ha* bean raprodueack thanlu 
 to ttM ganarosltv of: 
 
 National Library of Canada 
 
 L'axamplaira film* f ut raproduit grtem i la 
 g«n4roaiti da: 
 
 BibHotMqua natlonala du Canada 
 
 Tha Imagaa appaaring .'-.ara ara tha boat quality 
 poasibia eonaldaring tha condition and lagiMHty 
 of tha original copy and in itaaping wdth tha 
 filming contract spacHlcations. 
 
 Laa imagaa suhrantaa ont it4 raproduitaa avae la 
 plua grand soin, compta tanu da la condition at 
 da la nattat* da l'axamplaira film*, at w* 
 conformity avae las conditions du contrat da 
 fUmaga. 
 
 Originai copias In printad papar covars ara fHmad 
 beginning with tha front covar and anding on 
 tha last paga with a printad or lllustratad impras- 
 slon, or tha back sovar whan approprlato. AN 
 othar original copias an fllmad beginning on tha 
 first paga wtti • prints <J or lllustratad impraa- 
 sion, and aMing on tf « last paga with a printad 
 or lllustratad ' -lorasslon. 
 
 Bordod 
 
 Tha last rocor^od frama on oach microflcha 
 sliall contpSn tha symbol — »> (moaning "CON- 
 TINUED"), or tha symbol ▼ (moaning "END"). 
 wMclMvar applias. 
 
 Las SKampiairas orlglnaux dont la couvartura an 
 paplar ast imprimia sont fllmte an commandant 
 par ia pramiar plat at an tarminant solt par la 
 damiira paga qui comporta una amprainta 
 dimpraasion ou dIHustratlon. solt par la sacond 
 plat, salon la cas. Tous las autras axamplairas 
 orlglnaux sont flimte an commandant par la 
 praml4ra paga qui comporta una amprainta 
 dimpraasion ou d'illustration at an tarminant par 
 la damlAra paga qui comporta una talia 
 amprainta. 
 
 Un das symltolaa suhrants apparattra sur ia 
 damMra imaga da chaqua microflcha. salon la 
 caa: la symbola — ► signifia "A 8UIVRE". la 
 aymboia ▼ signifia "FIN". 
 
 Maps, piatas, charts, ate., may ba fllmad at 
 diffarant reduction ratios. Those too large to ba 
 entirely included in one expoeure ere filmed 
 beginning in the upper left hend corner, left to 
 right and top to bottom, as many framev es 
 required. The following diagrams illustrate the 
 method: 
 
 Lea csrtes. plonches. tableaux, etc.. peuvent ttre 
 fllmfe i das taux da rMuction diffirents. 
 Lorsque le document est trop grend pour ttre 
 reproiduit en un soul ciich*. II est film* t psrtir 
 do I'engle supMeur gauclie. do geudie i droite. 
 et do hieut en iMa. an prenent le nombre 
 d'imeges nteessaire. Lae diagrammea suivants 
 Hiustrent la m4thode. 
 
 1 2 3 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
•woocorr rkouition tbt chait 
 
 (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
 Itt 
 IM 
 
 mmE 
 
 |Z8 
 
 112 
 116 
 |4X> 
 
 2^ 
 22 
 
 2.0 
 
 U^ 
 
 J:25 iU 
 
 1.6 
 
 s 
 
 i /^PLIED HS/HGE he 
 
 I8U Cost Main Strwt 
 
 Roch«f«r, Nm Yofk 14609 USA 
 
 (716) 482 - 0300 - Ptwn* 
 
 (716) 2M - S989 - Fox 
 
/^•^/ /^/e^ i'^Mi^ 
 
 
A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY 
 
 CHOSEN AND EDITED 
 
 mr/f AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 V« J. ALEXANDER, Ph.D., 
 
 Professor of Englisk in UniversUy CdUge, Toronto. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
 THE COPP. CL^RK COMPAVV. LIMITED 
 
 1901 
 
c. 3i 
 
 '^SSrJiitt'S.'Slirs - °™*- ■» »• »~ «- .p««»d 
 
 I 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The need* of the olaw-room hare been th. a . ■ 
 
 th.choic.«dl««^.„.«ofthete,,Xtl^S^^^^ 
 
 might very properly be included in * Z^ ■•'•«*«f •»■• Many poem. 
 
 vate fowling olthe your wmI ^T ^'^'^ ^°' »»«« pri- 
 
 •-'-^^ It i. wfthr;h:tt;:„t*o^ ""•"''•"• '- «^ 
 
 youth i^Iulged a natunU t^Mt^t^^ZluT!^''''' *'*° »«• i" 
 •nd delighted by much whfch h. ^TTi^' ?"* **• ""^ •«««I«ted 
 comprd^end. But when l^ ^ 'o C'^ ^'S^.'' °' ^^y 
 mountable, or a lanre nnmll!^ ** ""'*"«* »» el*». inaur- 
 
 diiBcultie. terd. i the fo^U^n onl*° •^«''.' °' »«f »«* thej 
 Ik i.. therefore, nece^arrS^hrj^Lr^"^^' intellectual habits. 
 •Jould be fairly SC^ he^'^^Cu" ^^^'^ '" '''••^°^"- 
 the majorify of young peoole OnVu ^ ^^ emotional wnge of 
 exce« of aimplicity ; u^tof Ln^^- °*''"' ^**' *^«" ^7 he an 
 fully^matured^'taa^tCt tr^i^"* A'^i ^'"^ ^^^ 
 of style may be more eaulv brou^h! k 1 . * '**'"*y *"<» Power 
 noWce in literature t^^r^Z^M^^T'''"''^^'^^ 
 one from Newman, par^ hJ^^ • ^'•"•'^•y than through 
 former. Itmay^dCid^eX *^ / "r**' •''•«^'» *^« 
 thought and .tyle. and deZg t^ Ik^"" ^T' "°»P^« '^^^ in 
 tntereet the young, or, indlir^^ol"^!^"^''''^^^'^'^^^^ 
 Again, ''hen aclasis ekteriVuCThrl*";; ^" *""^ **» <*««>• 
 •ble number of the pieces rZf sE^ "**^ °' P'^^'y* » <»n«ider. 
 interprcUtion-wo^hX i^'^f .^^^culties ^ ^^tailed 
 relation to the whok^^ T^' '"'» ^*»«- whose force ani 
 of «uch a character a.^ JTcalST ?T 'PP^"*" ^'^ '^Wch are 
 •elf. or of elucidation byleT^^l f ^ '^ *'^ ""**«"' ^^ 
 merely that thepupil is thus fo^!?? / '••* **"^^«'- It i- not 
 <Ji~.plineof til^f^''^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 upon him «.e^n:Z„,„e« Z the^ "^ *^'" "^ ^^'^ ^°>Pre«ed 
 the eye-that it requires and ZZl^^fTr. T ^*^ *^*^ ™««^ 
 importance is the fact that th^XZl "^ "^ '*'" ^^^^^ 
 the mind to dwell upon theZm IT ?°'"" ^'^''y' '^'"Pel 
 
IV 
 
 PRIPACC. 
 
 and indirectly there will steal in upon the learner a sense of po^er 
 and beauty wh'ch the coarse methods of «uUy«. and exLEn 
 
 of min^l *°^"^»f»" attention and to produce the proper frame 
 
 We may perhaps classify the difficulties that present themselv^ 
 to the «*udent of poetry under three categories.' Fi„t diffic^" 
 in detaU-in appbcation and interpretation ; such, for examde « 
 are presented very manifestly in the present coU;^Lr^etr 
 Bon'- . Love thou thy land." Such difficulties TZZyS. 
 lectual, and may often be solved without any true apprecifti^ of 
 poetry They „e the points that are most easUyTaTJllL 
 S. 'Tf "' '*"^'"* ^" ^'« ''^ '"d afford on; ofthrcwS 
 
 rpr~oarirmt::rr.r^^ 
 
 of ^th« T''"'^ ^^' *!!"'■" *~ ^^®''"^*^«' *"-"8 fro*" peculiarities 
 of the tLeme-from the experience, or conception, or point !f 
 view embodied in the poem. So SheUey's lyrics iere^llv 
 speaW, more difficult than those of BurL; f^Butl^'der^^J 
 thejoys and sorrows of our common humanity, but Shelley w th 
 
 T^? lu J^ , ^ P"^""*" ^'^ *° »^"°™*J introspection. 
 In the third pUce, in many poems the main element of beauty 
 les in the technique, and its fineness and delicacy may be beTond 
 
 cellencies in ti^tment. style, or metre which may be felt by the 
 merest tyn, of literature; on the other hand, there ly be a 
 sublety and finish in these which can be apprecLted byZ mtst 
 developed taste only. The swing of the m.tre of ZocLwTm 
 appeal to any ear which may be deaf to the grace of ColUns' Ode to 
 
 h1 7/. r'""""" "^ Tennyson's workmaJship than is 
 demanded for the appreciation of Longfellow 
 
 of'^Tt'*"*!'^*'*'''*^' "^*'"' "^ ''^''^ these various forms 
 o difficulty exist many one poem, and to give due weight to X 
 hindrances thereby placed in the path of the student Is no ea^ 
 
PREFACE. _ 
 
 n^ter. Yet regard muBt be had to such considerations if the 
 t^" ". u ^'^""^ *"^ discouraged in what ought to be 
 
 ^t^rl « .T« l.''^''*"'^ *" '"'"^"^^ ^*« *^« 'ide domain of 
 poet^. But difficulty u, not the only factor to be regarded in the 
 selection of a poem ; the claims of interest and variet^ust aLb^ 
 considered : such mingling of the concrete and the abst Jt, oTth! 
 lui^tive and the meditative, of the picturesque and the emot end 
 as may afford change of mterest and of mental discipline. A choice 
 and amngement based upon considerations so varfed and of eZ 
 conflicting, will inevitably, at times, seem arbitrary. I„ IZl 
 
 mto which the foUowing selections are divided, to three successive 
 hough but slightly differentiated, stages of the stude^t^spTcSei 
 m general matun^. taste, and insight; and. further. tol^Z 
 the selections withm each Book in such a way as to sui a graZuy 
 increasing aptitude for poetry, as well as to provide va^ty and 
 contrast in theme and in poetic qualities. oSe teachlrThow 
 hide jr.. rr*r? '^^ ^^-^e^ent as he pleases; houTd 
 he desiw the study of the works of one writer together, h; will be 
 able to do so by meami of the index of author, appended 
 
 Itseems to the editor a matter of the first importance for the 
 ™c^fu teaching of literature that the instructor^hou^d hLelf 
 have a clear conception of th„ purpose of Uterature and oTthe 
 means by wh^h tWs purpose is attained. There is ofte^a ^agul! 
 ness and misdirection of enei^r in class-work, because the telcW 
 whUe himself, it maybe, a lover and competent judge of "^kT 
 has never clearly apprehended what literatu!. has aituSly don^L; 
 himse^. and how its results have been attained. In the introduc- 
 tions to vanous volumes of poetical selections, which thTwriJer 
 published in i^nt years (The Study of Lit2ure, 1898. tZJII 
 and F<^ of Poetry, 1897. Metre in Relation, to Thoru,ht 189The 
 ha« addre^ed himself to this task, and in the /n^roJ!: I^to 'the 
 present volume he attempts the consideration of another aTd some 
 what more abstract phase of the same problem. The LM.7Z' 
 
 whom tT ",".' '"t"' ''"^"^ '"^ '"^^ "- o' the p.^^r; 
 whom the selections themselves are intended. 
 
 University Cou-bge, Toronto, 
 August 1st, 1901. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pketack "•*«■ 
 
 Intbodcction .... "* 
 
 xi 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 Sam ... . "A weary lot 18 thine, fair maid". or 
 
 ScoU . . . .Battle of Beal' an Duine. (Frora Th. £.uly 0} the 
 
 ^a*e) e, 
 
 Cowper . . . Boadicea .... • • . 01 
 
 Tennywn. . . " Break, break, break '• '. .? 
 
 Wordmortli. . Composed after a Journey I 
 
 ^ . . . . Edinburgh. (From Marmion) . [ J 
 
 SeoU . . . . Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu. (From The Lady 
 0/ the Lake) -^ 
 
 ^«^. -».i..T.ai«ht,„v.„,^.,„„,^i„,,„„;, i' 
 
 J%nny«on. . . In Memoriam, cxxiii . " f^ 
 
 Lampman . . In November. 
 
 ^ord^corth. ."ItianottobethoughtoftLattheaoo^"' ' ' % 
 
 Scott .... Jock of Hazeldean . ' ' 1 
 
 Scott .... Lochinvar . " * * : « 
 
 ^- : : ; S^bbI^"""' '^-■^■■■™"»-> •' •' : « 
 
 «»«.... Pibroch of Donald Dhu . ?? 
 
 Scott .... Rosabelle .... " 
 
 Utdenoum. . . Sir Patrick Spens \ ! 
 
 -Ooyfe. . . . The British Soldier in China J 
 
 Longfellow . . The Builders ... ' 
 
 ShelUy . . . The Cloud . ^ 
 
 W^^'L- •!»:« Country Parson.' (Vom'7'/i.zie.er^rf r,7wi ^ 
 
 »forrf«TOrtA. . The Gr«en Linnet . ^' Z. 
 
 20 
 
 vu 
 
• •• 
 
 viu 
 
 CONTKNTO. 
 T^^V'*"'' • . ThelAdyofShalott . "" 
 
 Wordnoorth. .ToaSkylarfc lue^-orw 3^ 
 
 Bryant . . . To a Waterfowl .' '. « 
 
 Wordsworth . . To the Cuckoo 21 
 
 ^'"•''•"w^. .TotheDasy « 
 
 J^'^» . . .To the Lon? General CromweU * 
 
 Lampman . . We too shaU sleep . « 
 
 ^A«*«peare. •" When icicle, hang by the wall » ? 
 
 Xampman . . Winter-break » y"'®'^" 25 
 
 » 41 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 Lampman . . A January Morning 
 
 ^« . . . .County Guy '^^ ^'"'^^ «' ««"««> Wishes » . 69 
 rortfoMwtt . . Elegiac Stanzas ^ 
 
 X-.. : ; a^'"""*'^''^«^"W«-: : ; :'^ 
 
 rnfoiotwi. . . Fair Helen 88 
 
 J>««y«)«. . . In Memoriam, d ^0 
 
 2Vnny«m. . . In Memoriam. btxxvi " 
 
 Tennyson. . . In Memoriam. cxviii ^^ 
 
 Wordsworth. . London, 1802 "8 
 
 yentiyaon. . . " Love thou thy land " ^* 
 
 y«nnywfi. . . Morte d'Arthur . "^ 
 
 ITordwoortA. . Nutting . ®* 
 
 Scott ... . "OBrignall Banks" ^® 
 
 A«a/« . . . . Ode to Autumn ^ 
 
 ^^son. . ."Of old sat Freedom on 4eheihta- '. ' ' J! 
 
 £eats. . . .On first looking into Chapman'. Homer. .' .* [ ^ 
 
C0MTBNT8. 
 
 IX 
 
 JW««» • On the Death of Mr. Robert Levefc '« 
 
 Wordiworth . . Penonal Talk . 87 
 
 Shakapeart . . Sonnet xoviii W 
 
 ar«Miy«m. . . "Tears, idle tea^» 72 
 
 S:^: : : :S:?;^t.r'"'°°'"^-^'*«~")' • » 
 
 ^y«>». . . . The Wes of Greece ^ 
 
 Wonkworth. . The Reverie of Poor Susai ** 
 
 Kt!J- •''°''»«R«^i>r.word«.;rth ; js 
 
 ^ord«varth. . " Why art thou silent ? » *^ 
 
 Lampman . . Winter Uplands ^ 
 
 &.: : wSi.v.'S.- ^V^^» --. : .'S 
 
 »%«"/«».. . . "Youaskmewhy" ^'^""^'' ^^ 76 
 
 ' 113 
 
 BOOK THIRD. 
 ^« . . . Above and Below . 
 Wordtworth . . Afterthought ^^ 
 
 ^ A i?rou«,„f^ A Musical Instrument *^ 
 
 f. Arnold . . Callicles' Somr. (From iLrL^ ' , ' J ' ' ' ^^ 
 ^ . . . Extreme Un^ion^'^'"'^^""') • '"7 
 
 ^POP* . . . .Prom'.TheE««.yonMan» T 
 
 Tenr^son. . . In Memoriam. xxvii *^ 
 
 Tennyson. . . In Memoriam, i, ii . ' ' * 124 
 
 Tennyson. . . Li Memoriam. Ixiv *^ 
 
 Tennynn. . . in Memoriam, cxv '^ 
 
 Tennyson. . . n Memoriam, liv ^^^ 
 
 Tenrn,son. . . In Memoriam. cxiv .' *«» 
 
 ^«^*. .^side of King's Oollc^dapel' .' [ [ [ ' " J^* 
 
 wH^: :Jf;::^r°r,^-'^^-^'. Book III • • -J^^ 
 
 ?wr* • • -OdetoEvening: ." *7l 
 
 fj^fcy . . . Ode to the Weit Wind ." ^^ 
 
 7>»ny«>n. . , (Enone 16* 
 
 ^««^. . •kTa'ST'*'^' • ™ 
 
 137 
 
.11 
 
 X ooNTKirrs. 
 
 _ TMM 
 
 Tmnjftott. . . St. AgnM' Bve . 158 
 
 WonUworth. . " She dwelt among the antrodden ways " . . .137 
 
 J)rayton . . . "Sincethere'anohelp,come, let us kiss and part" 102 
 
 Shdheapean . . Sonnet xo 148 
 
 Shakupeart . . Sonnet xxix 158 
 
 SheUey . . ' Song ("Rarely, rarely comest thou") . . . . 149 
 
 B. Browning . The Lost Leader 170 
 
 Tennyaon. . . The Lotos-Eaters 139 
 
 TemyMn. . . The Poet 175 
 
 SkeUey . . . The Recollection i26 
 
 Wordtwortk . . The Solitary Reaper 153 
 
 Wordtuiorth . . The Wishing Gate • .... 120 
 
 MUlon ... To Cyriack Skinner 145 
 
 Dai^l . . . To Delia 128 
 
 Wordaworth. . T9 Sleep I45 
 
 Tennyton. . . Ulysses 122 
 
 Notes 179 
 
 bPEX OF ACTHOBS 201 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE NATURE AND OFFICE OF POETRY. 
 I. 
 
 •motion., theple„n4«dZ.:jth^t"r ,^"^*'^ """"o" "<» 
 ex«nple. either «i„piy „„e^; t^a^l™ ^ "'^^•'"*- ^« ^^7' '<>' 
 "cdl the f«t with ?he rioro7».tfl,« T P'*^*^ "•' °' '^^ » V 
 out extend Btiaulu, to the tr^» f"" ''^'^ ''**«°^«*» '*• With, 
 and for™, w voice. fiuo^.^'r'-"«<>- '^^ »*y -ee coloum 
 important .till, we may re^ew th« . ?*"^ff'««»J <>'. what i. more 
 
 imagination in if lowe.t «d lewt ori^n , "°r"*'°"- «°» *»"" i. 
 like nunner menUlIy pj^! tZ,.h ^ •°^'^''*»*'°°' '^^ -"^y in 
 merelyhe.rd,whethefth'^ha^i3r''"' '' "^''''^ ^^ ^^^ 
 provided the«. are in sonfe m^^^^^i^'^ .T "" ^''"'^ '°««<'"' 
 live.-^ontain, though perhane^^ptT u^ the event, of our own 
 
 our own experience. %ud>.2L.or^„r^"**^°"' **'*' «'«-«»^ <>' 
 of «e«ly comprehending « ^^onrt*" ^'T'^''"''* "om that 
 iBonethingtofa.owthatwet^IZT.^"'* "°«"'»°* **' •f*<'*- ^ 
 feel again the wave of indiW^J^ Z^^ '"*? " ''*^^'°"' "««>«' to 
 - the young „.uaUy knowTt,1hrt H^ ^7t "' ' "°« '''^« *« know 
 to realize tiutt truth „ we «.li^ if LIJJ "** P"*^™""' ""other 
 that «, n«.„y n»en have faU^ " ^me^^'^'V °"^ *''"« ^ ^-" 
 o«ce of thi. fact in wme mcrnrT ' *** "*^« *h« "ignifi. 
 
 The w i. an inten.^rd"«,rprti;r " r*"^^ P'^"*- 
 
 the Utter i. « emotional and ?J^.? ^ "fP^'^'t^ "^ »ind, 
 addation. then, to our ^tnTutTie^tu^l Tf''' '^°^'*'''°- ^ 
 «K>ndition and .urrounding., we'h^vet, f ^ "" '*" ""«« ''^ «" 
 experience, lew vivid.Tt<;;\nn ".rT"**'"^* ^" ^""•"ti-g of 
 Po^ible range, and mo"^p"^i';'^!:; ^f -""^ ^<ier in their 
 And while it i. of the finrf iZJ-! ^ ^^^ *'*'' '^°*«>i of the wiU 
 
 best and broade.1 l^^CS^ .^^Ir T f "''^"'^ '^^ 
 
 ' " ^."o » "»tter of no little moment for 
 
xu 
 
 KATUBI AND OmCK OF POBTRT. 
 
 OM luppineM and elcrktion of ohwMter that our imMiMtire lif« 
 •tm.i be brMd and varied, occupied, ae f ar aa may be, with what ia 
 elevatang and of permanent worth, and not with what ia trivial or mean 
 oraaoaaing. 
 
 The Punctioo of Art— Now it ia the function of great art to atimu. 
 Ute a more varied and better imaginative activity than we oonld nnaided 
 attain. Art broadeua. elevatea, intenaiaea. makea more pleaatumble the 
 imagmabve life. By the higheat and moat original of aU the f anctiona 
 of the imagin-,tion the great artiat conoeivea thoae concrete experienoea 
 whi^ wiU give a high degree of pleaaorable imaginative activity, and 
 embodiea theae oreationa in langoage, or colour, or form, ao that othera 
 can. by a much leaa difficult tSort of imagination, nproduce theae 
 ozpenencea within themaelvea ; or elae he aeea, in virtue of hia greater 
 pMietration, • aignificance in aome aapect of life, or of nature, or of 
 truth, and bringa it home to the feelinga of othera.* 
 
 Aa has juat been indicated there are two atagea in the artiat'a work 
 which, ^though not always, or perhapa usually, sundered in practice, 
 may be theoreticaUy distinguished ; first, he conceives the material for 
 imaginative life-the eventa, peraona. feelings, ideaa of hia work • 
 •eoondly (what ia apedaUy the artistic function), he puta theae into 
 amtable form for transmission to othera. It is especiaUy through the 
 latter-through hia /orm-that he atimuUtea the imaginatbn to 
 actinty-that he not merely conveya hia facta to the intellect so that 
 we know them, but makes us Uve through and feel the ezperiencea 
 depicted. Hence imaginative literature may present to the student 
 difficulties of two kinds : difficulties in understanding the material, 
 because it la too unlike or remote from the familiar ezperiencea of hia 
 own life; and difficultiea in appreciating the form, becauae of the 
 unfainihanty of the language, the condensation of the expression, the 
 ordering of the thoughts, and ao forth. Most boys can read with 
 pleasure rach a atory aa Tom Brown', Schooldays, because Tom's adven- 
 tures and his ways of thinking are material analogous to that of their 
 own Uvea, and the language in which these are embodied, 
 
 I dialogue 
 
 .iJ!!» "J^". "" " »*"«*»?•>•' "»y •tao cre»to new conceptlona, but theM are 
 i^Lm^ SreneralUtlon. ; he may .ee new dgnifloance in thing,. butiS 
 
 SSn i^^S"" ""■"• "" "•" ••^'' = "*> "P"**- «' P'"'- W. conception. 
 Newton and Darwin were occupied with the attempt to prove their theories ; their 
 theoriee have a profound emotional outcome, but they did not attempt to show this or 
 make «. leel it. In Temv«.n'8 In Mernoriam. on the other hanS ttn^tionl 
 Import ofoertain .Hentilio theories i. indicated ilnd eonveyedTJeTfo; ^^S 
 and cxviii quoted on pages 89 and 118 below, OTlv.Ivl. ^^ 
 
THt PORX oy POETRY. 
 
 xiii 
 
 •nd "o on, ta nmikr to that to «h:>k *u 
 
 •n*y find Bhak^^-,aaZjl^ ?"^ •" ~H>«ton.«l But they 
 
 tamed to th. form of th. dn^ tTSS'n,^? ^"T "^'^ "* ""~^- 
 to filling i„ th. Ael.ioJ7TM<^T^T*'y *^' '"««»8« «' P^^t^f . 
 f «d indication, of ch.ri« wtSi^' 'ftt^^ "" P""'"* *"• -*' 
 •nd to bridging over th. gap, in tiTXTi ^•'*»»*8«'- «' th. pl»y. 
 
 very li«it«l ;„n.b.r ot^J^Z^n^7°^"'"^r^''^''^'^^'''^'»i 
 diiBculti«. th. fi„t in.v^t.^;id.; .tl!; ."^ 'J'- *"** '"^ -* 
 quit, nnauitabl. for th. younj^d " JZ "^ "' '^' ^' «*««*»" 
 »»tnrity; th. ««ond. on L otier K^„."r^'^'*°^y»'3^«"e*nd 
 •limin.t«ilnthenaturil counl of !J , •*• " "*** *'»'• Kr«l«*Uy 
 by familiarity with lita^tZ^,? ^'I^T?** *"•* " *° »»• °'«'^"e 
 gnidanc, of .„oh work, m 1^1^ ^X'' t'*"'^^' "•>'»«' i«dicioa. 
 to th. ,tnd.nt. natui»Uy comprehwuibl. and interwting 
 
 The Form of Poetrv -_tk« * * 
 
 mental ch«.cteri.tiri. o.rtLS?*? ^*'^' " °*** '*» »°«t fund.. 
 diff.r.ntiate. it from p^^°i^,.*^" '°*' '''''«^ »o.t m«ufe.tly 
 be.n a do, wd gn^STlw^ ^yergence of po.t,y „d p«,«, hi 
 
 with it. ow,, n«Kl.*^1 U^7tT:^' '•'*'°^« ^*'«'' ^ "^^"^ 
 Wed par.,1.1 li.e. To^Jtrio^' ^«r»h hj. independently foK 
 of th. poetic form ar. no? cTrenti^ ^* "*" Pecnli«itie. 
 
 -orvivl. of a long .erie. of XrL t^ttdT SI^"^ '' *'"^ *" «>• 
 Theu. jn.tification lie, in th. f«^ th^/ J^* *'**T™' °' "» ^"'^ 
 th. pnipow of poetry_th. quick.ninir^H ?"'*"* >wtniment. for 
 •tiv. life. Now, thomrht-Dw-rT** ^ «-enfortsing of the imairin- 
 in fact, nocomplUJZr pSir^;.'?^ *'^'»**'«' '*«^' » lan^ 
 word., bnt««Mtiorandf^^l^J:"« ^ *^ ^'"^"^ <>" *^ 
 «oninh«g„.ge. What .I^^Th^rd^^^-d *^««-I^^^ 
 h»v. wnsation. «,d feoling,. ver^„„ /'?* **° "y ' ^"t be may 
 "pre... Even .hould K.,17clt?^haW^ *'"'*'' ""«'» ^« ««°o* 
 feed m tranmitting them-in LdW L! "* ""' ^* '*°«' °°* •»«" 
 » not ,o much what the .ufferer .^y.^? ^ h»T"^"^°" °' °*'«"'- I* 
 arouae. the li.tener>. «ymp«L ^^ L ,t ,°'' ^''"P^'-'on, that 
 through direct aasertionatt^Tmo'ti^ • !*°" '* '' °«* «> "uch 
 
 the m«,aer and the a^tiol? 1. TT^' ''°* '°'^»'^tly through 
 obiecte, through the ^ X^r^t *"' "^^"""^ *»' '-^ "^ 
 bon of thing, or idea, a«o^Ld^l ,k ^^'y* *^'^°«'» ^be men- 
 reference to the violet ^^l!'^'^*' "^"J"^ fe«l»g; a. through 
 
 •^ upon him by the b^L.^,^tif S ^'««'*' ^'^^ ^P""-- 
 
 oi w»e llttl. poem quoted on p. 137 
 
XIV 
 
 HATURI AMD OmOK OT POITRT. 
 
 below. ProM-proper aMka to convey to the intellect • truth or fMt • 
 Poetry not chiefly the«,. but the ..a«.tion.. emotion. i«oci.fd by' 
 the ''ntor with them. A. f«r i» expre-ion goe.. then, the poet hM 
 
 expect «. eM. y to m«f r th. eecret of poetry, to etch the .pirit .nd 
 
 !„JrTu*°'^^*'^',**'°"*''" "'•''■ "'*' 'yP'»^ manifeeftionedifl-er. 
 ngboth .n «,m and form, .re, like other related .peoie. in nature, at 
 ^mej^e- ri.arp ly differentiated. There i. prose whkh in «m, or"; « 
 In form, approximate, to poetry. When the orator grow, impawioned 
 when he .pecially wi.he. to kindle the emotion. It hi. hC^ ht 
 jeut^ce. become more rhythmical, hi. huiguage become, more figura- 
 tive thwin the purely logical argument; hi. aim and hence hi..tyle 
 
 ?^% *T! °*°" P^**": '^«"''' *^« "•"^"^ ''^^'^ ''ff"'^* -ti^-Iu- imd 
 
 poetry. How. then, doe. a novel differ from a poem, and why doe. it 
 
 niT^; \T"'j* " '^°*"" ^ ' ""'^•^ «••-«»• i«-ker.« 
 
 ™t J o'f *T •*°' ?*"- *^*y •" "°* uniformly .u,tained at .uch a 
 
 i^^oTLV\ '^"^!^, ^'^ """^ '^'^^y connected with the 
 •ource. of Scott'. .tronge.t feelings, with the hi.toric paat of hi. own 
 
 Z^7' M ^ ""'"t '^' ^"'*^~'' "^ '^''"^^ -o th^Ta fairly high 
 •motional level may be mamtained throughout the poem.. The subject. 
 oWuy ^annsnng and Waverley, though clo«.ly akin to tho«, of the p^em. 
 mentioned belong to a more recent date, and hence are. to ScottJeM 
 ^tacjdly beautiful ; he doe. not pitch them in the high ^etic key. b^ 
 
 than m the poem., and devote large part, to prosaic, commonplace or 
 
 eZr; "f "*"• ""'^ "**"'*'°« " *^^y «-• "Jo -* to«^h th- 
 emotion^ nature .o profoundly.* The extreme elaboration of ver« 
 
 detad. have some beauty, «,me charm, some emotional mgnificance.f 
 The novel give, pleasure a. a whole, and may also be in parts m iffi- 
 
 •Shakespeare's lue of prose and poetiy In hi. dramas affords an extmnely mterertin^ 
 c^empMoatJon of the ftnKUmentl dUferenoe. between the two s^l^ ^*^* 
 
THE RBPBnMTATIOir OF THB PAIKFUL IN ART. XV 
 
 •xpUa.tory. .to., .ad th«M .r. not r«.d .t .U (or their own Mke. To 
 th«M Utt« portion., .t lM.t. tU po.ti« form i. qnit. «n.mUbI.. Tb. 
 p^mliMT "i^Uwo. of portry >• it. inUn«ty nod TiTidnw^ Actuia Uf« 
 i. mor. «tl.f.o^. „«„ truly lif.. ^ „^j ^ proportion to tt. 
 n«mb.r •»dj.n.ty ofth. .xp«i.no« it contUn.. b«tSrp«,porC 
 
 k!^% I» Wt. in«n« th. ln»gin«tiT. lif. rfjould not merely be 
 broad «,d T««d, but inten... Th. .xt«ordin«y pow.r of J^SL Z 
 begettmg inugin.tiv. intendty i. not. perh.p.. whou" explicb^ b?t U 
 m.y m pjurt b. «oo„nt.d for. Poetry i. n»or. rhythmiJi th« pr^ 
 «d rhythm hM .„ .ffl„ity {„ .„„,tion ; pootry i.^^ cond^^Ti 
 
 i;!s?5S''~ -Sr* ' ^.*^." ""^ '^'^' •"«> *»»• «»«<«te i. more 
 •MUy «d vmdly oonodr.d th«> th. id,rt»ct , th. ord.r .nd n.^^ 
 
 itS^ "^.f"^^ ^ • vcdAukryi- poetry. ^ hugely d^ to 
 demand, of logic «>d cle«neM. Th. miignitud. of th. eifeot of po.t,^ 
 of n^H " •fT^^Jl-^'-l combim^tion of th«. «d . grTmlffij 
 of oth.r^„d «,btl.forc... idl tending in th. «n«Sonid diSon 
 given by th. nuun thought itMlf . aurection 
 
 i«I!l"^T^*^^ **' *^ **■*»*»» « Art-It i. doubtleu the 
 the hci th»t tragedy i. admittedly th. high.rt form of literaTarl 
 
 painful elemente of actu^ life wholly eliminated. Yet the th^me ol 
 tragedy « .ome tremendou. catartrophe. Mme poignant wifferiT or 
 
 ^fo«nde.t terror or commiseration. Now we know that we tum^w.^ 
 from a poem or a picture which leave, upon the mind a di«urre«Me 
 topre.«on. and that .uch a poem or pictured, condemned aa^S^y 
 defective ; that, on the contrary, the totel impr«.ion produ^by^e 
 proper pre«,ntetion of Lear or Ji<meo and J Jet, far froTbeC^Ltl 
 or depretting, i. eminently tonic and inapirina Hence itt^I^ I 
 that in .ucceMfoi ^. ,o4ever painful th^^b ect rd^^t 
 p eaau«ble impreMion. i. produced. By what pr;ce«i ZTZl L 
 attained how incident, and idea, which L real mZ «gLXto 
 
 SLrofte L r T^^^ **• "^^ ""^"^^ worlHlme^^ 
 baeiB of the keenest enjoyment, are quction. which, while perhap. not 
 
 •dnuttmg of a complete «,lution. may .t l««t be p.r;ially aiSTweS 
 Very manifestly the con.cioasne« that this p«n and evil i. after aU a 
 
zri 
 
 VATVRI AVD Omoi Of KITRT. 
 
 M<m, i. th« ehM rmmm tlul w« om oentoapbte thtm without th, 
 
 ^tU. ooMidmtlo. do« dteri.*^ il «io« Bot whoUy wehMUth. 
 >«M^i»..d»«.. Til. rn--«ti»tlon •ay «igg^ a ^SmUW 
 
 ^!TT '**'»,«^*^ •*^ •»» *■ »o»«l«, by dMoriptioM of what i« 
 
 S^STi ^^''T**'''^ W.«« told that th.Ath«,Ui,; 
 fln«l th. dnwutttt PhrynioM b^MN, by wprtMntiag «. th. .t-H 
 
 bofow tbea. And it b » notiO*!* fact th«t in the gnat tnu»di«. of 
 Hh.l»q.^ of th. Oml», ««1 i. th. Pr«KA d-J*;^^ 
 J2«-^1«J i- «». ««oU in tim. or plac , wh««» oobIS^m «.«S 
 
 Bkdy th«r.foi., that • owtdn HBoant of p«n or oiiMmnM. doe. ari.. 
 fromth.r.prM»tatioaof pathHio and tragic .«bj.ct., batthatthkfa 
 oomp«>«^ for, and ormrhdaad by attmdant adTMtagwT 
 What ar. th. oompraaation. which in a work of art may oatwdgh 
 
 r^^ f «**«M«o. to aotoal lif^ n.«iful to awakan int«r«t. 
 d«[»od-th.i.pr..«,totionof«,ni.niMwr.of.Ta P.rf«!t perMnagi 
 
 ^ ir Ti** •" rfT*^ *** ^ "^^' ^«» PhyicU or 3 
 .^_hk. Adam and Et. in th. gard«,-.ar. indpid, thdr character 
 •nd condition ar. too onlik. oar own to raoit. .ympathy. What it 
 »ort fordU. and admiiabl. in hnman natar. can only b. bronght ont 
 by "fff-ri-gj «d it i. oft«. for thi. parpc that th. artirt intSac. 
 th. darker rid. «f lif.. Thi. rid., howrer, he i. prone to kee^. in SI 
 Uckgroond, w that w. ar. bat dimly con«jiou. of it, whUe he'magni- 
 ft» jnd .mpiujri... th. Tirtne. which .rfl may bring into action. ft7. 
 th. h.roittn. th. romanc, and adTwtar. which ar. the outcome of the 
 
 evU .tate «rf the Border, that Scott empharire. in hi. i^y , the URlinc^ 
 m»«y, and cruelty are kept in the b«*g,«„nd. Yet thi. meSiod^ 
 tr^rtmjnt tt by no mean, always foUow«i ; not in th. highert art, not 
 certadnly m Lear or OtheUo. We murt further, then, rlembe/that 
 oontout u a neccMaiy dement in human perception. ; to enjoy repo«i 
 LTi '"• "I^ ^^' '•'* wearine- or hunger ; the met profound 
 Mtufaotion in hfe aruea out of radi oontrMt^-out of th. escape from. 
 
 ''ur"*^^*'' *^ ^ "* "'*"' " °'*^ *»' *^^ oontn«t.. AgJZ 
 although there may be pain in the experience, yet actud life i. neveTw 
 keen, m mteuM, m really life a. in the presence of peril, physical or 
 
IMmAtMATlOa. 
 
 XTii 
 
 W kl!^ th« .tU J. <iMgiB«ry or only inggMtML Mid where 
 
 i?.^ in ^'"T'' '*"• ?^"'"^ •^'•tion. with evil. „.y be ^^ 
 ^ri S.. ""^rr °' '-^^ i»^n.tire life. iinJy. « the 
 work, of the gre.f,t poet., there i« • perception of • higher «J 
 r^«lu,g principle-perh.p. merely iMtiVctiv;. or the molt of f "th 
 
 l^T^!;^"''*' '^^ *•*• oo».p.„ion.hip of .T^"„ :l*S 
 
 ohwful penondity in real life, elevate, the reader into a WiA» ^ 
 work together for good.t In oonnection with thi. U^t noinl wIm^ 
 
 ^•tv^tl^; *'• ^JL''"^' the rhytL ir^n^ei.Z 
 "g«»l«i^ of the rhyme, the beMity and fitnen of the exnti-^ .«/! 
 
 riIJ^^2?r ^ *^ *• "P^ '«>» "Other oon.tant wnrce of 
 t^SlwoS^ntr^/'^'; *^* '^ '^~° ^'•* P«««P«o» of 
 
 s.a"th"Xii-^rjuT;^tr 
 
 be'tSS?*Sr^ " ^'*'**''' *^"- "" »*•"•* «>d feeling can 
 
 Jj^S^riSrl'tToH^CXIlilT r""^" "^' o«,.el.^.':S 
 Won <n>^T!Z. !r ^^ •*^'"y *^~t "• ^"0 ■k"'«l in»ita- 
 
 n^cted itl! T^ L T •'''^•»"'8 l>le«urable feeling, and idew con 
 
 ^^oeTnot .tte'^t' ''I "^^^ "^ -'°- con.idfration. in Trt. 
 ^ °°* ***'"P* to make an exact copy, even in t he caw of a 
 
 • Se, the two dodn, rt«« of in if«norte«. «v«. p 124. below. 
 ^Cf.. ,0, e«n,p„. Wortsworth'. «^ ««„« (p. i„. ^^^^ ^ ,,, ^^,,^^^ 
 
 tOf. Wordsworth'! deflnltion • "Pootw i. »k,. ., a. 
 
 '•-i-ir.U«n,,t.oH^„^^J.-^';;^«^^n-^^^^^^^ o, powertu. 
 
xvin 
 
 NATURE AND OFFICE OF PORTRY. 
 
 p-mting or of the dialogue in a novel. Its aim i« to give the hiKhe.t 
 .nd meet permanent pleasure compatible with the .^c ; ;Sd 
 L ^ r ■7^P'»'*P°"«' •PP«ently. that the course of thi^. in 
 the actual world is arranged. Hence the need of selectionrmSifi 
 
 "S^rt^il't"'"*^"^ In real life the best conUlton 
 7Z 1. , y """''" *^** "« °°* interesting in themselves 
 that do not lead up to anything, that do not clearly bring out tl; 
 character of the speaker. These diminish the pleaaure ri^eVby the 
 
 maximum of pleasure is to be given. Every word must tell. In real 
 touldr'^^^""'' *'*' ' '*"«'^'^**'« incident which h« befallen "f 
 CifZlv dTff""; "f "'""" '"* ''" ''^ *'»* -rcumstanceor pe„on 
 
 Sat mllr;t ~"'°f "8 y' ^^ "«' i° «<> '»'. artists. Now. one tiing 
 
 «d pl^i^^foitb °' ?rT" """^^'''^ """^ P^'^-*' more effective 
 whlv K * >n«ife,n»tion than theactual thing presents. Nature 
 
 whether human or material iufnii^f. i.- 6F"=°»'''w. xiaiure, 
 
 •ocuratelv rr,^,nT » ' • '"gge't'veness ; or, to put it more 
 
 I^toSv t^' w u "" " P'"''"" *^ P"* ^*« °»t«" -nore than i. 
 
 ^ImUy there We have all. at times, felt a something in the spectLe 
 
 wh ch we know not how to put into words. The great artist sees mor^ 
 
 So^^f'o'y""' "l***^^ '" "^'^ ^««°^^ - profounde TC 
 a^Ttif iml,?'^ ?" ' *"•' ''^"•^ *"'* *^"'*y *° «P"«- these is t^ 
 idl irr "!f ^''"- ^" ^" *° ''^«' '^d i* » to convey thi^ 
 Idea, not to reproduce the object in its entirety, that he represent! 
 ^tarejm short, he idealizes. This does not necTmrUy implyS h^ 
 make, his ,mag.nary world better than the actual, but that he make- it 
 more harmomous. If the artist, however, carries his idealiJi^X 
 o^ !Tto r' *~ "'"""'^' ""' "•'^«' "^ ''^^'^ world too unUk" 
 too closely the actual, he introduces much that is incongruous and 
 
 tt^^Sr V "'''• ^°^ '"^ ^« "»°"'^ 8° » -« direction or 
 
 Pr!n!f 1 ?T ""r"* "^ ^'''^" •^•^'^•- W«y Engli.' nen find the 
 
 We^ c^"" • T'^ ^" ^""""^ '"^'y ''^^ *h-t •' - -like actual 
 «tl^t1" °f ' '°*'"*"^ ^''^'"'^°'«" ^^^ Shakespeare's drama 
 wpellant because it seems fuU of incongruiHes and chaos No law ca^ 
 
 duced by excessive obedience to the regularities imposed by the 
 
IDBALIZATION. 
 
 SUE 
 
 Btractura of blatik verse, and an irregularity which would approximate 
 too closely to prose. The requirements of realism vary with onr 
 knowledge ; Shakespeare violated the truth of history without offend- 
 ing his audience, because they knew so little about such matters. 
 Since then, historic knowledge and the historic sense have much de- 
 veloped, and similar liberties with history in a modem dramatist would 
 be very inimical to the pleasure that the play should give. Huxley has 
 told us that the pictures of angels with wings always produced a dis- 
 agreeable effect upon him ; for, familiar as he was with anatomy, he 
 could not but feel that there were no muscles to support these append- 
 ages ; they must be hanging in some loose and disagreeable fashion to 
 the skin. Should such familiarity with anatomy become diffused, 
 painters would no longer be able to represent angels thus. But the need 
 of realism does not destroy art, it only renders the artist's task more diffi. 
 cult It would be a higher sort of art which could dispense with this 
 crude way of indicating the angeUo natore by wings, and could make 
 the observer perceive by some subtle effect in the countenance that 
 this is a creature from some higher and purer sphere than the human. 
 
 In the case of poetry, it is of course specially manifest that the artist is 
 not attempting an accurate copy, for the style precludes exact imitation ; 
 people do not talk in metre. The differences between the poetic language 
 of the dramas of Shakespeare, for example, and the dialogue of real hfe 
 are analogous to the differences between the actual life and Shakespeare's 
 representation of it. His matter, as his style, is more select, condensed, 
 pregnant and harmonious than what we find in the corresponding scenes 
 of actual life. We feel that the oration of Antony is very true 
 to nature, does represent the way in which the demagogic orator 
 handles the mob ; but it is certainly very unlike any actual oration that 
 any demagogue ever uttered. It abbreviates, it concentrates the points ; 
 it emphasizes them ; and it lends, of course, the beauty of poetical 
 rhythm and style to the whole. Yet while not accurate to facts in detail, 
 it does bring home to our imagination much more vividly, and with much 
 less trouble than any actual oration could, the essential facts as regards 
 the relation of the crafty orator and the mob. In a similar fashion Shakes- 
 peare intensifies and concentrates the essence of youthful love in the bal- 
 cony scene of Bonuo and Juliet. With the central motive of youthful pas- 
 sion every detoil is brought into harmony, Romeo and Juliet themselves 
 by temperament, by beauty, by youth, by circumstances, are exactly fitted 
 to embotly the force of love ; the garden, the moonlight, the mid- 
 summer season, the Italian background, the verse, the kijguage, all n- 
 
XX 
 
 NATURE AND OFFICE OF POETRY. 
 
 enforce the mam current of emotion ; so that we feel th- iw. * ^ 
 nobUity of love » we could ««.rcely, f ever^foeT^ rLte!l rf \'°'* 
 acongroitie. would inevitably find place '^«'w * ^ "' '^^'^ 
 actual, but does not miarepLent iJ^'e ^ PJ«*«" *"n,cend. the 
 lover, under the influeZof hT« • ' ^ *^°" *'^** '»' "»• »">« 
 
 dnunimade .;i:::^ra^"?;;c reTrr:^^^^^^^ 
 
 and intensification of th« nn«*'. — ♦ speotaton by the selection 
 
 conversation I may hear exouilite ^ J "* *** '° interesting 
 
 to both, with the ilekuh^ZToflT ' / TT^' *" «*^" •**«°«°° 
 in either. There ir. confli^ S ^f * *° J"** '^"P^«*« -atisfaction 
 increased, i. pr^Ubly TeL In '^ ' ' *?' '^*^' ^"*««^ «^ »«^« 
 
 ThereisLkof ;x ^t^uiirtir:^^?^'"''^^ 
 
 »y ear I am gazin^on a i::S ^l:^^^f:'rZrt^'^"'' 
 more because of the beauty of tte scene, and Se .^ene mo« ^ """"^ 
 the frame of mind produced by the music t1 * , ^*"" °^ 
 with and intem.ify one another^ whaeXre„rth '""P^^""*" "«»«! 
 delight ; in rixortf there is unit; In ItTth^^^ ' "'°*"°° 
 
 life are ext^mely involved ^dck^^^J^T^ ^'^'T- «' 
 together ; result, are hidden, or remTtef^m thTcal!" fnet ^^'H^ 
 
 =r:r:^d;;:rzrei-rer-^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 and is checked or welTen^ ?S^T^ "«™°" *"• "^^"^ "*'»°1«. 
 
 waste and disc^^tLT^be el^^^^rr"™"^!^^^^^ 
 resultant. Further to n^ST^^ f *" "'°"' ** » «»°«>o» 
 
 But tte effect in such cases is also simpb and JS Se "'^ 
 stmiulus to the emotional life is riven wL„ . ™"*«d. /he grand 
 
 «t,o.. .U. oppcif .ffc, „, ^„, „.^ ^. ^ Cnht^T!!"™ 
 
ITATURB IN POETKT. 
 
 xxi 
 
 one uother. 80 in the greatest works of art— in the tragedies of 
 Shakespeare, for example— we have something of the infinite complexity 
 of actual life ; mirth and mourning, horror and charm, humour and 
 pathos ; yet not, as is wont to be the case in the real world, incongruous, 
 discordant, mutuaUy destructive, but like the instrument of an orchestra 
 uniting in some grand, comprehensive, emotional result The ima-nna- 
 tion finds a many-sided solace in the multitudinous activities that are 
 stimulated, and, in aU this variety, a concord and unity which culminate 
 in an elevating and tonic sense of the beauty and worth of existence. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Representation of Human Life.— Let us consider a little more 
 closely the substance and material of this world of imagination into 
 which poetry introduces us. In the actual world that which, apart; 
 from their own personal concerns, interests men moat universaUy (as 
 even the widespread taste for gossip shows) is the doings of their fel- 
 lows-the spectacle of human existence as presented to the outward 
 senses. And the doings of men are most interesting either when they 
 are wonderful and adventurous-fuU of perils and swift changes of for- 
 tune-or when they are concerned with something that touches the heart 
 powerfully or pleasurably. It is, accordingly, in the con ,te, pictur- 
 esque life of men that poets find the most natural and universaUy inter- 
 esting themes of their art, as is so strikingly exemplified in one of the 
 earhest and most popular species of poetry, the baUad. As themes of 
 this sort pleased an early and unsophisticated generation, so such poet--' • 
 still most readUy attracts the immature mind. EspeciaUy wiU the 
 young, since their deeper feelings and meditative aptitudes are not yet 
 devtioped by experience, deUght in the changeful and romantic life of 
 action as presented, for example, in the longer, and in many of the 
 shorter poems, of Scott. 
 
 Nature in Poetiy.-The poet may not merely represent man, but man's 
 dweUing-place. This, however, is a theme of less universal and leas 
 intense interest ; material nature can never stir our sympathies as the life 
 of creatures like ourselves ; the love for nature is of later growth, and is in 
 some degree a cultivated and acquired taste to which many have not 
 attained. In truth, it is often the case that it is the poet who awakens 
 m his readers a perception of natural beauty ; still oftener, draws their 
 attention to aspects of nature that they never would have observed for 
 themselves. The poet, therefore, here (and the same thing u true in 
 
xxii 
 
 HATDRB AHD OFFICB OF POETRY. 
 
 mor.det.aed and minute featu^ ', T? T'*"' P*'^*"^"^^ «» «>« 
 moetof the poetry ZmTIT^^T • ^" ^°ds<»P«. nature varies A» 
 
 it.p««,ntaCoT:itt U i::::^eJ3:!^,?"^"*^ ourenjoy»e„to, 
 at second-hand only ^th »^^^*^^" ** '''""' *"" •«l«'^ted 
 poet', picture. ^I'd^^. ^i:'jlt^ *•■** ^ ^ ->^e '!>« 
 by M. if .een at all. under quite awI, ^ " P*^*'^' " """^y •««» 
 g«den». not -catte^Jl p'r^^./^jr^^'^"-*;"^^ - 
 
 if we know this flower in {^^ *' r'™^^«» <>▼« the meadows. Even 
 wealth of a^S i^;^^^;%t';?l*lT^^^ 
 •ide. the ««nery of oir o^^Z^^ w .^S^"*"""- ^n the other 
 because it is littie »Z^^Z ^t^T « ^P^wivenes. and charm, 
 
 of poet, have not teu^S^^t**"?^""*'"' ^*'*°- •S^* -«ri« 
 mayTonecau^roJ^Sbe a^^ ?'"^'^>« »««<y «d Power; this 
 
 with Engiis?;;:^"' Butt;ii:'"r:t" **' !:r ^^ - -»p*~d 
 
 the present volume ar« LTZ, whoUy without a literature. In 
 
 poet! wi xr t^p::.rd"S,t°f' r *':; "-^-^ 
 
 expression, but was sneci^llv Lf? I/^ " '**^°« "*•* P°^« o' 
 
 not merely echoes from the mXtfL T T" .^^P«' «d are 
 (p. 12), for example, he lu^S^li^ * * ^*" *°*^"*«* -^-^^ 
 
 i«ticaUy our^_ce^ir^ J^.°^ "**°" '''^''''» » «'"'■•*«*«'- 
 
 .i^eLordr^oSr;L";:.ttt:ti^^^^^^^^^ ^--i^ -'>* 
 
 reader feel the unioue eh^r^fJT*- ^^™'^""^« "^ he has made the 
 These poems ofTIp:^^™ « " "l^^'™, "' that familiar so^.e. 
 
 but communicates to us intern J .tetes of m^!? ^ T '^™'^ '*°'^'' 
 that as««iate themselves wit" fe^W ThT I^'^^^flf ^ *'^°''«^*' 
 range of sentiments and idZ • iT*' ? ^""^ ^*^ hroadeuB our 
 
 regard to conCortMcT;^^" ""^1" ^ V^ ^°*'"'"'" ^"^ 
 
 adequate outlet and exp^ssio^te w It , """T"' °' «^^«' 
 pnwiion tew .« we hare ahready vaguely or 
 
WON-BMOTIONAL THBMES IN POETRY. xxiii 
 
 ■uperfioiaUy conceived or felt. It breaks in npon the narrownes. and 
 monotony of individual life, and awaken, ns to sympathy with the 
 thoughts and aspirations of our feUow-men. So in Milton's 8<mwu 
 (pp. 35, 65) we are kindled into sympathy with the lofty mood of a 
 great and puissant spirit ; in Wordsworth's " It is not to be thought of » 
 (p. 8) we find expression for our pride in the past, our hope for the future 
 of our country; in his OdetoDuly (p. 171)our admiration and enthusiasm 
 are awakened for a great ethical principle ; in his "Hail, Twilight 
 sovereign of our peaceful hour," an impressive and suggestive thought! 
 and m Tennyson's "Contemplate aU this work of Time " (p. 118) the 
 ethical outcome and emotional side of a scientiiio theory are brJujrht 
 vividly home ; in "O yet we trust that somehow good" (p. 169) we find 
 utterance for the bhnd yearnings of the universal human heart 
 
 Non^otion«l TTiemes in Poetiy.-The poetic form, slowly and 
 
 tentatively elaborated under pressure of the need of giving utterance to 
 
 feehng, ha« culminated m a peculiar style, in itself a source of ereat 
 
 pleasure, characterized by rhythmic charm, power of condensation. 
 
 of emphasis, and of vividness, a marveUons instrument for the effective 
 
 expression of thought-in itself lending the charm of beauty to whatever 
 
 It cloth^ Hence, and finally, poetry is employed for the expression of 
 
 Ideas not in themselves emotional or imaginative. We see this especi- 
 
 aUy m the poetry of the earlier half of the eighteenth century ; butin 
 
 every age and almost in every poet, there are examples of such use of 
 
 the poetic fonn. In LongfeUow's Builder, (p. 38) we have in iUustra- 
 
 turn of an attempt to elevate a rather commonplace though wholesome 
 
 exhortation mto the emotional and imaginative sphere, not by con- 
 
 cemng It imaginatively, but by as«M=iating it with metre and rhyme 
 
 and by the persistent employment of metaphors. In the first selection 
 
 t ^Lr T' 2 'T P*"*" °* *^' '^^^ ^™°> *h« ^^y «« Man 
 I: fS' '"'*'"*^" f *r*°*- 'r^''" ^^^^^^^'^^ V^^^ty of Human Wishes, 
 we find examples of the legitimate and successful extension of the 
 poetic form,* 
 
 •Among the more rtimulatingr or useful discuwioM of the theory- of uoetrv m., i- 
 mentioned >V-ord,worths Pre/ace to ike Lyrical Bailad,, the TapLTcYrle . 
 

A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY 
 
 ENGLISH POETRY 
 
 BOOK FIRST 
 
 l.-"IP THOU INDEED DERIVE THY LIGHT 
 
 FROM HEAVEN." 
 If thou indeed derive thy Hght from Heaven, 
 Then, to the measure of that heaven-born light, 
 Shine, Poet ! in thy place, and be content :— 
 The stars preeminent in magnitude, 
 ^d they that from the zenith dart their beams, 6 
 
 (Visible though they be to half the earth, 
 Though half a sphere be conscious of their brightness) 
 Are yet of no diviner origin. 
 No purer essence, than the one that bums. 
 Like an untended watch-fire on the ridge ' jq 
 
 Ot some dark mountain ; or than those which seem 
 Humbly to hang, like twinkling winter lamps. 
 Among the branches of the leafless trees. 
 All are the undying oflspring of one Sire : 
 TTben, to the measure of the light vouchsafed, 15 
 
 Shine, Poet ! in thy place, and be content. 
 
 ■ . —W'ordatoorth. 
 
 2.— ROSABEIJLE. 
 O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 
 
 No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
 Soft is the note, and sad the lay ' 
 
 That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 1 
 
iil'l 
 
 A MBOOL ANTHOUXIT — BOOK VIBST. 
 
 • Moor, moor the barge, ye galUmt orew I 
 
 And, gentle ladje, deign to stay ! 
 Rest thoe in Castle Ravensheuoh, 
 Ncr lempt the stormy firth to<lay. 
 
 • The blackening wave is edged with white ; 
 
 To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
 The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
 Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 
 
 'Lwt night the gifted Seer did view 
 A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; 
 
 Then stay thee, Fair, in Rave-.aheuch ; 
 Why cross th^ gloomy firth to-day 1 ' 
 
 "Tis not because Lord lindesay's heir 
 To-night at Roslin leads the ball, 
 
 But that my ladye-mother there 
 Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 
 
 * Tis not because the ring they ride. 
 And lindesay at the ring rides well, 
 
 But that my sire the wine will chide 
 H 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.' 
 
 — O'er Roslin all that dreary night 
 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 
 
 TVas broader than the watch-fire's light. 
 And redder than the bright moonbeam. 
 
 It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 
 It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 
 
 "Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, 
 And seen from cavem'd Hawthomden. 
 
 10 
 
 1» 
 
 10 
 
 S6 
 
 SO 
 
ACIOaS TBI HAMBLKTO!! HILLB, YOHKSHIRK. 
 
 Seem'd all on fin th«t chapel proud 
 Where Roelin'a ohiefa uncoffln'd lie, 
 
 Each Baron, for a table ehroud, 
 Sheath'd in hie iron panoplj. 
 
 Seem'd all on fire within, around, 
 
 Deep flacriety and altar's pale ; 
 Shone every pillar foliage-bound, 
 
 And gUmmer'd all the dead men's mail. 
 
 Bland battlement and pinnet high. 
 
 Bland every ro8eH»rved buttresi fair- 
 So stiU they blan when fate is nigh 
 The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 
 
 There are twenty of Roelin's barons bold 
 Lie buried within that proud chapeUe ; 
 
 Bach one the holy vault doth hold, — 
 But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! 
 
 And each Saint Clair was buried there 
 With candle, with book, and with knell • 
 
 But the seaHjaves rung, and the wild winds sunir 
 The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 36 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 60 
 
 —-Scott. 
 
 3.-C0MP0SED AFTER A JOURNEY ACROSS THE 
 HAMBLETON HILLS, YORKSHIRE. 
 Dark and more dark the shades of evening fell • 
 TbB wished-for point was reached-but at an hour 
 When httle could be gained from that rich dower 
 Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell. 
 Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power 5 
 Salute us; there stood Indian citadel. 
 Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower 
 
'•f'l 
 
 A lOBOOL AlVmOLOOT— BOOK FfMT. 
 
 Sabttantlallj exprewed-* pUo« for beU 
 
 Or olook to toll from I Many • tempting ide, 
 
 With gTOTM that never were imagined, lay 10 
 
 'Mid leae how ateadfast ! ol^eote all for the eye 
 
 Of silent rapture ; but we felt the while 
 
 We should forget them ; they ate of the sky, 
 
 And from our earthly memory fade away. 
 
 . —Wordtwurth, 
 
 4 — TO THE DAISY. 
 
 Bright flower, whose home is everywhere I 
 
 A PUgrim bold in Nature's care, 
 
 And oftj ,the long year through, the heir 
 
 Of joy or sorrow, 
 Methinks that there abides in thee $ 
 
 Some concoVd with humanity, 
 Given to no other flower I see 
 
 The forest thorough ! 
 
 And wherefore I Man is soon deprest ; 
 
 A thoughtless Thing ! who, once unblest, 10 
 
 Does little on his memory rest, 
 
 Or on his reason ; 
 But Thou wouldst teach him how to find 
 A shelter under every wind, 
 A hope for times that are unkind 15 
 
 And every season. 
 
 —Wordiuwth, 
 
 5— SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
 The king sits in Dunfermline town. 
 
 Drinking the blude-red wine ; 
 "O whare will I get a skeely skipper. 
 
 To sail this new ship of mine ! " 
 
10 
 
 ■IB rATSIOK IFim. 5 
 
 O op and ap»k9 an ddern knight, 5 
 
 Sat at the king's right knae^ 
 
 "Sir Fktriek Spans is tha beat aaUor 
 
 That avar aaU'd tha aaa." 
 
 Onr king haa written a braid letter, 
 
 And leJ'd it with his hand, 
 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spans, 
 
 Waa walking on the strand. 
 
 "To Koroway, to Norowaj, 
 
 To Noroway o'er the laem ; 
 The king's daughter of Norowaj, 15 
 
 Tis thou maun bring her hama" 
 
 The first word that Sir Patrick r«ad, 
 
 Sae loud loud laughed he; 
 The neist word that Sir Patrick read. 
 
 The tear blinded his e'e. jq 
 
 "O wha is this has done this deed, 
 
 And tauld the king o' me. 
 To send us out, at this time of the year, 
 
 To sail upon the seat 
 
 "Be it wind, be it weet» be it hail, be it sleet, 26 
 
 Onr ship must sail the faem ; 
 The king's daughter of Noroway, 
 
 Tis we must fetch her hame." 
 
 They hoysed their sails on Monenday mom, 
 Wi' a' the speed they may ; 3Q 
 
 They hae landed in Noroway, 
 Upor i Wodenaday. 
 
A MHOOL AKTHOLOOT— BOOK riMT. 
 
 Tliey hadna been » week, a week, 
 
 In Norowajr, bat twee, 
 When that the lords o' Nofowaj 34 
 
 Began aloud to mj,— 
 
 •• Ye Soottidmien epend a' our king's goui\, 
 
 Ard a' oar qoeenie fee." 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye lian load ! 
 
 Ftt' load I hear ye Ue. 45 
 
 "For I broaght ae maoh white monie 
 
 A» gane my men and me, 
 And I broaght a half-fou o* gade red goad 
 
 Oat o'pr the sea wi' me. 
 
 •• Make ready, make ready, my menymen a' ! 40 
 
 Our gude ship sails the mom." 
 "Now, ever alake, my master dear, 
 
 I fear a deadly storm ! 
 
 I saw the new moon, Ute yestreen, 
 
 Wi' the aald moon in her arm ; 50 
 
 And, if we gang to sea, master, 
 
 I fear we'll come to harm." 
 
 They hadna sailed a leagae, a league, 
 
 A league but barely three, 
 When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 
 
 And gurly grew the sea. gg 
 
 The anchors brak, and the topmasts lap, 
 
 It was sic a deadly storm ; 
 And the waves cam o'er the broken ship 
 
 Till a' her ' ^ 
 
 ?s were torn. 
 
 60 
 
US FATuoK inm. 
 
 "O wiMra will I get a gnde Mulor 
 
 To tok« mj helm in hiuid, 
 Till I get up to the tiUl top-nuMt, 
 
 To aee if I can ipy knd t" 
 
 «<0 here MD I, » mUot gnde, 
 
 To take the helm in hand, 
 TiU yru go up to the tdl top-mMt; 
 
 Bat I faar you'll ne'er upy lud. " 
 
 He hwina g»ne • iteft » etep, 
 
 A step but barely ane, 
 When a bout flew out of our goodly ihip 
 
 And the aalt tea it oame in. 
 
 70 
 
 i< 
 
 Oae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And wap them into our ship'g side, 
 And let na Uie sea oome iu. " 
 
 75 
 
 IV7 fetched a web o' the silken claith. 
 
 Another of the twine, 
 A^they wapped them round that gude ship'^ «de, 
 
 But stUl the sea came in. gQ 
 
 laith, huth, were our gude Scots lords 
 
 To weet their cork-heel'd shoon ! 
 But lang or a' the play was play'd, 
 
 They wat their hats aboon. 
 
 And mony was the feather-bed 85 
 
 That flattered on the faem ; 
 And mony was the gude lord's son 
 
 Hiat never mair cam hame. 
 
8 
 
 I • ^i 
 
 I ! 
 
 li 
 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGT— BOOK WB8T. 
 
 The ladyes wrang their fingers white, 
 The maidens tore their hair, 
 
 A' for the sake of their true loves ; 
 For them they'll see na mair. 
 
 O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, 
 Wi' their fans into their hand, 
 
 Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
 Come sailing to the strand ! 
 
 And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, 
 Wi' their goud kaims in their hair, 
 
 A' waiting for their ain dear loves ! 
 For them they'll see na mair. 
 
 O forty miles oflF Aberdeen, 
 
 Tis fifty fathoms deep. 
 And there lies gudr Sir Patrick Spens, 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 100 
 
 -OldBaUad. 
 
 6.-"IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF THAT THE 
 
 FLOOD." 
 
 It is not to be thought of that the Flood 
 
 Of British freedom, which to the open sea 
 
 ^ the world's praise from dark antiquity 
 
 Hath flowed. « with pomp of wate«. unwithstood," 
 
 ^used though it be full often to a mood « 
 
 Which spurns the check of salutary bands, 
 
 That this mo«t famous Stream in bogs and sands 
 
 Should pensh ; and to evil and to good 
 
 Be lost forever. In our halls is hung 
 
 Armoury of the invincible knights of old • ^q 
 
BOADKKA. I 
 
 We must be free or die, who speak the tongue 
 That Shakespeare STv^kn ; ihc faith and morals hold 
 Which Milton held —In everythi g we are sprung 
 Of Earth's first blc »J, have title manifold. 
 
 — WordttoortK 
 
 7.— BOADICEA. 
 
 When the British warrior queen, 
 
 Bleeding from the Roman rods, 
 Sought, with an indignant mien, 
 
 Counsel of her country's gods ; 
 
 Sage beneath a spreading oak 5 
 
 Sat the Druid, hoary chief; 
 Every burning word he spoke 
 
 Pull of rage and full of grief. 
 
 " Princess ! if our aged eyes 
 
 Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 10 
 
 Tis because resentment ties 
 
 All the terrors of our tongues. 
 
 Rome shall perish— write that word 
 
 In the blood that she has spilt ; 
 Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, 15 
 
 Deep in ruin as in guilt. 
 
 Rome, for empire far renown'd. 
 Tramples on a thousand states ; 
 
 Soon her pride shall kiss the ground- 
 Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! fQ 
 
 Other Romans shall arise, 
 
 Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
 
 Harmony the path to fame. 
 
10 
 
 .1 
 ■•!| 
 
 ,V>i 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOV—BOOK KIMT. 
 
 Then the progeny that springs 
 
 From the forests of our land, 
 Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 
 
 Shall a wider world command. 
 
 Regions Caesar never knew 
 
 Thy posterity shall sway ; 
 Where his eagles never flew, 
 
 None invincible as they." 
 
 Such the bard's prophetic words, 
 
 Pregnant with celestial fire. 
 Bending as he swept the chords 
 
 Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 
 She, with all a monarch's pride, 
 
 Felt them in her bosom glow • 
 Bushy to battle, fought, and di^ ; 
 
 Ikying hurl'd them at the foe : 
 
 "Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 
 
 Heaven awards the vengeance duo ; 
 Empire is on us bestow'd, 
 
 Shame and ruin wait for you." 
 
 _ — Cowper. 
 
 8.-.PIBR0CH OF DONALD DHU. 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dim 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil, 
 Wake thy wild voice anew. 
 
 Summon Clan-Conuil. 
 Come away, come away, . 
 
 Hark to the summons ! 
 Come in your war array, 
 
 Oentles and commons. 
 
 26 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. 
 
 Come from deep glen, and 
 
 From mountain so rocky, 
 The war-pipe and pennon 
 
 Are at Inverlocky. 
 Come every hill plaid, and 
 
 True heart that wears one. 
 Come every steel blade, and 
 
 Strong hand that bears one. 
 
 Leave untended the herd. 
 
 The flock without shelter ; 
 Leave the corpse uninterr'd. 
 
 The bride at the altar ; 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 
 I^ave nets and barges ; 
 Come with your fighting gear. 
 
 Broadswords and targes. 
 
 Come as the winds come, when 
 
 Forests are rended ; 
 Come as the waves come, when 
 
 Navies are stranded ; 
 Faster come, faster come, 
 
 Faster and faster, 
 Chief, vassal, page and groom, 
 
 Tenant and master. 
 
 Fast they come, fast they come ; 
 
 See how they gather ! 
 "Wide waves the eagle plume. 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 
 
 Forward each man set ! 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 
 
 Knell for the onset I 
 
 11 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 36 
 
 —Scott. 
 
 40 
 
IS 
 
 A aOHOOL AHTBOLOOT— BOOK Wnn. 
 
 ».— HEAT. 
 Prom plains that reel to southward, dim, 
 
 The road mns by me white and bare / 
 up the steep hill it seems to swim 
 
 Beyond, and melt into the gbre. 
 Upward half-way, or it may be 
 
 Nearer the summit, slowly steals 
 1 hay-cart, moving dustily 
 
 With idly clacking wheels. 
 
 By his cart's side the wagoner 
 
 Is slouching slowly at his ease. 
 Half-hidden in the windless blur 
 
 Of white dust puffing to his knees. 
 This wagon ok the height above. 
 
 From sky to sky on either hand. 
 Is the sole thing that seems to move 
 
 In all the heat-held knd. 
 
 Beyond me in the fields the sun 
 
 Soaks in the grass and hath his wiU ; 
 I count the marguerites one by one ; 
 
 Even the buttercups are still 
 On the brook yonder not a breath 
 
 Diaturbs the spider or the midge. 
 The water-bugs draw close beneath 
 
 The cool gloom of the bridge. 
 
 Where the far ehn-tree shadows flood 
 
 Dark patches in the burning grass, 
 The cows, each with her peaceful cud* 
 
 lie waiting for the heat to pass. 
 From somewhere on the slope near by 
 
 Into the pale depth of the noon, 
 A wandering thrush slides leisurely 
 
 His thin, revolving tune. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 S5 
 
 80 
 
TO NIGHT. 
 
 In intervals of dreams I hear 
 
 The cricket from the droughty ground ; 
 The grasshoppers spin into mine ear 
 
 A small innumerable sound. 
 I lift mine eyes sometimes to gaze : 
 
 The burning sky-line blinds my sight : 
 The woods far off are blue with hnm : 
 
 The hills are drenched in light 
 
 IS 
 
 36 
 
 40 
 
 And yet to me not this or that 
 
 Is always sharp or always sweet ; 
 In the sloped shadow of my hat 
 
 I lean at rest, and drain the heat ; 
 Nay more, I think some blessM power 40 
 
 Hath brought me wandering idly here : 
 In the full furnace of this hour 
 
 My thoughts grow keen and clear. —Lampman. 
 \By perm%a$ion of the publishert, Oeorge jyr. Aforang A Co., LimUed.) 
 
 10.~TO NIGHT. 
 Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew 
 
 Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, 
 
 Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
 This glorious canopy of light and bluel 
 Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, 6 
 
 Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
 
 Hesperus with the host of heaven came, 
 And lo ! Creation vridened in man's view. 
 
 Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
 Within thy beams, O Sun ! or who could find, 10 
 
 Whilst flow'r and leaf and insect stood revealed, 
 That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind 1 
 
 Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife t 
 
 If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life » 
 
 r4ineo White. 
 
< m 
 
 14 
 
 iiffi 
 
 ■CHOOL AJfTHOtOOT-BOOK FIMT. 
 
 11— LOCHINVAR. 
 O, young Loehinvw i» come out of the we^t 
 Through lUl the wide bonier hi. .teed JITl h... 
 
 * tuthful in lo«, „d «, d,„a 
 
 ^ » laggard in W,. „d . d«t„d i„ Z 
 W« to w«J the U» E»«. rf b»ve LocW^L 
 So boldly ho ontert th, Notherbjr ajj 
 •Anong bride's-men, and kuuman —j k .u 
 
 n^^. th. sHde-. ^.STht br^t t^::^ *" = 
 
 Th.™ .„ n^d«. in S«„tl„d mo„ J.^ r^ 
 T<»t -«Jd g.«ay b. brid. to «., young iZty,, .. 
 
 sr,'^dX*z"^krth^i-''- 
 
 With a smile on her lina an^ - * . . ^ * ' 
 w» * . , *«*» *"** * tear in her ev«» 
 
 Xfow tread we a measure I" said young Lochin;ar. 30 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
FITZnJAMBS AHD RODERICK DHU. 
 
 16 
 
 So sUtely 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 ' 35 
 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 halWoor, and the charger stood near ; 
 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 40 
 
 "She is won I we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur • 
 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Gnemes of the Netherby clan ; 
 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; 
 
 There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, ' 45 
 
 But the Io«t bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
 
 Have ye e'er beard of gallant like young Lochinvar t 
 
 —Scott. 
 
 12— FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK DHU. 
 (From The Lady oftht Lake. ) 
 The chief in silence strode before. 
 And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore, 
 Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
 From Yennachar in silver breaks. 
 
 Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 5 
 
 On Bochastle the mouldering lines, 
 
 Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
 
 Of yore, her eagle wings unfuri'd. 
 
 And here his course the chieftain staid, 
 
 Threw down his target and his plaid, 10 
 
f! 
 
 16 
 
 ill 
 
 f! 
 
 A aoHooL AWTHotooT— BOOK nan. 
 
 And to the Lowland warrior said:— 
 
 " Bold Saxon I to his promiM ji«t» 
 
 ^oh-AIpine has dischai^ed his trust 
 
 This murderous chief, this ruthless man. 
 
 Thw head of a rebellious cUm, 
 
 £»th led thee safe, through watch and waitl. 
 
 Far past CUn-Alpine's outmost guanl. 
 
 ^ow, man to man, and steel to steel, 
 
 A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel 
 
 Bee, here, all vantageless I stand, 
 
 Arm'd, like thyself, with single bmnd : 
 
 For this IS Coilantogle ford, 
 
 And thou must keep thee with thy swoid." 
 
 ^e Saxon i«used :-«I ne'er delay'd. 
 
 When foeman bade me draw my bkde • 
 
 Nay more, brave chief. I voVd thy dearth • 
 
 STet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
 
 And my deep debt for life preserved, 
 
 A better meed have well deserved • 
 
 Can nought but blood our feud atone f 
 
 Are there no means?»-"No. stranger, none! 
 
 ^dhear,-to fire thy flagging zeal,:!' 
 
 liie Saxon cause rests on thy steel • 
 
 For thus spoke Fate by prophet brii 
 
 Between the living and the dead ; 
 
 *Who spUls the foremost foeman's life. 
 
 His party conquers in the strife ' " 
 
 "^en, by my word." the Saxon said. 
 
 "The riddle is already read. 
 
 Seek yonder bmke beneath the cliff— 
 
 There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff 
 
 ^us Fate hath solved her prophecy - 
 
 Then yield to Fate, and not to me. ' 
 
 16 
 
 SO 
 
 S6 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
rmrjAum ahd roobrick dhu. 17 
 
 To James, at Stirling, let us go, 
 
 When, if thou wilt, be still his foe, 4s 
 
 Or if the King shall not agree 
 
 To grant thee grace and favour free, 
 
 I plight mine honour, oath, and word. 
 
 That, to thy n< tivo strengths restored, 
 
 With each advaucage shalt thou stand, fio 
 
 That aids thee now to guard thy land." 
 
 Dark lightning flash'd from Roderick's eye— 
 
 '* Soars thy presumption, then, so high. 
 
 Because a wretched kern ye slew, 
 
 Homage to name to Roderick Dhu 1 55 
 
 He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
 
 Thou add'st but fuel to my hate :— 
 
 My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
 
 Not yet prepared ?— By heaven, I change 
 
 My thought, and hold thy valour light 60 
 
 Aa that of some vain carpet-knight, 
 
 Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
 
 And whose best boast is but to wear 
 
 A braid of his fair lady's hair."— 
 
 " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 65 
 
 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
 
 For I have sworn this braid to stain 
 
 In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
 
 Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone !— 
 
 Yet think not that by thee alone, 70 
 
 Proud chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
 
 Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn. 
 
 Start at my whistle clansmen stem, 
 
 Of this small horn one feeble blast 
 
 Would fearful odds against thee cast. 75 
 
 But fear not— doubt not — which thou wilt— 
 8 
 
18 
 
 % ! 
 
 ▲ SCHOOL AXTBOLOOT— BOOK WUmi, 
 
 We try this qiuml hflfc to hilt." 
 
 Then each «t onoe his falohion draw, 
 
 Ewh on the ground hii softbhanl threw, 
 
 Each look'd to ran and stream and plain, 80 
 
 As what they ne'er might see again ; 
 
 Then foot and point and eye oppoied, 
 
 In dubious strife they darkly dosed. 
 
 Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
 
 That on the field his targe he threw, 85 
 
 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
 
 Had death so often dash'd aside ; 
 
 For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
 
 FitznJames's blade was sword and shield. 
 
 He practised every pass and ward, 90 
 
 To thrust, trj strike, to feint, to guard ; 
 
 While less «zpert, though stronger far. 
 
 The Gael maintain'd unequal war. 
 
 Three times in dosing strife they stood, 
 
 And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; gft 
 
 No stinted draught, no scanty tide^ 
 
 The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
 
 Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain. 
 
 And shower'd his blows like wintry' rain; 
 
 And, as firm rock or castle-roof iqq 
 
 Against the winter shower is proo^ 
 
 The foe invulnerable still 
 
 Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill ; 
 
 Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
 
 Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 106 
 
 And backward borne upon the lea. 
 
 Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. 
 
 "Now, yield thee, or by Him who made 
 The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade I " 
 
"n-JAUWa AND ROOIRIOK DHU. 
 
 " rhy threata, thy mercy, I defy I 
 Let reoreut yield, who fears to die." 
 -—Like adder darting from his coil. 
 Like wolf that dashes through the toil, 
 Like mountainH»t who guards her yoMg, 
 Full at Ktz-James's throat he sprung; 
 Received, but reck'd not of a wound, ' 
 And lock'd his arms his foeman round- 
 Now, gaUant Saxon, hold thine own I 
 No maiden's hand is round thee thrown I 
 Kiat desperate grasp thy frame might feel 
 Through bars of brass and triple steel !— 
 They tug, they strain I down, down they go, 
 The Gael above, Fitr^ames below, 
 m chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd. 
 His knee was planted on his breast; 
 His clotted locks he backward threw, 
 Across his brow his hand he drew, 
 From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
 Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright!— 
 —-But hate and fury ill supplied 
 The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
 And all too late the advantage came. 
 To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
 For, while^he dagger gleam'd on high, 
 Beel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye. 
 Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
 The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
 The struggling foe may now unclasp 
 The fainting chiefs relaxing grasp; 
 Unwounded from the di-eadful close, 
 But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 
 
 19 
 110 
 
 llA 
 
 120 
 
 125 
 
 130 
 
 135 
 
 140 
 
 —Scott 
 
20 
 
 A lOUOOL AKTUOUMT— BOOK flMT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ill 
 
 :l 
 
 i : 
 
 13.-0ZYMANDIAS. 
 I met a traveller from an antique land 
 Who laid : Two vaat and trunkleu leg* of stone 
 Stand in the desert Near them on the sand, 
 Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown 
 And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 5 
 
 Tell that iU sculptor well those passions read 
 Which yet survive, (stamp'd on these lifeless things,) 
 The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed ; 
 And on the pedestal these words appear : 
 " My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : 10 
 
 Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! " 
 Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
 Of that colossal) wreck, boundless and bare. 
 The lone and level sands stretch far away. 
 
 —SheUey. 
 
 U— THE GRELN LINNET. 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 
 Their snow-white blossoms on my head, 
 With brightest sunshine round me spread 
 
 Of Spring's unclouded weather, 
 In this sequester'd nook how sweet 5 
 
 To sit upon my orchard-seat ! 
 And flowers and birds once more to greet. 
 
 My last year's friends together. 
 
 One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 
 In all this covert of the bl« ^t : 
 Hail to Thee, far above the rest 
 
 In joy of voice and pinion ! 
 Thou, Linnet! in thy green array. 
 Presiding Spirit hei-e to-<li y, 
 Dost lead the revels of the May, 
 
 And this is thy dominion. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 While birds and butterflieM and flowers 
 Bfake all one band of paramours, 
 Thoa, ranging up and down the bowers, 
 
 Art sole in thy employment ; 
 A Life, a Presence like the air. 
 Scattering thy gladness without care, 
 Too blest with any one to pair. 
 
 Thyself thy own enjoyment 
 
 Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
 That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
 Behold him perch'd in ecstasies 
 
 Yet seeming still to hover ; 
 There I where the flutter of his wings 
 Upon his back and body flings 
 Shadows and sunny glimmerings 
 
 That cover him all over. 
 
 SI 
 
 20 
 
 26 
 
 ao 
 
 My dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
 
 A brother of the dancing leaves ; 
 
 Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves $5 
 
 Pours forth his song in gushes ; 
 As if by that exulting strain 
 He mock'd and treated with disdain 
 The voiceless Form he chose to feign 
 
 While fluttering in the bushes. 40 
 
 — Wordnoorth. 
 
 15— TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 
 
 Thou messenger of spring ! 
 Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, 
 
 And woods thy welcome sing. 
 
is 
 
 pi I ii 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGy— BOOK WB8T. 
 
 What time the daisj decks the green, $ 
 
 Thy certain voice we hear : 
 Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 
 
 Or mark the rolling year f 
 
 Delighted visitant! with thee 
 
 1 hail the time of flowers, jq 
 
 And hear the sound of music sweet 
 
 From birds among the bowers. 
 
 The school-boy, wandering through the woods 
 
 To pull the primrose gay. 
 Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, 15 
 
 And imitates thy lay. 
 
 What time ^he pea puts on the bloom, 
 
 Thou fliest thy vocal vale. 
 An annual guest to other lands. 
 
 Another spring to hail. 
 
 Sweet bird I thy bower is ever green, 
 
 Thy sky is ever dear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
 
 No winter in thy year. 
 
 Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee J 35 
 
 We'd make, with joyful wing, 
 Our annual visit o'er the globe, 
 
 Companions of the spring. 
 
 20 
 
 —John Logan. 
 
 16.~THE LOSS OF THE "BIRKENHEAD." 
 Right on our flank the crimson sun went down • 
 
 The deep sea roll'd around in dark repose : ' 
 When, hke the wild shriek from some ^r^r^ town 
 A cry of women rosa ' 
 
THB LOM OP THE " BIBKBNBBAO." 
 
 S3 
 
 The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast, 5 
 
 Caught without hope upon a hidden rock ; 
 Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when through them pass'd 
 The spirit of that shock. 
 
 And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks 
 
 In danger's hour, before the rush of steel, 10 
 
 Drifted away, disorderly, the planks 
 From underneath her keel. 
 
 So calm the air, so calm and still the flood, 
 
 That low down in its blue translucent glass 
 We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood 16 
 
 Pass slowly, then repass. 
 
 They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey ! 
 
 The sea turned one clear smile ! Like things asleep 
 Those dark shapes in the asure silence lay. 
 
 As quiet as the deep. 20 
 
 Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck, 
 
 Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, 
 Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck 
 Form'd us in line to dia 
 
 To die !— 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glow'd 25 
 
 Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers :— 
 All to the hoaUl cried one— he was, thank God, 
 No officer cf ours. 
 
 Our English hearts beat true :— we would not stir : 
 
 That base appeal we heard, but heeded not : 30 
 
 On land, on sea, we had our Colours, sir, 
 To keep without a spot I 
 
34 
 
 35 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY—BOOK FIBST. 
 
 They 8ha]l not say in England, that we fought 
 
 With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek • 
 Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought 
 By trampling down the weak. 
 
 So we made women with their children go^ 
 The oars ply back again, and yet again ; 
 Whilst, mch by inch, the drowning ship sank low. 
 Still, under steadfast men. 
 
 —What follows, why recaU t-The brave who died. 
 
 Died without flinching in the bloody surf. 
 They sleep as well beneath that purple tide 
 As others under turf : 
 
 ^Wefr ?."'" ■' ' "^' ^'^ ^~°^ '^^ ^^ ««-•' « 
 W^nng their wounds like stars, shaU rise again. 
 
 Joint^heirs with Christ, because they bled to save 
 
 His weak onw, not in vain. 
 
 —F. H. Doyle. 
 
 40 
 
 17.— IN NOVEMBER. 
 The hills and leafless forests slowly yield 
 To the thick-driving snow. A little while 
 And night shall darken down. In shouting file 
 The woodmen's carts go by me homeward-wheeled. 
 Past the thin hding stubbles, half concealed 
 ^ golden-gray, sowed softly through with snow, 
 Where the last ploughman foUows still his row 
 Turning black furrows through the whitening field 
 JW oflF the village lamps begin to gleam, 
 Fkst dnves the snow, and no man comes this way; 
 The hills grow wintry white, and bleak winds moak 
 
 10 
 
BDINBDROH. 25 
 
 About the naked uplands. I alone 
 
 Am neither sad, nor shelterless, nor gray, 
 
 Wrapped round with thought, content to watch and dream. 
 
 — Lampmau. 
 (By pernOttioH </ ih* publUhen, Qtorgt N. Hwang it Co., Umittd.) 
 
 18.— "WHEN ICICLES HANG BY THE WALL." 
 When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail. 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall. 
 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail, '^ 
 
 When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, 6 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 Tu-whoo ; 
 Tu-whit, tu-whoo, a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all aloud the wind doth blow, 10 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw. 
 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow. 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw. 
 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 15 
 
 Tu-whoo ; 
 
 Tu-whit, tu-whoo, a merry note, 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 -Shaketpeare. 
 
 19— EDINBURGH. 
 (From Jiarmion.) 
 When sated with the martial show 
 That peopled all the plain below, 
 The wandering eye could o'er it go. 
 And mark the distant city glow 
 
1 5 
 
 H 
 It I 
 
 A SCHOOL AHTHOLOOY— BOOK FIIMT. 
 
 With gloomy splendour red • 
 For on the im,oke-wre»ths, hu^ and slow, 
 That round her sable turrets flow. 
 The morning beams were shed, ' 
 And tinged them with a lustre proud. 
 Uke that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
 Such dusky grandeur clothed the height 
 Where the huge Castle holds its stati 
 
 And all the steep slope down. 
 WTiose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
 Kled deep and massy, close and high. 
 
 Mine own romantic town I 
 But northward far. with purer blaze, 
 On OchU mountains fell the rays. 
 And, as each heatjjy top they kiss'd, 
 It gleamed a purple amethyst. 
 Yonder the shores of Fife you saw • 
 Here Preston-Bay and Borwick-Law : 
 
 And. broad between them roU'd, 
 ^e gaUant Frith the eye might note. 
 Whose islands on its bosom float, 
 like emeralds chased in gold. 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 26 
 
 —Seott. 
 
 20.-..A WEARY LOT IS THINE. FAIR MAID." 
 " A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 A. weary lot is thine ! 
 To pull the thorn thy brow to braid 
 
 And press the rue for wine. 
 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, i 
 
 A feather of the blue, 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green.- 
 No more of me you knew 
 
 My Love 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 10 
 
THB LADY OV IHALOTT. 
 
 The mom is merry June, I trow, 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; 
 But she shall bloom in winter snow 
 
 Ere we two meet Spgain." 
 He tum'd his charger as he spake 
 
 Upon the river shore, 
 He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 
 
 Said ♦' Adieu for evermore 
 
 M7 Love 
 And adieu for evermore." 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 —SfOt. 
 
 21— THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 On either side the river lie 
 Long fields of barley and of ry. 
 That clothe the wold and meet .e sky ; 
 And thro' the field the road runs by 
 
 To many-tower'd Camelot ; 
 And up and down the people go^ 
 Gasing where the lilies blow 
 Round an island there below, 
 
 The island of Shalott. 
 
 Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
 Little breezes dusk and diiver 
 ITiro* the wave that runs for ever 
 By the island in the river 
 
 Flowing down to Camelot. 
 Four gray walls, and four gray towers. 
 Overlook a space of flowers. 
 And the silent isle imbowers 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 10 
 
 1ft 
 
A SCHOOL AOTROLOOT— BOOK FIBOT. 
 
 By the margin, willow-veil'd, 
 Slide the heavy barges trail'd 
 By slow hones ; and unhail'd 
 The shaUop flitteth silkenniail'd 
 
 Skimming down to Camelot ; 
 But who hath seen her wave her hand ? 
 Or at the easement seen her stand t 
 Or is she known in all the land, 
 
 TheLadyof Shalottt 
 
 Only reapers, reaping early 
 In among the bearded barley, 
 Hear a song that echoes cheerly 
 Prom the river winding clearly, 
 
 Down to tower'd Camelot : 
 And by the mbon the reaper weary. 
 Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
 Listening, whispers "Tis the fairy 
 
 I*dy of Slialott." 
 
 PABT II. 
 
 There she weaves by night and day 
 A magic web with colours gay. 
 She has heard a whisper say, 
 A curse is on her if she stay 
 
 To look down to Camelot 
 She knows not what the curse may be, 
 And so she weaveth steadily, 
 And little other care hath she, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 And moving thro' a mirror clear 
 That hangs before her all the year. 
 Shadows of the world appear. 
 There she sees the highway near 
 
 30 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 4ff 
 
THX LADY OP SRALOTT. 
 
 Winding down to Camelot ; 
 There the river eddy whir]8, 
 And there the surly village^hurlH, 
 And the red cloaks of market girU, 
 
 Pan onward from Shalott. 
 
 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
 An abbot on an ambling pad, 
 Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 
 Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, 
 
 Qoes by to tower'd Camelot ; 
 And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 
 The knights come riding two and two : 
 She hath no loyal knight and true, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 But in her web she still delights 
 To weave the mirror's magic sights. 
 For often thro' the silent nights 
 A funeral, with plumes and lights 
 
 And music, went to Camelot ; 
 Or when the moon was overhead, 
 Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
 " I am half sick of shadows," said 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. 
 He rode between the barley-sheaves, 
 The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 
 And flamed upon the brazen greaves 
 
 Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
 A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 
 Tu a lady in his shield. 
 That sparkled on the yellow field, 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 
 
 29 
 50 
 
 66 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
80 
 
 1 1 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 A SCHOOL AHTHOLOOT^BOOK yiRBT. 
 
 The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 
 Like to some branch of stars we see 
 
 Hung in the golden Galaxj. 
 The bridle bells rang merrily 
 
 As he rode down to CJamelot : 
 And from his bhuon'd baldric slung 
 A mighty silver bugle hung, 
 And as he rode his armour rung. 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 
 
 All in the blue unclouded weather 
 Thick-jeweU'd shone the saddle-leather 
 Tlie helmet and the helmet-feather ' 
 Bum'd like one burning flame together, 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot. 
 As often thro' 'the purple nighty 
 Below the starry clusters bright, 
 Some bearded meteor, trailing light. 
 
 Moves over still Shalott» 
 
 His "- road clear brow in sunlight glow'd • 
 On burnish'd hooves his war-horee trodei 
 From underneath his helmet flow'd 
 His coal-black curis as on he rode, 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot. 
 From the bank and from the river 
 He flash'd into the crystal mirror 
 "Tirralirra," by the river 
 
 Sang Sir Lancelot. 
 
 She left the web, she left the loom, 
 She made three paces thro' the room, 
 She saw the water-IUy bloom, 
 She saw the helmet and the plume 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 9ft 
 
 100 
 
 105 
 
 110 
 
TBI LADT or BBALOn. 
 
 She look'd down to Camelot. 
 Out flew the web and floated wide ; 
 The mirror oraok'd horn side to side ; 
 "The corse is come upon me," cried 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 81 
 
 116 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 In the stormy east-wind straining, 
 The pale yellow woods were waning. 
 
 The broad stream in his banks complaining, 120 
 Heavily the low sky raining 
 
 Over tower'd Camelot J 
 Down she came and found a boat 
 Beneath a willow left afloat, 
 And round about the prow she wrote 125 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 And down the river's dim expanse 
 
 like some bold seer in a trance, 
 
 Seeing all his own mischance — 
 
 With a glassy countenance 130 
 
 Did she look to Camelot. 
 And at the closing of the day 
 She loosed the chain and down she lay ; 
 The broad stream bore her far away, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 136 
 
 Lying, robed in snowy white 
 That loosely flew to left and right— 
 The leaves upon her falling light — 
 Thro' the noises of the night 
 
 She floated down to Camelot : 140 
 
 And as the boat-head wound along 
 The willowy hills and fields among. 
 They heard her singing her last song, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
A SCHOOL AKTHOUMT— BOOK riMT. 
 
 Heard m carol, mournful, holy, 145 
 
 Ownted loudly, chanted lowly. 
 Till her blood was frosen slowly, 
 And her eyes were darken'd wholly, 
 
 Tum'd to tower'd Camelot. 
 For ere she reach'd upon the tide 150 
 
 The first house by the water-side, 
 Singing in her song she died. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Under tower and balcony. 
 
 By garden-wall and gallery, 155 
 
 A gleaming shape she floated by, 
 
 Dead-pale between the houses high. 
 
 Silent into Camelot. 
 Out upon the ^harfs they came, 
 Knight and burgher, lord and dame. leo 
 
 And round the prow they read her name, 
 
 The lady ofShaloU. 
 
 Who is this ? and what is here f 
 
 And in the lighted palace near 
 
 Died the sound of royal cheer ; 195 
 
 And they crossed themselves for fear, 
 
 All the knights at Camelot : 
 But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
 He said, " She has a lovely face ; 
 God in his mercy lend her grace, 170 
 
 The Latly of Shalott." 
 
 Tennymm. 
 
 22— TO SLEEP. 
 (Speedi of tlie King in Henry IV, Pi. If.) 
 How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle sleep, 
 JSatures soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 
TO A WATBHrOWL. || 
 
 That thoa no more wilt weigh my eyeUds down 
 
 And steep mj aeoMs in foif[etfnlneM t 9 
 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thon in smoky cribs, 
 
 Upon uneasy paUets stretohirg thee 
 
 And hush'd with buzzing nightllies to thy slumber. 
 
 Than in the perfumed chambers of the gnMt, 
 
 Under the canopies of costly sUte, iq 
 
 And luU'd with sound of sweetest melody t 
 
 O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile 
 
 In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch 
 
 A watch-case or a common Tarum bell f 
 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast ^ U 
 
 Seal up the ship boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge 
 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 
 ^ling their monstrous heads and han^ them 20 
 
 With deafening chunour in the slippeiy clouds, 
 
 TbMt, with the hurly, death itself awakes T 
 
 Canst thou, Opartiial sleep, give thy repose 
 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude. 
 
 And in the cahnest and most stilleet night 35 
 
 With all appliances and means to boot^ 
 
 I>eny it to a king f 
 
 — Shaketpeare. 
 
 23— TO A WATERFOWL. 
 
 Whither, 'midst falling dew, 
 WhUe glow the heavens with the last steps of day 
 Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue 
 
 Thy solitary way? 
 3 
 
r i; "• 
 
 15 
 
 i A ^BOOL AJITBOLOOr-BOOK FUMT. 
 
 Yftiiilj the fowler'a eje | 
 
 Might mark thy diatut flight to do thM wrang. 
 A« darklj Men egaiiMt the crinMon Aj, 
 
 Thy flgttre floete along. 
 
 Seek'tt then the piMhy brink 
 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, fo 
 
 Or where the rooking biUowii riae and link 
 On the chafed ocean side t 
 
 There i« a Power whom care 
 Teaches thy way along that pathlen coast— 
 The desert and illimiUble air,— 
 
 Lone wandering, but not lost. 
 
 AU 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. ' 30 
 
 And soon that toil shall end ; 
 Soon Shalt thou find a summer home, and rest» 
 And scream among thy f eUows ; reeds shaU bend 
 
 Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest 
 
 Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven 25 
 
 Hath swallow'd up thy form ; yet on my heart 
 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
 
 And shall not soon depart. 
 
 He who, from zone to zone, 
 Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight 30 
 In the long way that I must tread alone, 
 
 Will lead my steps aright 
 
 —W. C. Bryant. 
 
TMI WAMOm or TBI OtllQOB PORm |§ 
 
 S4.~0N HIS HAVING ARRIVED AT THE AOP . 
 TWENTY-THREE 
 How tooa hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, 
 Stol'n oo hie wio^ my three-and-twentieth year ! 
 My halting dayj Bj on with foil career. 
 Bat my late spring no bad or blossom shew'ih. 
 Bwbaps my semUanoe might deceive the truth, § 
 
 That I to manhood am arrived so near. 
 And inward ripeness doth much less appear 
 That some more timely-happy spiriU indu'th. 
 Yet, be it less or more^ or soon or slow. 
 It shall be still in strictest measure even 10 
 
 To that same lot, however mean or high, 
 Toward which time leads me, and the will of Heaven. 
 All is, if I have grace to use it so. 
 As ever in my great Task-master's eye. 
 
 —MOton. 
 
 85.— THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 
 
 A mist was driving down the British Channel, 
 
 The day was just begun, 
 And through the window-panes, on floor and panel. 
 
 Streamed the red autumn sun. 
 
 It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, 6 
 
 And the white sails of ships ; 
 And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon 
 
 Hailed it with feverish lips. 
 
 Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hythe, and Dover 
 Were all alert that day, 1q 
 
 To see the French war-steamers speeding over, 
 When the fog cleared away. 
 
36 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT — BOOK FIRST. 
 
 Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, 
 
 Their cannon, through the night, 
 Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, 16 
 
 The sea-ooast opposite. 
 
 And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations 
 
 On every citadel ; 
 Each answering each, with morning salutations. 
 
 That all was well. 20 
 
 And down the coast, all taking up the burden. 
 
 Replied the distant forts. 
 As if to summon from his sleep tne Warden 
 
 And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 
 
 Him shall no sunshiiie from the Heltls of azure. 
 
 No drum-beat from the wall. 
 No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure. 
 
 Awaken with its call ! 
 
 26 
 
 No more, surveying with an eye impartial 
 
 The long line of the coast, 30 
 
 Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal 
 
 Be seen upon his post ! 
 
 For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. 
 
 In sombre harness mailed. 
 Dreaded of man, and sumamed the Destroyer, 36 
 
 The rampart wall had scaled. 
 
 He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, 
 
 The dark and silent room, 
 And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, 
 
 The silence and the gloom. 49 
 
THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA. 
 
 37 
 
 He did not paiue to parley or dissemble, 
 
 But smote the Warden hoar ; 
 Ah I what a blow ! that made all England tremble 
 
 And groan from shore to shore. 
 
 Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 45 
 
 The sun rose^brigbt o'erhead ; 
 Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated 
 
 That a great man was dead. 
 
 — iMiuffdluw. 
 
 26.— THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA. 
 
 Last night, among his fellow roughs. 
 
 He jested, quaffed, and swore ; 
 A drunken Tirivate of the Buffs, 
 
 Who ne\ r looked before. 
 T(hday, beneath the foeraan's frown, 5 
 
 He stands in Elgin's place, 
 Am bassador from Britain's crown. 
 
 And type of all her race. 
 
 Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, 
 
 Bewildered and alone, 10 
 
 A heart with English instinct fraught 
 
 He yet can call his own. 
 Ay, tear his body limb from limb^ 
 
 Bring cord, or axe, or flame : 
 He only knows that not through him ]6 
 
 Shall England come to shame. 
 
 Far Kentish hop-fields round him seem'd, 
 
 Like dreams, to come and go ; 
 Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleam'd. 
 
 One sheet of living snow ; 20 
 
98 
 
 !ii1 
 
 A SCHOOL AITTHOLOOT—BOOK WIWT. 
 
 The smoke, above his father's door, 
 
 In gray soft eddyings hung : 
 Must he then watch it rise no more, 
 
 Boom'd by himself, so young ? 
 
 Yes, honour calls l-with strength like steel 
 
 He put the vision by. 
 Let dusky Indians whine and kneel ; 
 
 An English lad must die. 
 A^thus, with eyes that would not shrink. 
 
 With knee to man unbent. 
 Unfaltering on its dr«adful brink, 
 
 To his red grave he went. 
 
 Vain, mightiest fleeto of iron framed ; 
 
 Vain, those all-shattering guns ; 
 Unless proud^ England keep, untaxed. 
 
 The strong heart of her sons. 
 Loi let his name through Europe ring— 
 
 A man of mean estate, 
 Who died, as firm as Sparta's king. 
 
 Because his soul was great. 
 
 ,„„ . —F.H.Doyle. 
 
 (Jiy pernttsnon qf MaemUlau ds Co., Ltd.) 
 
 27.— THE BUILDERS. 
 AU are architects of Fate, 
 
 Working in these walls of Time • 
 Some with massive deeds and great, 
 
 Some with ornaments of rhyme. 
 
 Nothing useless is, or low ; ^ 
 
 Each thing in its place is best ; 
 And what seems but idle show 
 
 Strengthens and supporto the rest 
 
 35 
 
 30 
 
 30 
 
 40 
 
TBI BUILOIB8. 
 
 39 
 
 For the straoture that we niae, 
 Time is with materials filled ; 
 
 Oar to-days and yesterdaj^ 
 Are the blocks with which we build. 
 
 Truly shape and fashion these ; 
 
 Leave no yawning gaps between ; 
 Think not^ because no man sees, 
 
 Such things will remain unseen. 
 
 In the elder days of Art, 
 
 Builders wrought with greatest care 
 Each minute and unseen part ; 
 
 For the gods see everywhere. 
 
 Let us do our work as well. 
 Both the unseen and the seen ; 
 
 Hake the house where gods may dwell 
 Beautiful, entire, and clean. 
 
 Else our lives are. incomplete. 
 Standing in these walls of Time, 
 
 Broken stairways, where the feet 
 Stumble as they seek to climb. 
 
 Build tOKlay, then, strong and sure. 
 With a firm and ample base ; 
 
 And ascending and secure 
 Shall to-morrow find its place. 
 
 Thus alone can we attain 
 
 To those turrets where the eye 
 
 Sees the world as one vast plain. 
 And one boundless reach of sky. 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 — Lon^vUow, 
 
40 
 
 A MBOOL ANTBOLOOr^BOOK FIRST. 
 
 
 28._THE COUNTRY PARSON. 
 (From 7^ J}eterted VUlage.) 
 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled. 
 ™ "*»» ^h«re nmny » garden flower grows wild ; 
 ^ere where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 The TiUage preacher's modest mansion rose. 
 A man he was to all the countiy dear, 5 
 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a year : 
 Remote from towns he »n his godly race, 
 Nor e er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place : 
 Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power. 
 By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour ; 10 
 
 Far other aims his heart had leam'd to prize. 
 More skUl'd to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 His house was known to aU the vagrant train ; 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain : 
 ^e long remember'd beggar was his guest, 15 
 
 Whose he^ descending swept his aged breast ; 
 ^e rmn d spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
 Oaimd kindwd there, and had his claims allow'd : 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away, 90 
 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
 Sho^er'd his crutch and show'd how fields were won. 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man leam'd to glow. 
 And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
 Q^reless their merits or their fiiults to scan, 25 
 
 ^*w P»ty gave ere charity began; s>-^^ 
 
 mius to reUeve the wretched was his pride 
 And e en his failings lean'd to virtue's side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at eveiy call. 
 Ha watch'd ^d wept^ he pray'd and felt for all ; 30 
 
 And, a. a bird each fond endearment tries 
 
WINTBR-BKBAK. 
 
 41 
 
 To tempt ito new-fledged olbpring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
 
 Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, 
 The reverend champion stood. At his control 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
 And his last ftJtering accents whisper'd praise. 
 
 At church, with meek and unaffected grace. 
 His looks adom'd the venerable place ; ^ ' 
 
 Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway. 
 And fools who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 
 The service past, around the pious man. 
 With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 E'en children followed with endearing wile. 
 And plucked his gown to ohare the good man's smile. 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest : 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest : 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 As some tall diff that lifts its awful form. 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spreail, 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 — Goldmiith. 
 
 36 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 29.— WINTER-BREAK. 
 
 All day between high-curded clouds the sun 
 Shone down like summer on the steaming planks. 
 The long bright idoles in dwindling ranks 
 Dripped from the murmuring eaves, till one by one 
 They fell As if the spring had now begun, 5 
 
4S 
 
 A SCHOOL AirruOLOOY — BOOK riMT. 
 
 !^l 
 
 The quilted snow, sun softened to the core, 
 
 Loosened and shunted with a sudden roar 
 
 From downward roofs. Not even with day done 
 
 Had ceMed the sound of waters, but all night 
 
 I heard it In my dreams forgetfully bright 10 
 
 Methought I wandered in the April woods. 
 
 Where many a silver-piping sparrow was, 
 
 By gurgling brooks and sprouting solitudes, 
 
 And stooped, and laughed, and plucked hepaticas. 
 
 (By permtmon qf the publi»her,, George N. Morang Jk Co., Limited.) 
 
 30.— JOCK OP HAZELDEAN. 
 " Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 
 
 Why weep'ye by the tide f 
 I'll wed ye to my youngest son. 
 
 And ye sail be his bride : 
 And ye sail be his bride, ladle, ^ 
 
 Sae comely to be seen " 
 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 " Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
 
 And dry that cheek so pale ; 
 Toung Frank is chief of Errington 
 
 And lord of Langley-dale ; 
 His step is first in peaceful ha', 
 
 His sword in battle keen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 " A chain of gold ye aiU not lack, 
 Nor braid to bind your hair, 
 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
 
 10 
 
 IS 
 
 20 
 
MAIMIOir AMD DOUGLAS. 
 
 a 
 
 And you the foremost o' them m' 
 
 Shall ride oar forest-queen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Haseldean. 
 
 The kirk was deok'd at morning-tide, 
 
 The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
 The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 
 
 And dame and knight are there ; 
 They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 
 
 The ladie was not seen ! 
 She's o'er the Border, and awa' 
 Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 —Scott. 
 
 » 
 
 30 
 
 31.— MARMION AND DOUGLAS. 
 
 (From Marmiom.) 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day, 
 When Marmion did his troop array. 
 
 To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
 He had safe-conduct for his band, 
 Beneath tiiie royal seal and hand, 
 
 And Douglas gave a guide. 
 The train from out the castle drew, 
 
 But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu : 
 
 "Though something I might plain," he said, 
 " Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
 Sent hither by your King's bdiest, 
 
 While in Tantallon's towers I staid ; 
 Fart we in friendship from your land, 
 And, noble earl, receive my hand." — 
 But Douglas round him draw his cloak. 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
44 
 
 i 1 
 
 A SCHOOL AHTHOLOOT — BOOK riBST. 
 
 " My manon, halls, and bowers shall still 
 
 Be open, at my Sovereign's will, 
 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 
 Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 20 
 
 My oastles are my King's alone, 
 
 Prom turret to foundation-stone— 
 
 The hand of Douglas is his own; 
 
 And never shall in friendly grasp 
 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 26 
 
 Bum'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
 And shook his very frame for ire, 
 
 And—" This to me J " he said,— 
 " An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
 Such hand as Marbion's had not spared 30 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
 And, first» I teU thee, haughty peer, 
 He who does England's message here. 
 Although the meanest in her state, 
 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate : Sff 
 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 
 
 Even in thy pitch of pride, 
 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
 (Nay, never look upon your lord. 
 And lay your hands upon your sword,) 40 
 
 I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
 And if thou said'st I am not peer 
 To any lord in Scotiand here, 
 Lowland or Highland, far or near, 
 
 Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! "— 45 
 
 On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
 Fierce he broke forth,— "And darest thou then 
 To beard the lion in his den, 
 
MARMIOM AMD DOUGLAS. 
 
 45 
 
 The DouglM in his hall t 50 
 
 And hopest thou hence unscathed to go 1 — 
 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
 Up drawbridge, grooms — what, warder, ho ! 
 
 Let the portcnllis faU."— 
 Lord BCarmion tum'd — well was his need, 55 
 
 And dash'd the rowels in his steed, 
 like arrow through the archway sprung, 
 The ponderous grate behind him rung : 
 To pass there was such scanty room. 
 The bars descending rased his plume. -- 60 
 
 The steed along the drawbridge flies. 
 
 Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
 
 Nor lighter does the swallow skim 
 
 Along the smooth lake's level brim : 
 
 And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band, 65 
 
 He halts, and turns with clenched hand. 
 
 And shout of loud defiance pours, 
 
 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
 
 '* Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, " and chase ! " 
 
 But soon he rein'd his fury's pace : 70 
 
 '* A royal messenger he came, 
 
 Though most unworthy of the name. — 
 
 Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
 
 Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
 
 I thought to slay him where he stood. 75 
 
 'Tis pity of him too," he cried : 
 
 "Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, 
 
 I warrant him a warrior tried." 
 
 With this his mandate he recalls, 
 
 And slowly seeks his castle halls. 80 
 
 —Scott. 
 
I I 
 
 li 
 
 *• A aCBOOI. AVniOUMT— BOOK VIMT. 
 
 32 — THE CLOUD. 
 
 I bring frash thowm for th* thinting flowen 
 
 From the aeaa and the streMni ; 
 I bew light ihede for the leaves when laid 
 
 In their noon-daj draama. 
 From my wings are shaken the dews that waken f 
 
 The sweet bads eveiy one, 
 When rook'd to rest on their mother's breast, 
 
 As she danoas abont the sua 
 I wield the ilail of the lashing hail, 
 
 And whiten the green plains under ; i a 
 
 And then again I dissdve it in rain, 
 And laugh as I pass in thunder. 
 
 I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
 And their great pines groan aghast; ' 
 And all the night 'tis my pillow white, i. 
 
 While I sleep in the arms of the blast 
 Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers 
 
 Lightning my piJot sits ; 
 In a oayem under is fetter'd the thunder,— 
 
 It struggles and howls at fits. 
 Over earth and ocean with gentle motion 
 
 This pilot is guiding me, 
 Lured by the love of the g^ that move 
 
 In the depths of the purple sea ; 
 Over the rills and the crags and the hills, eft 
 
 Over the lakes and the plains, 
 WTherever be dream, under mountain or stream, 
 
 The Spirit he loves remains ; 
 And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smUe. 
 Whilst he is dissolving in rains. ' 3Q 
 
 90 
 
THI CLOUD. 
 
 47 
 
 The aangaine fiOnriM, with his meteor eyei, 
 
 And his bntning plumes outspread, 
 Lei^ on the faftok of mj sailing rack, 
 
 When the morning star shines dead ; 
 As on the jag of a mountain-crag. 
 
 Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
 An eagle alit one moment may sit 
 
 In the light of its golden wings. 
 And when sunset may breathe, from the lit 
 
 Its ardours of rest and of love. 
 And the crimson pall of eve may fall 
 
 From the depth of heaven above. 
 With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, 
 
 As still as a brooding dove. 
 
 That orbM maiden, with white-fire laden. 
 
 Whom mortals call the moon, 
 Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor 
 
 By the midnight breeses strewn ; 
 And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 
 
 Which only the angels hear. 
 May have broken the woof of my tent's ihin roof, 
 
 The stars peep behind her and peer. 
 And I laugh to see them whirl and flee 
 
 like a swarm of golden bees. 
 When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 
 
 Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 
 like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 
 
 Are each pav'd with the moon and these. 
 
 I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 
 And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; 
 
 The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swiui, 
 When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
 
 From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 
 
 35 
 
 beneath, 
 40 
 
 49 
 
 SO 
 
 05 
 
 60 
 
4S 
 
 'I 
 
 i i .1 
 
 A KHOOL ANTBOUWr— BOOK riMT. 
 
 Over a torrant aam, 
 SunbeMn-proof, I hug like » roof;— ^ 
 
 The mountoins ita colomna be. 
 The triamphal aroh, through which I iii»roh, 
 
 With hurricane, fire, and anow, 
 When the powers of the air are chain'd to my chair 
 
 wthemillion-colour'dbow; * ^q 
 
 Tlie sphere-flre above its soft colours wove, 
 
 While the moist earth was laughing below. 
 
 I am the daughter of earth and water, 
 
 And the nursling of the sky ; 
 I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; 76 
 
 I change, but I cannot die. 
 For after the rain, w^en with never a stain 
 
 The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
 And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams 
 
 Build up the blue dome of air, m 
 
 I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,— 
 
 And out of the caverns of rain. 
 Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb. 
 
 1 arise, and unbuild it again. 
 
 —SKeUey. 
 
 33.— TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 blithe new-oomer ! I have heard, 
 
 1 hear thee and rejoice : 
 
 O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird. 
 Or but a wandering Voice ? 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 5 
 
 Thy two-fold shout I hear; 
 From hill to hUl it seems to pass. 
 At once far off and near. 
 
*'BRBAK, BftBAK, MBAB/ 
 
 49 
 
 Though babbling only to the ▼»!• 
 Of ranahine and of flowers, 
 Thott bringett onto me a tale 
 Of Tisionary hour*. 
 
 Thrioe welcome, darling of the Spring I 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 
 No bird, but an inyiaible thing, 
 
 A voice, a myitery ; 
 
 The lame wh(Hn in my acliot! V)y day i 
 I litten'd to ; that Cry 
 Which made me look a tl '^usaud voLyt 
 In bush, and tree, and sxy. 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 Through woods and on the green * 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 
 Still long'd for, never seen ! 
 
 And I can listen to thee yet ; 
 Can lie upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do b^;et 
 That golden time again. 
 
 O blessM Bird ! tlie earth we pace 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial faery place 
 That is fit home for Thee 1 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 • W(yrd»UHjrth. 
 
 34.— "BREAK, BREAK, BREAK." 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, O Seu ! 
 And I would that my tongue could utter 
 
 The thoughts that arise in me. 
 
.A^ 
 
 50 
 
 A SCHOOL AITTHOLOOT — BOOK riBST. 
 
 M 
 I i 
 
 O well for the fisherman's boy, f 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at p]ay I 
 
 O well for the jailor lad, 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay t 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 
 To their haven under the hill ; JO 
 
 But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 
 
 And the sound of a voice that is still I 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 15 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 — Tenn^faon. 
 
 \ 
 
 35.— WE TOO SHALL SLEEP. 
 Not, not for thee, 
 
 BelovM child, the burning grasp of life 
 Shall bruise the tender soul. The noise, and strife, 
 And clamour of midday thou shalt not see ; 
 But wrapped forever in thy quiet grave, 5 
 
 Too little to have known the earthly lot. 
 Time's clashing hosts above thine innocent head, 
 Wave upon wave. 
 
 Shall break, or pass as with an army's tread, 
 Aad harm thee not. 
 
 10 
 
 A few short years 
 
 We of the living flesh and restless brain 
 
 Shall plumb the deeps of life and know the strain. 
 
 The fleeting gleams of joy, the fruitless tears ; 
 
 And then at last when all is touched and tried, 
 
 Our own immutable night shall fall, and deep ' 
 
 16 
 
BATTLB or BBAL' AM DUIXI. 
 
 il 
 
 In the same sileot plot, little friend, 
 Side by tliy side, 
 
 In peace that changeth not, nor knoweth end. 
 We too shall sleep. 20 
 
 — Lampmav. 
 (Bff permistion </ the piAluhert, George If, Morang J: Co., Limited.) 
 
 36.— BATTLE OP BEAL' AN DUINE. 
 
 (Prom The Lady of the Lake.) 
 
 The Minstrel came once uioi'e to view 
 The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 
 For ere he parted, he would say 
 Farewell to lovely Loch Aohray — 
 Where shall he find, in foreign land, 
 So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — 
 There is no breeze upon the fern, 
 
 Nor ripple on the lake. 
 Upon her eyry nods the erne, 
 
 The deer has sought the brake ; 
 The small birds will not sing aloud. 
 
 The springing trout lies still. 
 So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud. 
 That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 
 
 Benledi's distant hill. 
 Is it the thunder's scdemn sound 
 That mutters deep and dread. 
 Or echoes from the groaning ground 
 
 The warrior's measured tread ? 
 Is it the lightning's quivering glance 
 
 That on the thicket sireaniH, 
 Or do they flash on spear and lance 
 The sun's retiring beams? 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
•s 
 
 A SCHOOL Am'BOLOGT — BOOK riRST. 
 
 V 1 
 
 I ; 
 
 — I see the dagger-orest of Mar, 
 I see the Moray's silver star, 
 Wave o'er the cbud of Saxon war 
 That up the lake comes winding far ! 
 To hero boune for battle-strife, 
 
 Or bard of martial lay, 
 Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, 
 One glance at their array ! 
 
 Their light-arm'd archers far and near 
 
 Survey'd the tangled ground, 
 Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 
 
 A twilight forest frown'd. 
 Their barded horsemen, in the rear, 
 
 The stem batUlia crown'd. 
 No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang. 
 
 Still were the pipe and drum ; 
 Save heavy tread, and armour's clang, 
 
 The sullen march was dumb. 
 There breathed no wind their crests to shake. 
 
 Or wave their flags abroad ; 
 Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake, 
 
 That shadow'd o'er their road. 
 Their vaward scouts no tidings biing, 
 
 Can rouse no lurking foe. 
 Nor spy a trace of living thing. 
 
 Save when they stirr'd the roe ; 
 The host moves like a deep-sea wave, 
 Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 
 
 High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
 The lake is pass'd, and now they gain 
 A narrow and a broken plain. 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 60 
 
 11 i^ 
 
BATTLI OF BKAL' All DUINX. 
 
 Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; 
 And here the horse and spearmen pau^, 
 While, to explore the dangerous glen, 
 Dive through the pass the archer-men. 
 
 53 
 55 
 
 At once thare rose so wild a yell 
 Within that dark and narrow dell, 60 
 
 As all Uie fiends, from heaven that fell, 
 Had peal'd the hanner-cry of hell ! 
 Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 
 lake chaff before the wind of heaven. 
 
 The archery appear : 65 
 
 For life ! for life ! their flight they ply— 
 And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry. 
 And plaids and bonnets waving high. 
 And broadswords flashing to the sky. 
 
 Are maddening in the rear. 70 
 
 Onward they drive, in dreadful race. 
 
 Pursuers and pursued ; 
 Before that tide of flight and chase, 
 How shall it keep its rooted place. 
 
 The spearmen's twilight wood t — 75 
 
 " Down, down," cried Mar, " your lances down ! 
 
 Bear back both friend and foe ! " — 
 Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
 That serried grove of lances brown 
 
 At once lay levell'd low ; 80 
 
 And closely shouldering side to side, 
 The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 
 " We'll quell the savage mountaineer. 
 
 As their Tinohel cows the game ! 
 They crane as fleet as forest deer, 85 
 
 Well drive them back as tame." — 
 
A SCHOOL AHTHOLOOY — BOOK FIRST. 
 
 Bearing before them, in their course, 
 Hie relics of the archer force, 
 like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
 Bight onward did Clan-Alpine come. 90 
 
 Above ike tide, each broadsword bright 
 Was brandishing like beam of light. 
 
 Each targe was dark below ; 
 And with the ocean's mighty swing. 
 When heaving to the tempest's wing, 95 
 
 They hurl'd them on the foe. 
 I heard the lance's shivering crash. 
 As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; 
 I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 
 As if a hundred anvils rang ! 100 
 
 But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank 
 Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank, 
 — " My burner-man, advance ! 
 I see," he oried, " their column shake. — 
 Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 106 
 
 Upon them with the lance ! "— 
 The horsemen dash'd among the rout, 
 As deer break through the broom ; 
 Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 
 
 They soon make lightsome room. HO 
 
 Clan-Aloe's best are backward brane — 
 
 Where, where was Roderick then ! 
 One blast upon his bugle-horn 
 
 Were worth a thousand men. 
 Aim! refluent through the pass of fear 115 
 
 The battle's tide was pour'd ; 
 Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear, 
 
 Tanish'd the mountain-sword. 
 As Braeklinn's chasm, so blade and steep, 
 
 Receives her roaring linn, • 120 
 
OK HIS BUNDNB8S. 
 
 As the dark caverns of the deep 
 Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
 So did the deep and darksome pass 
 Deroar the battle's mingled mass : 
 None linger now upon the plain. 
 Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 
 
 M 
 
 125 
 
 -Seott. 
 
 37— TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. 
 
 Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 
 
 Not of war only, but detractions rude. 
 
 Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, 
 
 To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, 
 
 And on the neck of crownM Fortune proud 
 
 Hast reared God's trophies, and His work pursued, 
 
 While Darwen stream, witii blood of Scots imbrued. 
 
 And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud. 
 
 And Worcester's laureate wreath ; yet much remains 
 
 To oonqaer still ; Peace hath her victories 
 
 No kas renowned than War ; new foes arise, 
 
 Threatening to bind oar souls with secular chains. 
 
 Help us to saw free ooooscience from the paw 
 
 Of hirriing wolves, whose Gospel is their maw. 
 
 — MUton. 
 
 10 
 
 88.— OH HIS BLINDNESS. 
 
 When I c<nirider how my light is spent 
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide. 
 And that (me talent which is death to hide 
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
 To senre therewith my Maker, and present 5 
 
 My true acoount^ lest He returning chide, — 
 Doth God exact day-labour, light d^ed 1 
 I fondly ask : But Patience, to prevent 
 
M A SCHOOL AMTHOLOOT— BOOK FIRST. 
 
 That murmur, soon replies ; God doth not need 
 Either man's work or His own gifts: who best 10 
 
 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : His state 
 Is kingly, thousands at His bidding speed 
 And post o'er land and ocean without rest :— 
 They also serve who only stand and wait. 
 
 — Milton. 
 
 39— TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! 
 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? 
 
 Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
 
 Thy nest which thoi canst drop into at will, 6 
 
 Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond 
 
 Mount, daring warbler !— that love-prompted strain 
 
 — Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond 
 
 Thrills uot the less the bosom of the plain ; 10 
 
 Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 
 All independent of the l«»fy spring. 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 
 
 A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
 
 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 
 Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
 
 Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam— 
 
 Triie to the kindred points of Heaven and Home ! 
 
 — Wordaworth, 
 
 15 
 
VX MKMOEIAM— CVI. 
 
 f7 
 
 40— IN MEMORIAM. 
 cvi. 
 
 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 dia 
 
 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 jean of peace. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
■ 1\ 
 
 1 
 
 W A SCHOOL AKTBOLOOT — BOOK FliUT. 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; SO 
 
 Ring out the darkness of the land. 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be. 
 
 — Tennymm. 
 
 41.— TO [LADY FITZGERALD] IN HER SEVEN- 
 TIETH YEAR 
 
 Such age how beautiful J O Lady bright, 
 
 Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined 
 
 By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind 
 
 To something purer and more exquisite 
 
 Than flesh and blood; whene'er thou meet'st my sight, 5 
 
 When I behold thy blanched unwithei-ed cheek, 
 
 Thy temples fringed ^ith locks of gleaming white. 
 
 And head that droops because the soul is meek. 
 
 Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare ; 
 
 That child of winter, prompting thoughts that climb 10 
 
 From desolation toward the genial prime ; 
 
 Or with the Moon conquering earth's misty air, 
 
 And filling more and more with crystal light 
 
 As pensive Evening deepens into night. 
 
 — Wordnvortii. 
 
 42.— "HAILi TWILIGHT, SOVEREIGN OF ONE 
 PEACEFUL HOUR ! " 
 
 Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour ! 
 Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night : 
 But studious only to remove from sight 
 Day's mutable distinctions. — Ancient Power ! 
 Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower. 
 To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest 
 Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest 
 
 m 
 
IH MEMORIAM— CZXIII. 
 
 59 
 
 On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower 
 
 Looked ere his eyes were dosed, fiy him was kccii 
 
 The self-MDne vision which we now behoKl, 10 
 
 At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power i brought forth ; 
 
 These mighty barriers, and the gulf between ; 
 
 The flood, the stars, — a spectacle as old 
 
 As the beginning of the heavens and earth ! 
 
 — Wardaworth. 
 
 43— IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 CXZIII. 
 
 There rolls the deep where grew the tree. 
 
 O earth, what changes thou hast seen ! 
 
 There where the long street roars, hath been 
 The stillness of the central sea. 
 
 The hills are shadows, and they flow 
 From form to form, and nothing stands ; 
 They melt like mist, the solid lands, 
 
 like clouds they shape themselves and go. 
 
 But in my spirit will I dwell. 
 
 And dream my dream, and hold it true ; 
 
 For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, 
 I cannot think the thing farewell. 
 
 — Tenny$ofL 
 
 10 
 
BOOK SECOND. 
 
 
 1.— PERSONAL TALK. 
 
 Wing! hftve we,— Mid m far m we oan go 
 
 We mfty find pleMore : wilderneM and wood, 
 
 Blank ooean and mere aky, support that mood 
 
 Which with the lofty sanotifies the low. 
 
 Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
 
 Are a substantial world, both pure and good : 6 
 
 Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood. 
 
 Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
 
 There find I personal themes, a plenteous store. 
 
 Matter wherein right voluble I am, 10 
 
 To which I listen with a ready ear ; 
 
 Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, — 
 
 The gentle Lady married to the Moor ; 
 
 And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 
 
 CONTIMUBD. 
 
 Nor can I not believe but that hereby 
 
 Great gains are mine ; for thus I live remote 
 
 From evil-speaking ; rancour, never sought. 
 
 Comes to me not ; malignant truth, or lie. 
 
 Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I 
 
 Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought: 
 
 And thus from day to day my little boat 
 
 Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 
 
 Blessings be with thrtr —and eternal praise. 
 
 Who gave us nobler lu^es and nobler cares — 10 
 
 The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs 
 
 Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays I 
 
 Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs. 
 
 Then gladly would I end my mortal days. 
 
 — Wordtumrih. 
 60 
 
 
 \i^- 
 
THK IBLKS or ORKICR. 
 
 •1 
 
 1— ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN-H 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 Much hare I ti«T«U'd in the realnui of gold 
 
 And many goodly itotes and kingdoms leen ; 
 
 Round many western islands have I been 
 
 Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
 
 Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 9 
 
 That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as hb demesne : 
 
 Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
 
 Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : 
 
 Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
 
 When a new planet swims into his ken ; 10 
 
 Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
 
 He stared at the Pacific, — and all his men 
 
 Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — 
 
 Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 
 
 3.— THE ISLES OF GREECE. 
 
 The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! 
 
 Where burning Sappho lov'd and sung, 
 Where grew the arts of war and peace, 
 
 Where Delos rose, and Phcebus sprung . 
 Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
 But all, except their sun, is set. 
 
 The Sdan and the Teian muse, 
 The hero's harp, the lover's lute. 
 
 Have found the fame your shores refuse : 
 Their place of birth alone is mute 
 
 To suuiids which echo further west 
 
 Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 
 
 10 
 
MHCROCOrV RISOIUTION TBT CHART 
 
 (AK4SI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
 1.0 
 
 1.25 11.4 
 
 i 
 if 
 
 1.6 
 
 A APPLIED IM/GE he 
 
 1653 East Main Stmt 
 
 RochMtcr, Nmr York 14609 USA 
 
 (716) 482 - 0300 - Phoo* 
 
 (716) 28b - 5989 - Fan 
 
!l 
 
 y 
 
 1 f 
 I 
 
 M A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 The mountains look on Marathon — 
 
 And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
 And musing there an hour alone, 15 
 
 I dream'd that Greece might still be free ; 
 For standing on the Persians' grave, 
 I could not deem myself a slave. 
 
 A king sate on the rocky brow 
 
 Which looks o'er sea-bom Salamis ; 90 
 
 A.nd ships, by thousands, lay below. 
 
 And men in nations ; — all were his ! 
 He counted them at break of day — 
 And when the sun set, where were they ? 
 
 And where are they 1 and where art thou, 26 
 
 My country 1 On thy voiceless shore 
 
 The heroic lay is tuneless now — 
 The heroic bosom beats no more ! 
 
 And must thy lyre, so long divine, 
 
 Degenerate into hands like mine 1 SO 
 
 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
 Though link'd among a fetter'd race, 
 
 To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
 Even as I sing, suflfuse my face ; 
 
 For what is left the poet here ? 36 
 
 For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 
 
 Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 
 
 Must toe but blush ?— Our fathers bled. 
 Earth ! render back from out thy breast 
 
 A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 40 
 
 Of the three hundred grant but three. 
 To make a new Thermopylae ! 
 
THE I8LS8 or ORBBCB. 
 
 What, silent still ? and silent all ? 
 
 Ah ! no ;— the voices of the dead 
 Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 
 
 And answer, "Let one living head, 
 But one, arise, — we come, we come I " 
 Tis but the living who are dumb. 
 
 In vain— in vain : strike other chords ; 
 
 Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
 Leave battles to the Turkish hordes. 
 
 And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
 Hark ! rising to the ignoble call- 
 How answers each bold Bacchanal ! 
 
 You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 
 
 Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? 
 Of two such lessons, why forget 
 
 The nobler and the manlier one 1 
 You have the letters Cadmus gave— 
 Think ^e he meant them for a slave 1 
 
 Pill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 
 We will not think of themes like these ! 
 It made Anacreon's song divine : 
 
 He served— but served Polycrates— 
 A tyrant ; but our masters then 
 Were still, at least, our countrymen. 
 
 The tyrant of the Chersonese 
 
 Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
 That tyrant was Miltiades ! 
 
 Oh ! that the present hour would lend 
 Another despot of the kind ! 
 Such chains as his were sure to bind. 
 
 63 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 S6 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
. ' ; ,*• 
 
 64 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT— BOOK SBCOHD. 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 
 On Soli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
 Exists the remnant of a line 
 
 Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 
 And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, 
 The Heracleidan blood might own. 
 
 Trust not for freedom to the Franks 
 
 They have a king who buys and sells : 
 
 In native swords, and native ranks, 
 The only hope of courage dwells ; 
 
 But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 
 
 Would break your shield, however broad. 
 
 Fill high the b6wl with Samian wine ! 
 
 Our virgins dance beneath the shade— 
 I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 
 
 But gazing on each glowing maid. 
 My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
 To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 
 
 Place me on Sunium's marbled steep. 
 Where nothing, save the waves and I, 
 
 May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
 There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 
 
 A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 
 
 Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 —Byron. 
 
 4— A JANUARY MORNING. 
 
 The glittering roofs are still with frost ; each worn 
 
 Black chimney builds into the quiet sky 
 
 Its curling pile to crumble silently. 
 
 Far out to westward on the edge of mom, 
 
 The slender misty city towers up-borne 
 
IMFLUBMCB OF NATURAL OBJECTS. 
 
 65 
 
 Glimmer faint rose against the pallid blue ; 
 
 And yonder on those northern hills, the hue 
 
 Of amethyst, hang fleeces dull as horn. 
 
 And here behind me come the woodmen's sleighs 
 
 With shouts and clamorous squeakings; might and main 
 
 Up the steep slope the horses stamp and strain, 1 1 
 
 Urged on by hoarse-tongued drivers— cheeks ablaze, 
 
 Iced beards and frozen eyelids— team by team, 
 
 With frost-fringed flanks, and nostrils jetting steam. 
 
 — Lampman. 
 (Bypermitnm of the publishers, George y. Morang Ji Co., Limited.) 
 
 5— INFLUENCE OF NATURAL OBJECTS 
 
 W CALLING FORTH AND STRSNGTHENING THE IMAGINATION IN 
 BOYHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 
 
 Wisdom and Spirit of the universe ! 
 
 Thou Soul that art the Eternity of thought, 
 
 And givest to forms and images a breath 
 
 And everlasting motion ! not in vain. 
 
 By day or starlight, thus from my first dawn 6 
 
 Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me 
 
 The passions ciiat build up our human soul ; 
 
 Not with the mean and vulgar works of man, 
 
 But with high objects, with enduring things. 
 
 With life and nature : purifying thus 
 
 The elements of feeling and of thought. 
 
 And sanctifying by such discipline 
 
 Both pain and fear, until we recognize 
 
 A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 
 
 10 
 
 Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me 
 With stinted kindness. In November days, 
 When vapours rolling down the valleys mad© 
 
 6 
 
 15 
 
66 
 
 A aCBOOh ANTHOLOOT — BOOK SBOOITD. 
 
 [ 
 
 m. 
 
 ill: 
 
 ^ If 1! 
 
 A lonely scene more lonesome ; among woods 
 
 At noon, and 'mid the calm of summer nights, 
 
 When, by the margin of the trembling lake, 20 
 
 Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward went 
 
 In solitude, such intercourse was mine : 
 
 Mine was it in the fields both day and night. 
 
 And by the waters, all the summer long. 
 
 And in the frosty season, when the sun 25 
 
 Was set, and, visible for many a mile. 
 
 The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, 
 
 I heeded not the summons : happy time 
 
 It was indeed for all of us ; for me 
 
 It was a time of rapture ! Clear and loud 30 
 
 The village clock toll^ six ; I wheeled about 
 
 Proud and exulting, like an untired horse 
 
 That cares not for his home. All shod with steel 
 
 We hissed along the polished ice, in games 
 
 Confederate, imitative of the chase 35 
 
 And woodland pleasures, — the resounding horn. 
 
 The pack loud-chiming, and the hunted hare, 
 
 So through the darkness and the cold we flew, 
 
 And not a voice was idle : with the din 
 
 Smitten, the precipices rang aloud ; 40 
 
 The leafless trees and every icy crag 
 
 Tinkled like iron ; while far-distant hills 
 
 Into the tumult sent an alien sound 
 
 Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars 
 
 Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west 46 
 
 The orange sky of evening died away. 
 
 Not seldom from the uproar I retired 
 Into a silent bay, or sportively 
 Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng 
 To cut across the reflex of a star ; 50 
 
 ■I ,1 
 
"O BRIOMALL BAHE8." 
 
 67 
 
 
 Image that^ flying still before me, gleamed 
 
 Upon the glassy plain ; and oftentimes, 
 
 When we had given our bodies to the wind, 
 
 And all the shadowy banks on either oide 
 
 Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still 55 
 
 The rapid line of motion, then at once 
 
 Have I, reclining back upon my heels. 
 
 Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs 
 
 Wheeled by me— even as if the earth bad rolled 
 
 With visible motion her diurnal round ! 60 
 
 Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, 
 
 Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched 
 
 Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. 
 
 — Wordnoorth. 
 
 6.— "0 BRIONALL BANKS." 
 
 O Brignall banks are wild and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 WouJid grace a summer-queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton Hall 
 
 Beneath the turrets high, 
 A maiden on the castle-wall 
 
 Was singing merrily : 
 " O Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen." 
 
 "If, maiden, thou would'st wend with me, 
 To leave both tower and town. 
 
 Thou first must guess what life lead we 
 That dwell by dale and down. 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
m- 
 
 \t 
 
 68 A SCHOOL AlfTHOLOOY— BOOK SBCOlfD. 
 
 And if thou canst that riddle read, 
 
 As read full well you may, 
 Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 
 
 As blithe as Queen of May." 20 
 
 Yet sung she " Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen. 
 
 I read you by your bugle-horn S6 
 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 I read you for a ranger sworn 
 
 To keep the king's greenwood." 
 " A ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
 
 And 'tis at peep of light ; ^q 
 
 His blast is heard at merry mom. 
 
 And mine at dead of night." 
 Yet sung she " Brignall banks are fair. 
 
 And Oreta woods are gay ; 
 I would I were with Edmund there 36 
 
 To reign his Queen of May ! 
 
 With bumish'd brand and musketoon 
 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold dragoon 
 
 That lists the tuck of drum." 40 
 
 " I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his hum 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 And O ! though Brignall banks be fair 45 
 
 And Oreta woods be gay. 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare 
 
 Would reign my Quoen of May ! 
 
CONCLUSION OF "THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES." 
 
 Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 
 A nameless death I'll die ! 
 The fiend whose lantern lights the nunil 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I'm with my comrades met 
 
 Beneath the greenwood bough, 
 What once we were we all forget, 
 
 Nor think what we are now. 
 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 Would grace a summer-queen." 
 
 69 
 
 50 
 
 60 
 
 -Scott. 
 
 CO 
 
 7.-C0NCLUSI0N OP "THE VANITY OF HUMAN 
 
 WISHES." 
 Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find ? 
 Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind ? 
 Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, 
 RoU darkling down the torrent of his fate? 
 Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, 5 
 
 No cries invoke the mercies of the skies t— 
 Enquirer, cease; petitions yet remain 
 Which Heav'n may hear ; nor deem religion vain. 
 Still raise for good the supplicating voice, 
 But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice ; 10 
 
 Safe in His pow'r, whose eyes discern afar 
 The secret ambush of a specious pray'r. 
 Implore His aid, in His decisions rest. 
 Secure, whate'er He gives. He gives the best. 
 Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, 15 
 
 And strong devotion to the skies aspires. 
 Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, 
 Oljedient passions, and a will resign'd ; 
 
70 
 
 A SCHOOL AITTHOLOOY-- BOOK SROOITD. 
 
 For love which scarce collective man can fill ; 
 For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill ; SO 
 
 For faith that, panting for a happier seat, 
 Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat ; 
 These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain ; 
 Tliese goods He grants, who grants the pow'r to gain ; 
 With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 35 
 
 And makes the happiness she does not find. 
 
 —kimtul Jolmion. 
 
 8.— IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 When Lazarus left his chamel-cave. 
 
 And home to, Mary's house retum'd, 
 
 Was this demanded, — if he yeam'd 
 To hear her weeping by his grave f 
 
 " Where wert thou, brother, those four days t " 5 
 
 There lives no record of reply. 
 
 Which telling what it is to die 
 Had surely added praise to praise. 
 
 From every house the neighbours met, 
 
 The streets were fill'd with joyful sound, 10 
 
 A solemn gladness even crown'd 
 The purple brows of Olivet. 
 
 Behold a man raised up by Christ ! 
 
 The rest remaineth unreveal'd ; 
 
 He told it not ; or something seal'd 
 The Hps of that Evangelist. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, 
 Nor other thought her mind admits 
 But, he was dead, and there he sits, 
 
 Aad He that brought him back is there. 
 
 16 
 
"HOm THtV BROUOBT BIR WARRIOR DKAD." 71 
 
 Then one deep love doth Bupersede 5 
 
 All other, when her ardent gaze 
 Roves from the living brother's face, 
 
 And rests upon the Life indev ' 
 
 All subtle thought, all curious tears, 
 Borne down by gladness so complete, 10 
 
 She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet 
 
 With ooetly spikenard and with tears. 
 
 Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
 Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
 What souls possess themselves so pure, 16 
 
 Or is there blessedness like theirs f 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 9.—" HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD." 
 
 Home they brought her warrior dead : 
 She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry : 
 
 All her maidens, watchirg, said, 
 "She must weep or she will die." 
 
 Then they praised him, soft and low, 6 
 
 Caird him worthy to be loved, 
 IVuest friend and noblest foe ; 
 
 Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 Stole a maiden from her place. 
 Lightly to the warrior stept. 
 
 Took the face-cloth from the face ; 
 Yet she neither moved nor wept. 
 
 Rose a nurse of ninety years. 
 Set his child upon her kaee— 
 
 Like summer tempest came her tears — 
 "Sweet my child, I live for thee." 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
■ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 yt 
 
 A aOBOOL ANTROLOOT— BOOK IBCOND. 
 
 10— SONNET XCVIII. 
 From you have I been absent in the spring, 
 When proud-pied April, ciress'd in all his trim, 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
 That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell ft 
 
 Of different flowers in odours and in hue, 
 Could make me any summer's story tell 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : 
 For did I wonder at the lily'g white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 10 
 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you : you pattern of all those. ' 
 Yet seem'd it winter still, and. you away. 
 As with your shadow I with these did play, 
 
 . — Shake^aeare. 
 
 11.— THB EVE OF WATERLOO. 
 (From C^ilde Harold.) 
 There was a sound of revelry by night, 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered 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 fi 
 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which s^ke 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 mom when Youth and Pleasire meet 
 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— 
 
 10 
 
WATBRIXH). 
 
 73 
 
 But hMrk ! th»i heavy Bound hrcak« in «mco niorr, 15 
 A« if the clouds its echo would repent ; 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than liefore ! 
 Arm I arm I it is — it is — the cannon's opening nmr ! 
 
 Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
 Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain : he did hoai- 20 
 
 That sound the first amidst the festival, 
 And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear : 
 And when thej smiled because he deemed it neni-, 
 His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
 Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 25 
 
 And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
 He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 
 
 Ah I then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago :iO 
 
 Blushed 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, 35 
 
 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 o^ war ; 40 
 
 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 thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
 Or whispering, with white lips—" The foe ! they come ! 
 
 they come 1 " 45 
 
:!!» ji 
 
 '4 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 And wild and high the " Cameron's Gathering " rose ! 
 The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
 Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : — 
 How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. 
 Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 50 
 Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
 With the fierce native daring which instils 
 The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
 And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears ! 
 
 And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 55 
 Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, 
 Grieving, if aug^ht inanimate e'er grieves. 
 Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
 Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
 Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 60 
 In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
 Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
 And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 
 
 p <i 
 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 
 Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 65 
 
 The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
 The mom the marshalling in arms, — the day 
 Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
 The earth is covered thick with other clay, 70 
 
 Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
 Rider and horse,— friend, foe,— in one red burial blent! 
 
 — Byron. 
 
CHARLES XII. 
 
 75 
 
 12.— CHARLES XII. 
 
 (From The Vanity qf Human Wishta.) 
 On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, 
 How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide : 
 A frame of adamant, a soul of fire. 
 No dangers fright him, and no labours tire ; 
 O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 6 
 
 Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain ; 
 No joys to him pacific scepters yield, — 
 War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field ; 
 Behold surrounding kings their pow'rs combine. 
 And one capitulate, and one resign : 10 
 
 Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain ; 
 "Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till naught remain. 
 On Moscow's walls till €k)thic standards fly. 
 And all be mine beneath the polar sky." 
 The march begins in military state, 15 
 
 And nations on his eye suspended wait ; 
 Stem Famine guards the solitary coast, 
 And Winter barricades the realms of Frost : 
 He comes ; nor want nor cold his course deHy ; — 
 Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day : 20 
 
 The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands. 
 And shows his miseries in distant lands ; 
 Gondemn'd a needy supplicant to wait. 
 While ladies interpose and slaves debate. 
 But did not Chance at length her error mend ? 25 
 
 Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 
 Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound % 
 Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? 
 His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, 
 A petty fortress, and a dubious hand. 30 
 
 He left the name, at which the world grew pale, 
 To point a moral, or adorn a tale. —Saimid Johnton. 
 
76 
 
 A SCHOOL AITTHOLOOT — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 13, 
 
 
 -WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802. 
 O Friend ! I know not which way I must look 
 For comfort, being, as I am, opprest 
 To think that now our life is only drest 
 For show ; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook. 
 Or groom !— We must run glittering like a brook 5 
 In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 
 The wealthiest man among us is the best : 
 No grandeur now in Nature or in book 
 Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 
 This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 10 
 
 Plain living and hig^ thinking are no more : 
 The homely beauty of the good old cause 
 Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence. 
 And pure religion breathing household laws. 
 
 — Wordtuxnih. 
 
 U.— LONDON, 1802. 
 
 Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour; 
 
 England hath need of thee : she is a fen 
 
 Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen. 
 
 Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
 
 Have forfeited their ancient English dower 5 
 
 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men : 
 
 Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 
 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
 
 Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart : 
 
 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, 10 
 
 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free; 
 
 So didst thou travel on life's common way 
 
 In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
 
 The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 
 
 — Wordstoorth. 
 
 n 
 
ODK TO AUTUMN. 
 
 n 
 
 16— ODE TO AUTUMN. 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
 
 Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 
 
 Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
 
 With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; 
 
 To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 5 
 
 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; 
 
 To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
 
 With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more ^ 
 
 And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
 
 Until they think warm days will never cease ; lO 
 
 For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy celis. 
 
 Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store 7 
 
 Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
 
 Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
 
 Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 15 
 
 Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 
 
 Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
 
 Spares the next swath and all its twindd flowers ; 
 
 And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep 
 
 Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 20 
 
 Or by a cider-press, with patient look. 
 
 Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 
 
 Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? 
 
 Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — 
 
 While barr^ clouds bloom the soft-dying day 26 
 
 And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; 
 
 Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
 
 Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 
 
 Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 
 
 And full-grown lambs loud bleat fioni hilly oourn ; 30 
 
'' ' 
 
 ill I 
 
 flMi 
 
 \ . 
 
 78 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 Hedge-crickets sing j and now with treble soft 
 The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, 
 And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 
 
 -KeAitt. 
 
 16. -NUTTING. 
 
 It seems a day 
 
 (I speak of one from many singled out), 
 
 One of those heavenly days which cannot die ; 
 
 When, in the eagerness of boyish hope, 
 
 I left our cottage threshold, sallying forth 5 
 
 With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung, 
 
 A nutting-crook in hand, and turned my steps 
 
 Tow'rd s'-'ne far-distant wood, a figure quaint, 
 
 Tricked •u; in proud disguise of cast-off weeds 
 
 Which for that service had been husbanded, 10 
 
 By exhortation of my frugal dame ; 
 
 Motley accoutrement, of power to smile 
 
 At thorns and brakes and brambles, and, in truth, 
 
 More ragged than need was ! O'er the pathless rocks, 
 
 Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets 15 
 
 Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook 
 
 Unvisited, where not a broken bough 
 
 Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign 
 
 Of devastation, but the hazels rose 
 
 Tall and erect, with milk-white clusters hung, 20 
 
 A virgin scene ! — A little while I stood, 
 
 Breathing with such suppression of the heart 
 
 As joy delights in ; and, with wise restraint 
 
 Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed 
 
 The banquet ; or beneath the trees I sate 25 
 
 Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played ; 
 
 A temper known to those who, after long 
 
 And weary expectation, have been blest 
 
 With sudden happiness beyond all hope. 
 
 '' w 
 
FAIR HELEN. 
 
 79 
 
 Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves 30 
 
 The violets of five seasons reappear 
 
 And fade, unseen by any human eye ; 
 
 Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on 
 
 Forever : and I saw the sparkling foam, 
 
 And — with my cheek on one of those green stones 35 
 
 That, fleeced with moss, beneath the shady trees. 
 
 Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep — 
 
 I heard the murmur and ttie murmuring sound. 
 
 In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay 
 
 Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure, 40 
 
 The heart lAoiriates with indifferent things. 
 
 Wasting its '^dliness on stocks and stones. 
 
 And on the vaiiant air. Then up T rose. 
 
 And dragged tc earth both branch and bough with crash 
 
 And merciless ravage ; and the shady nook 45 
 
 Of hazels, t^ld the green and mossy bower. 
 
 Deformed and sullied, piftiehtly gave %> 
 
 Their quiet being. And, unless I n 
 
 Confound my present feelings with t 
 
 Ere from the mutilated bower I turned 50 
 
 Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings, 
 
 I felt a sense of pain when I beheld 
 
 The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky. 
 
 Then, detirest maiden, move along these shades 
 
 In gentleness of heart ; with gentle hand 56 
 
 Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods. 
 
 — W&rdswortli. 
 
 17.— FAIR HELEN. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ; 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 O that I were where Helen lies 
 On fair Kirconnell lea ! 
 
80 
 
 A SCHOOL AMTROLOOY— BOOK 8KC0ND. 
 
 Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 6 
 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
 When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
 And died to succour me ! 
 
 think na but my heart was sair 
 
 When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 10 
 
 1 laid her down wi' meikle care 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 As I went down the water side, 
 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 
 None but my foe to be my guide. 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea ; 
 
 I lighted down my sword to draw, 
 I hacktki him in pieces sma', 
 I hack^ him in pieces sma', 
 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
 I'll make a garland of thy hair 
 Shall bind my heart for everuiair 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
 
 Says, " Haste and come to me ! " 
 
 O Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest, 
 Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 
 On fair Kirconnell lea, 
 
 15 
 
 SO 
 
 26 
 
 SO 
 

 IK MIMORIAM — CI. 
 
 I wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
 And I in Helen's arms lying, 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ; 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 Since my love died for me. 
 
 81 
 
 35 
 
 —Old Ballad. 
 
 40 
 
 18.— THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. 
 
 At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. 
 Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years : 
 Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard 
 In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 
 
 Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees fi 
 
 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
 
 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide. 
 
 And a river flows on through the valo of Cheapside. 
 
 Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, 
 
 Down which she so often has tripped with her pail ; 10 
 
 And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, 
 
 The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 
 
 She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
 The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, I.", 
 
 And the colours have all passed away from her eyes ! 
 
 . — Wordmvorth. 
 
 19.— IN MEMORIAM. 
 •» ci. 
 
 Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway, 
 The tender blossom flutter down, 
 Unloved, that beech will gather brown, 
 This maple burn itself away ; 
 
I I 
 
 I 
 
 82 
 
 A SCHOOL AVTHOLOOT — BOOK UCOND. 
 
 Unloved, the sun-flower, Mhining fair, § 
 
 Ray round with flames her disk of seed, 
 And many a rose^samation feed 
 
 With summer spice the humming air ; 
 
 Unloved, by many a sandy bar. 
 
 The brook shall oabble down the plain, 10 
 
 At noon, or when ^he lesser wain 
 Is twisting round the polar star ; 
 
 Uncared for, gird the windy grove, 
 And flood the haunts of hem and crake ; 
 Or into silver* arrows break 15 
 
 The sailing moon in creek and cove ; 
 
 Till from the garden and the wild 
 A fresh association blow, 
 And year by year the landscape grow 
 
 Familiar to the stranger's child ; 20 
 
 As year by year the labourer tills 
 
 His wonted glebe, or lops the glades ; 
 
 And year by year our memory fades 
 From all the circle of the hills. 
 
 — Tennyion. 
 
 20.— ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
 YARD. 
 
 LTie curfew tolls the knell of parting day. 
 The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 if 
 
 I'.i 
 
ELEOT WRimW IN A COUHTRT CHURCUYASD. 83 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 6 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 
 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. ^ 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing mom, 
 
 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 20 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 35 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield ! ' 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 30 
 
 Nor grandeur hear with » disdainful smile 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 

 t !■ 
 
 
 84 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTIIOLOOT — BOOK 81.00110. 
 
 The boMt of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave 
 Await alike th' inevitable hour : — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 35 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 
 
 If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raine. 
 
 Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 40 
 
 Can storied urn or animated bust 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath t 
 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death t 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 50 
 
 Chill penury repress'd their noble rage. 
 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 
 The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : 
 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 65 
 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstootl, 
 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. CO 
 
BLBGY WltlTTinr IK A crOUNTRY CHURCRTARD. 85 
 
 Th' Applause of liHtening senAteii to command, 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their history in a nation's pyes 
 
 Their lot forbad : nor circumscribed alone 95 
 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
 Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne. 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; ^ 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 70 
 
 Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
 
 Their sober wishes never leam'd to stray ; 
 
 Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 76 
 
 They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. 
 
 Tet e'en these bones from insult to protect 
 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 
 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 
 
 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 
 Tlie place of fame and elegy supply : 
 And many a holy text around she strews, 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 
 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 85 
 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er reaign'd. 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind I 
 

 I IIm 
 
 * -t 
 
 86 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTnOLOOr— BOOK SICOIVO. 
 
 On some fond breMt th« parting imul ralkw, 
 Homo pious drops tho dosing ejre requiras ; 
 E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
 E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, 
 Dost in these lines their artless Ule relate ; 
 If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,— 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
 " Oft have we seen him^at the peep of dawn 
 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; 
 
 There at the foot of ywider nodding beech 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 
 His listleas length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 
 
 Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
 Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; 
 Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn. 
 Or erased with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 
 
 One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 
 Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 
 
 90 
 
 96 
 
 100 
 
 105 
 
 no 
 
 The next with dirges due in sad array 
 Slow through the cnurch-way path we saw him borne,— 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 116 
 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 
 
0!r TBI DEATH or MR. RODBBT LEVCT. 
 
 •f 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Here resti bis head upon the lap of earth 
 
 A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
 
 Fair soience frown'd not on his humble birth 
 
 And mehinoholy mark'd him for her own. 120 
 
 Large was hb bounty, and .his soul sincere ; 
 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
 
 He gate to misery (all he had) a tear, 
 
 He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 
 
 Ko farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 
 
 Or iraw his frailties from their dread abode, 
 
 (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
 
 The boeom of his Father and his Ood. 
 
 —Gray. 
 
 31.— ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET, 
 
 A PKAOTIBBR IN PHYSIC. 
 
 Condemned to Hope's delusive mine, 
 
 As on we toil from day to day. 
 By sudden blasts, or slow decline, 
 
 Our social comforts drop away. 
 
 Well tried through many a varying year, 5 
 
 See Levet to the grave descend, 
 Officious, innocent, sincere, 
 
 Of every friendless name the friend. 
 
 Tet still he fills Affection's eye. 
 
 Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind ; 10 
 
 Nor, lettered Arrogance, deny 
 
 Thy praise to merit unretined. 
 
88 
 
 ' ihi 
 
 .1.,' i 
 ' I 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 When fainting nattire called for aid, 
 And hovering death prepared the blow, 
 
 His vigorous remedy displayed 15 
 
 The power of art without the show. 
 
 In misery's darkest cavern known, 
 
 His useful care was ever nigh. 
 Where hopeless anguish poured his groan 
 
 And lonely want retired to die. SO 
 
 No summons mocked by chill delay, 
 
 No petty gain disdained by pride, 
 The modest wan^s of every day 
 
 The toil of every day supplied. 
 
 His A-irtues walked their narrow round, 26 
 
 Nor made a pause, nor left a void ; 
 And sure the Eternal Master found 
 
 The single talent well employed. 
 
 The busy day —the peaceful night, 
 
 Unfelt, uncounted, glided by ; 3q 
 
 His frame was firm — his powers were bright. 
 
 Though now his eightieth year was nigh. 
 
 Then with no fiery throbbing pain, 
 
 No cold gradations of decay, 
 Death broke at once the vital chain, 35 
 
 And freed his soul the nearest way. 
 
 . — 8ainuel Johnsoti. 
 
 22.— EVENING. 
 From upland slopes I see the cows file by, 
 Lowing, great-chested, down the homeward trail, 
 By dusking fields and meadows shining pale 
 With moon-tipped dandelions. Flickering high, 
 A peevish night-hawk in the western sky ' 
 
"thb splbndouk falls on castle walls.' 
 
 89 
 
 Beats up into the lucent solitudes, 
 
 Or drops with griding wing. The stilly woods 
 
 Grow dark and deep and gloom mysteriously. 
 
 Cool night winds creep, and whisper in mine ear. 
 
 The homely cricket gossips at my feet. 10 
 
 From far-ofF pools and wastes of reeds I hear. 
 
 Clear and soft-piped, the chanting frogs break sweet 
 
 In full Pandean chorus. One by one 
 
 Shine out the stars, and the great night comes on. 
 
 — Lampman. 
 [By permuMion of the puhliahers, George X. Aforang «t Co., Limited). 
 
 23.— "THE SPLENDOUR FALLS ON CASTLE 
 WALLS." 
 The splendour falls on castle walls 
 
 And snowy summits old in story : 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, 
 
 And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
 O sweet and far from cli£P and scar 
 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 O love, they die in yon lich sky. 
 
 They faint on hill or field or river : 
 Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
 And grow for ever and for ever. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
1 1 
 
 l#1{ 
 
 !' : ?'i'f 
 
 i ■l;^J 
 
 II' 
 
 IN - I 
 
 90 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 24— COUNTY GUY. 
 
 Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 
 
 The sun has left the lea. 
 The orange flower perfumes the bower, 
 
 The breeze is on the sea. 
 The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, 
 
 Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
 Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, 
 
 But where is County Guy 1 
 
 The village maid steals through the shade, 
 
 Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
 To beauty shy,* by lattice high. 
 
 Sings high-bom cavalier. 
 The star of Love, all stars above, 
 
 Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
 And high and low the influences know — 
 
 But where is County Guy f 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 —Scott. 
 
 26.— "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS 
 FROM GHENT TO AIX." 
 [16-.] 
 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 
 " Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ; 
 *' Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 6 
 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace 
 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ; 
 
 I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique rignt, 10 
 
 Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 
 
"how thby brought the good news." 
 
 91 
 
 'Twas moonset at starting ; but while we drew near 
 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; 
 
 At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 16 
 
 At Diififeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be ; 
 
 And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime, 
 
 So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time ! " 
 
 At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
 
 And against him the cattle stood black every one, ^ 20 
 
 To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past, 
 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. 
 
 With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
 
 The haze, as some blufif river headland its spray : 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 25 
 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ; 
 
 And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ! 
 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 
 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. SO 
 
 By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris " Stay spur ! 
 Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her, 
 We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze 
 Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees. 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. 
 As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 
 
 35 
 
 So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 
 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 
 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 
 
 Till over by Dalhem a dorae-spire sprang white, 
 
 And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight ! 
 
 40 
 
9f 
 
 A SCHOOL AKTHOLOOT— BOOK SECOND. 
 
 r^^ 
 
 How they'll greet us ! "^and all in a moment his roan 
 
 Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; 
 
 And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 45 
 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
 
 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
 
 And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 
 
 Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall. 
 
 Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 60 
 
 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 
 
 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; 
 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, 
 
 Till at length into Aix Rc^land galloped and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is, friends flocking round 55 
 
 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground ; 
 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 
 As I poured down his throat our last measure of \dne, 
 Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
 Was no more than his due who brought good news from 
 Ghent. g^j 
 
 — -R. Browning. 
 
 26.— "WHY ART THOU SILENT?" 
 Why art thou silent 1 Is thy love a plant 
 Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
 Of absence withers what was once so fair? 
 Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant f 
 Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 6 
 
 Bound to thy service with unceasing care— 
 The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
 For nought but what thy happiness could spare. 
 Speak !— though this soft warm heart, once frer , hold 
 A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 10 
 
THB FAREWELL. 
 
 93 
 
 Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
 Than a forsaken bird's-nest fiU'd with snow 
 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
 Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know ! 
 
 — WmxUworth. 
 
 27.— THE FAREWELL. 
 
 It was a' for our rightful king 
 
 That we left fair Scotland's strand ; 
 
 It was a' for our rightful king 
 We e'er saw Irish land. 
 
 My dear, 
 We e'er saw Irish land. 
 
 Now all is done that man can do, 
 
 And all is done in vain ! 
 My love, and native land, fareweel ! 
 
 For I maun cross the main. 
 My dear, 
 
 For I maun cross the main. 
 
 He tum'd him right and round about. 
 
 Upon the Irish shore. 
 He gave his bridle-reins a shake. 
 
 With, Adieu for evermore, 
 My dear! 
 
 And adieu for evermore ! 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 The soldier frae the war returns, 
 And the merchant frae the main. 
 
 But I hae parted frae my love, 
 Never to meet again, 
 
 My dear, 
 Never to meet again. 
 
 20 
 
94 
 
 A SCHOOL AMTHOLOOY— BOOK SECOND. 
 
 When day is gone and night is come, 
 And a' folk bound to sleep, 
 
 I think on him that's far awa 
 The lee-lang night, and weep. 
 
 My dear, 
 The lee-lang night, and weep. 
 
 26 
 
 — liunu. 
 
 30 
 
 28.— MORTE D'ABTHUR. 
 So all day long the noise of battle roll'd 
 Among the mountains by the winter sea; 
 Until King Arthur's table, man by man,' 
 Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord. 
 King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep 
 The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, * 
 
 Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knighcs. 
 And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 
 A broken chancel with a broken cross. 
 That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 
 On one side lay the ocean, and on one 
 Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
 "The sequel of to-day unsolders all 
 The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
 Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
 They sleep— the men I loved. I think that we 
 Shall never more, at any future time. 
 Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds. 
 Walking about the gardens and the halls 
 Of Camelot, as in the days that were. 
 I perish by this people which I made,— 
 Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again 
 To rule once more— but let what will be, be, 
 I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
MORTB D'ARTHUR. 96 
 
 That without help I cannot last till morn. 
 
 Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
 
 Which was my pride : for thou rememberest how 
 
 In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
 
 Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, 30 
 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
 
 Holding the sword— and how 1 row'd across 
 
 And took it, and have worn it, like a king : 
 
 And, wheresoever I am sung or told 
 
 In aftertime, this also shall be known : ' 35 
 
 But now delay not : take Excalibur, 
 
 And fling him far into the middle mere : 
 
 Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word." 
 
 To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere : 
 " It is not meet. Sir King, to leave thee thus, 40 
 
 Aidless, alone, and smitten thro' the helm. 
 A little thing may harm a wounded man. 
 Yet I thy best will all perform at full, 
 Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." 
 
 So saying, from the ruin'd shrine he stept 45 
 
 And in the moon athwart the place of tombs. 
 Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. 
 Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang 
 Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down 
 By z?g-zag paths, and juts of pointed rock, 50 
 
 Came on the shining levels of the lake. 
 
 Tliere drew he forth the brand i:xcalibur, 
 And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, 
 Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth 
 And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt : 55 
 
 For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, 
 Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work 
 Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so k<iig 
 That l>oth his eyes were dazzled, as he stofKj, 
 
96 
 
 Il Jl:. 
 
 I' '» 
 
 rt 
 
 El i 
 
 < /'I 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOY— BOOK SKCOMD. 
 
 SI 
 
 Tliis way and that dividing the swift mind, 60 
 
 In act to throw : but at the last it seem'd 
 
 Better to leave Excalibur conceal'd 
 
 There in the many-knotted waterflagg 
 
 That whistled stiff and dr^ about the marire. 
 
 So strode he back slow to the wounded king. ^ 
 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere • 
 'Hast thou perfonn'd my mission which I gave t 
 What IS It thou hast seen ? or what hast heard r 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere • 
 "I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, 70 
 
 And the wild water lapping on the cmg." 
 
 To whom replied ^ing Arthur, faint and pale : 
 "Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name 
 Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 
 Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight : -« 
 
 For surer sign had follow'd, either hand. 
 Or voice, or else a motion of the mere 
 This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
 Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again 
 As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing gn 
 
 I had thee, watch, and lightly bring me word." 
 
 Then went Sir Bedivere the second tune 
 Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere, 
 Countmg the dewy pebbles, fix'd in thought : 
 But when he saw the wonder of the hilt 
 How curiously and strangely chased, he 'smote 
 His palms together, and he cried aloud, 
 
 " And if indeed I cast the brand away 
 Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,' 
 Should thus be lost for ever from the earth, 90 
 
 ^h,ch might have pleaded the eyes of many men. 
 What good should follow this, if this were done? 
 V\ hat harm, undone 1 deep harm to disobey. 
 
 85 
 
MOBTK D'arTHUR. 97 
 
 Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. 
 
 Were it well to obey then, if a king demand 95 
 
 An act unprofitable, against himself) 
 
 The King is sick, and knows not what he does. 
 
 What record, or what relic of my lord 
 
 Should be to aftertime, but empty breath 
 
 And rumours of a doubt t But were this kept, 100 
 
 Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings, 
 
 Some one might show it at a joust of arms. 
 
 Saying, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur, 
 
 Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake. 
 
 Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps 105 
 
 Upon the hidden bases of the hills.' 
 
 So might some old man speak in the aftertime 
 
 To all the people, winning reverence. 
 
 But now much honour and much fame were lost" 
 
 So spake he, clouded with his own conceit, 110 
 
 And hid Ezcalibur the second time. 
 And so strode back slow to the wounded King. 
 Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily : 
 " What is it thou hast seen 1 or what hast heard t " 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 115 
 
 " I heard the water lapping on the crag. 
 And the long ripple washing in the reeds." 
 
 To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : 
 " Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
 
 Tnknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! 120 
 
 Authority forgets a dying king, 
 Laid widow'd of the power in his eye 
 That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art. 
 For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, 
 In whom should meet the offices of all, 126 
 
 Thou n ouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; 
 Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
 
98 
 
 r .^1 
 
 ji -f 
 
 A WBOOL ANTHOLOGT— BOOK MOOMD. 
 
 Valuing the giddy plewure of the •jta. 
 
 Yet, for a num may fail in duty twioe^ 
 
 And the third time may proeper, get thee henoe : 130 
 
 But, if thou spare to fling Ezcalibar, 
 
 I will arise and slay thee with my hands." 
 Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
 
 And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
 
 Among the bulrush-beds, and olutch'd the sword, 133 
 
 And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand 
 
 Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon. 
 
 And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch. 
 
 Shot like a streamer of the northern mom, 
 
 Seen where the moving isles of winter shook 140 
 
 By night, with noii^ of the northern sea. 
 
 So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur : 
 
 But ere he dipt the surfooe, rose an arm 
 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
 
 And caught him by the hilt» and brandish'd him 146 
 
 Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
 
 And lightly went the other to the King. 
 Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath : 
 
 " Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. 
 
 Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen t " 1 60 
 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
 "Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
 Should blind my purpose, for I never saw. 
 Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die, 
 Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, 165 
 
 So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
 Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ; 
 But when I look'd again, behold an arm, 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
 That caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 160 
 Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 
 
 I , 
 
MOBTB D'aBTBUK. 
 
 And uuww made King Arthur, breathing hard : 
 "My end draws nigh ; 'ti. time that I were gone. 
 Make broad thy shoulder* to receive my weight, 
 And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear 
 My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die." 
 So saying, from the pavement he half rose, 
 Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm. 
 And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes 
 As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere 
 Remorsefully regarded thro' his tears, 
 And would have spoken, but he found not words, 
 mien took with care, and kneeling on one kne^ 
 O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands. 
 And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. 
 
 But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard, 
 Like one th -.t feels a nightmare on his bed 
 WhenaUi a house is mute. So sigh'd the King, 
 Muttering :.nd murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick ! 
 I fear It is too late, and I shall die. " 
 But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, 
 Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd, 
 Larger than human on the frozen hills. 
 He heard the deep behind him, and a cry 
 Before. His own thought drove him, like a goad. 
 Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves 
 And barren chasms, and all to left and right 
 ^e bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based 
 His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 
 Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels— 
 And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake, 
 And the long glories of the winter moon. 
 
 Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge 
 Dark as a funeral scarf fror- stem to stern, 
 Beneath them ; and descending they were ware 
 
 99 
 
 166 
 
 170 
 
 175 
 
 180 
 
 185 
 
 190 
 
 195 
 
* - 
 
 } Im 
 
 I ^'i^ii 
 
 ii II 
 
 100 
 
 A tOBOOL AirrHOLOOToBOOK IICKWD. 
 
 Tl»t all the deoki were deiue with etetelj forme 
 
 BUok-itoled, bh^k-hooded, like e draem— by these 
 
 Three Queen* with orowne of gold— and from them roie 
 
 A cry that •hiver'd to the tingling stare, 
 
 And, as it were one voice an agony 2qo 
 
 Of lamentation, like a wind, that shrills 
 
 All night in a waste land, where no one comes. 
 
 Or hath come, since the making of the world. 
 
 Then murmur'd Arthur, "Place me in the barge," 
 And to the barge they came. There those three Queens 
 Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept 206 
 But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
 And fairest, laid his head upon her lap. 
 And loosed the shatter'd casque, and chafed hio hands, 
 And call'd him by his name, complaining loud, 210 
 
 And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
 Striped with dark blood : for all his face was white 
 And colourless, and like the wither'd moon 
 Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; 
 And aU his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops 21S 
 Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls— 
 That made his forehead like a rising sun 
 High from the daw-throne— were parch'd with dust; 
 Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 
 Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. 220 
 So like a shatter'd column lay the King ; 
 Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest. 
 Prom spur to plume a star of tournament. 
 Shot thro' the lists at Camelot, and charged 
 Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 235 
 
 Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, 
 " Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall i go f 
 Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 
 For now I see the true old times are dead. 
 
MORTB D'aRTHUB. 
 
 101 
 
 ^Vhen every morning brought n noble chaiicc, 230 
 
 And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
 
 Such timen have been not since the light that led 
 
 The holy Elden with the gift of myrrh. 
 
 But now the whole boumd tablb is dissolved 
 
 Which was an image of the mighty world ; 235 
 
 And I, the last, go forth coinpanionless, 
 
 And the days darken rouno me, and the yearn, 
 
 Among new men, strange faces, other minds." 
 
 And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : 
 "The old order ohangeth, yielding place to new, 240 
 
 And God fulfils Himself in many ways, 
 I*8t one good custom should corrupt the world. 
 Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me Y 
 I have lived my life, and that which I have done 
 May He within Himself make pure ! but thou, 245 
 
 If thou shonldst never see my face again, 
 Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice 
 Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
 For what are men better than sheep or goats 260 
 
 That nourish a blind life within the brain. 
 If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
 Both for themselves and those who call them friend 1 
 For so the whole round earth is every way 
 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 255 
 
 But now farewell. I am going a long way 
 
 With these thou seest — if indeed I go 
 
 (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
 
 To the island-valley of Avilion ; 
 
 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 260 
 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
 
 Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns 
 
 And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, 
 
102 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK SECOND. 
 
 "i ! 
 
 ill ■■' 
 
 Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." 
 
 So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 266 
 
 Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan 
 That, fluting a wild carol ere herdeath, 
 Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
 With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
 Revolving many memories, till the hull 270 
 
 Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
 And on the mere the wailing died away. 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 29.— WINTER UPLANDS. 
 The frost that stings like fire upon my cheek. 
 The loneliness of this forsaken ground. 
 The long white drift upon whose powdered peak 
 I sit in the great silence as one bound ; 
 The rippled sheet of snow where the wind blew 6 
 
 Across the open fields for miles ahead ; 
 The far-oflFcity towered and roofed in blue 
 A tender line upon the western red ; 
 The stars that singly, then in flocks appear, 
 Likejetsof silver from the violet dome, 10 
 
 So wonderful, so many and so near. 
 
 And then the golden moon to light me home 
 
 The crunching snowshoes and the stinging air, 
 And silence, frost, and beauty everywhere. —Lampman. 
 {By permUrion of the publiafurn, Oeorge N. Morang <fc Co., Limited). 
 
 30.— TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH. 
 
 The minstrels played their Christmas tune 
 To-night beneath my cottage eaves : 
 
 While, smitten by a lofty moon. 
 The encircling laurels, thick wilb leaves, 
 
 Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen, 
 
 That overpowered their natural green. 
 
TO THE REV. OR. WORDSWORTH. 
 
 103 
 
 Through hill and valley oveij breeze 
 Had sunk to rest wii h folded wini^. ; 
 
 Keen was the air, but t v^utd not fret io 
 Nor check the music ot the sCkii»«rs ; 10 
 
 So stout and hardy were the band 
 
 That scraped the chords with strenuous hand. 
 
 And who but listened ?— till was paid 
 
 Respect to every inmate's claim : 
 The greeting given, the music played, 16 
 
 In hoAour of each household name, 
 Duly pronounced with lusty call, 
 And " Merry Christmas " wished to all ! 
 
 O Brother ! I revere the choice 
 
 That took thee from thy native hills ; 20 
 
 And it is given thee to rejoice : 
 
 Though public care full often tills 
 (Heaven only witness of the toil) 
 A barren and ungrateful soil. 
 
 Tet would that thou, with me and mine, 25 
 
 Hadst heard this never-failing rite ; 
 And seen on other faces shine 
 
 A true revival of the light 
 Which Nature and these rustic powers. 
 In simple childhood, spread through ours ! 30 
 
 For pleasure hath not ceased to wait 
 
 On these expected annual rounds ; 
 Whether the rich man's sumptuous gate 
 
 Call forth the unelaborate sounds. 
 Or they are offered at the door 36 
 
 That guards the lowliest of the poor. 
 
104 
 
 i; 
 
 ■II 
 
 I ^ 
 
 A SCHOOL AMTHOLOOY— BOOK SECOND. 
 
 How touching, when, at midnight, sweep 
 Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark, 
 
 To hear — and sink again to sleep ! 
 
 Or, at an earlier call, to mark, 40 
 
 By blazing fire, the still suspense 
 
 Of self-complacent innocence ; 
 
 The mutual nod, — the grave disguise 
 Of hearts with gladness brimming o'er ; 
 
 And some unbidden tears that rise 45 
 
 For names once heard, and heard no more ; 
 
 Tears brightened by the serenade 
 
 For infant in the cradle laid ! 
 
 Ah ! not for emerald fields alone, 
 
 With ambient streams more pure and bright 60 
 Than fabled Cytherea's zone 
 
 Glittering before the Thunderer's sight, 
 Is to my heart of hearts endeared 
 The ground where we were bom and reared ! 
 
 Hail, ancient manners ! sure defence, 55 
 
 Where they survive, of wholesome laws ; 
 
 Remnants of love whose modest sense 
 Thus into narrow room withdraws ; 
 
 Hail, usages of pristine mould. 
 
 And ye that guard them, mountains old ! 60 
 
 Bear with me, Brother; quench the thought 
 That slights this passion, or condemns ; 
 
 If thee fond Fancy ever brought 
 
 From the proud margin of the Thames, 
 
 And Lambeth's venerable towers, 66 
 
 To humbler streams and greener bowers. 
 
IN MEMORIAM — LXXXVI. 
 
 105 
 
 Yes, they can make, who fail to find, 
 
 Short leisure even in busiest days. 
 Moments to cast a look behind. 
 
 And profit by those kindly rays 70 
 
 That through the clouds do sometimes steal. 
 And all the far-off past reveal. 
 
 Hence, while the imperial city's din 
 
 Breaks frequent on thy satiate ear, 
 A pleased attention I may win 76 
 
 To agitations less severe, 
 
 That neither overwhelm nor cloy. 
 
 But fill the hollow vale with joy ! 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
 31.— IN MEMORIAM 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Sweet after showers, ambrosial air. 
 That roUest from the gorgeous gloom 
 Of evening over brake and bloom 
 
 And meadow, slowly breathing bare 
 
 The round of space, and rapt below 5 
 
 Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood, 
 And shadowing down the homed flood 
 
 In ripples, fan my brows and blow 
 
 The fever from my cheek, and sigh 
 
 The full new life that feeds thy breath 1 
 
 Throughout my frame, till doubt and death 
 
 HI brethren let the fancy fly 
 
 From belt to belt of crimson seas 
 On leagues of odor streaming far. 
 To where in yonder orient star 
 
 A hundred spirits whisper " Peace." 
 
 15 
 
 -Tennyaon. 
 
106 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY— BOOK SECOND. 
 
 32.— WOLSEY. 
 (From The Vanity qf Human WUhet.) 
 In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, 
 Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand : 
 To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign. 
 Thro' him the rays of regal bounty shine, ' 
 Tum'd by his nod the stream of honour flows, fi 
 
 His smile alone security bestows : 
 StiU to new heights his restless wishes tower. 
 Claim leadP to claim, and power advances power; 
 Till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please, 
 And rights submitted left him none to seize. 10 
 
 At length his sov'reign frowns ;— the train of state 
 Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. 
 Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye ; 
 His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly : 
 Now drops at once the pride of awful state 16 
 
 The golden canopy, the gUtt'ring plate, 
 The regal palace, the luxurious board, 
 The liv'ried army, and the menial lord. 
 With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, 
 He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. 20 
 
 Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings. 
 And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 
 
 —Samtiel Johnxm. 
 
 33.— TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 
 
 Bird thou never wert, 
 That from heaven, or near it 
 Pourest thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. k 
 
 ^l\ 
 
TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 107 
 
 Higher still and 'higher 
 
 From the earth thou springeot 
 Like a cloud of fire ; 
 The blue deep thou wingest, 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 10 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 
 Of the sunken sun 
 O'er which clouds are brightening, 
 
 Thou dost float and run, 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 16 
 
 The pale purple even 
 
 Melts around thy flight ; 
 Like a star of heaven 
 
 In the broad daylight 
 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight : 20 
 
 Keen as are the arrows 
 
 Of that silver sphere, 
 Whose intense lamp narrows 
 
 In the white dawn clear 
 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 26 
 
 AH the earth and air 
 
 With thy voice is loud, 
 As, when night is bare. 
 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd. 30 
 
 What thou art we know not ; 
 
 What is most like thee 1 
 From rainbow clouds there flow not 
 
 Drops so bright to see 
 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. {,5 
 
106 
 
 A 8CH00L ANTHOLOOr^BOOK SECOND. 
 
 m 
 
 
 \m 
 
 : S'l 
 
 ^'1 
 
 
 L'ke a poet hidden 
 
 In the light of thought, 
 Singing hymns unbidden, 
 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 40 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower, 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : 46 
 
 Like a glow-worm golden 
 
 In a dell of dew, 
 Scattering ur.beholden 
 Its aerial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view : 60 
 
 Like a rose embowered 
 
 In its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflowered. 
 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet : hese heavy-wingAl thieves. 55 
 
 Sound of vernal showers 
 
 On the twinkling grass. 
 Rain awaken'd flowers. 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous and clear and fresh thy music doth surpass. t^Q 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird, 
 
 What sweet thoughtb are thine ; 
 
 I have never heard 
 Praise of love or wine 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine: 66 
 
TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 109 
 
 Chonu hymeneal 
 
 Or triumphal chaunt 
 Matoh'd with tnine, would be all 
 
 But an empty vaunt, 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 70 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of thy happy strain 1 
 What fields or waves or mountains ? ^ 
 
 What shapes of sky or plain 1 
 What love of thine own kind 1 what ignorance of pain 1 75 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Languor cannot be : 
 Shadow of annoyance 
 
 >"''ever came near thee : 
 Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 80 
 
 Waking or asleep 
 
 Thou of death must deem 
 Things more true and deep 
 
 Than we mortals dream, 
 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? 85 
 
 We look before and after. 
 
 And pine for what is not ■ 
 Our sincerest laughter 
 
 With some pain is fraught ; 
 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 90 
 
 Yet if we could scorn 
 
 Hate and pride and fear ; 
 If we were things bom 
 
 Not to shed a tear, 
 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 95 
 
if 
 
 100 
 
 .^\ 
 
 m . i 
 
 f! 
 
 hi! 
 
 110 A SCHOOL AHTHOLOOY— BOOK SIOOirD. 
 
 Better than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better tha: all treasures 
 That in books are found, 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou soomer of the ground 1 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That thy brain must know, 
 Such harmonious madness 
 
 From my lips would flow, 
 The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! 105 
 
 ' —Shelley. 
 
 34.-" TEARS, IDLE TEARS, I KNOW NOT WHAT 
 
 THEY MEAN." 
 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, 
 Tears from the depth of some divine despair 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
 In looking on the happy autumn-fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no more. 5 
 
 BVesh as the first beam glittering on a sail, 
 That brings our friends up from the underworld. 
 Sad as the last which reddens over one 
 That sinks with all we love below the verge ; 
 So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. ' 
 
 10 
 
 Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 
 The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds 
 To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
 The casement slowly grows a glimmering square : 
 So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 
 
 15 
 
ILIOIAC STANZAS. lU 
 
 Dear as remember'd kiases after death, 
 And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd 
 On lips that are for others ; deep as love, 
 Deep as first love, and wild > itb a,]^ regret ; 
 O Death in Life, the days thai are no more. 20 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 35.— ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 SUOOBSTBD BT A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE, IN A STORM, 
 PAINTED BT SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. 
 
 I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged pile ! 
 
 Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
 I saw thee every day, and all the while 
 
 Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 
 
 So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! 8 
 
 So like, so very like, was day to day ! 
 Whene'er I looked, thy image still was there ; 
 
 It trembled, but it never passed away. 
 
 How perfect was the calm ! it seemed no sleep ; 
 
 No mood which season takes away or brings : 10 
 I could have fancied that the mighty deep 
 
 Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. 
 
 Ah ! THEN, if mine had been the painter's hand, 
 To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, 
 
 The light that never was, on sea or land, 15 
 
 The consecration, and the poet's dream ; 
 
 I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile. 
 Amid a world how different from this ! 
 
 Beside a sea that could not cease to smile. 
 
 On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20 
 
s»t 
 
 1^: 
 
 !i! 
 
 m 
 
 ■ n 
 
 til 
 
 113 A 8CB0OL AMTBOLOOY— BOOK 8IC0MD. 
 
 Thou shouldst have seemed a treasure-houM divine 
 Of peaceful years ; a ohronicle of heaven ;— 
 
 Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine, 
 The very sweetest had to thee been given. 
 
 A picture had it been of lasting ease, 26 
 
 Eljsian quiet, without toil or strife ; 
 No motion, but the moving tide, a breeze. 
 
 Or merely silent Nature's breathing life 
 
 Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 
 
 Such picture would I at that time have made ; SO 
 And seen the soul of truth !n every part, 
 
 A steadfast peace that mrght, not be betrayed. 
 
 So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; 
 
 I have submitted to a new control ; 
 A power is gone which nothing can restore ; 35 
 
 A deep distress hath humanized my soul. 
 
 Not for a moment could I now behold 
 A smiling sea, and be what I have been. 
 
 The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 
 This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 40 
 
 Then, Beaumont, friend ! who would have been the 
 friend. 
 
 If he had lived, of him whom I deplore. 
 This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; 
 
 This sea in anger and that dismal shore. 
 
 Oh, 'tis a passionate work !— yet wise and well. 
 Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 
 
 That hulk which labours in the deadly swell. 
 This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! 
 
 45 
 
"TOU AIK Ml, WHY, THO' ILL AT BAIB.' 
 
 113 
 
 And thii huge oMtle, standing here inblime, 
 I love to see the look with which it braves, 50 
 
 Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time, 
 
 The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 
 
 Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone. 
 Housed, in a dream, at distance from the kind ! 
 
 Such happiness, wherever it be known, 65 
 
 Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind. 
 
 But welcome fortitude and patient cheer, 
 And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 
 
 Such sights, or worse, as are before me here, 
 
 Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 60 
 — WordtuHtrih. 
 
 36.-«yOU ASK ME, WHY, THO* ILL AT EASE. 
 
 You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, 
 Within this region I subaist. 
 Whose spirits falter in the mist. 
 
 And languish for the purple seas. 
 
 It is the land that freemen till, 5 
 
 That sober-suited Freedom chose, 
 The land, where girt with friends or foes 
 
 A man may speak the thing he will ; 
 
 A land of settled government, 
 
 A land of just and old renown, 10 
 
 Where Freedom slowly broadens down 
 
 From precedent to precedent : 
 
 Where faction seldom gathers head, 
 But by degrees to fullness wrought, 
 The strength of some diffusive thought 16 
 
 Hath time and space to work and spread. 
 8 
 
lU 
 
 A MHOOL AXTHOUMIT—IOOK MOOVn. 
 
 Should banded uniona peneoute 
 Opinion, and induce a time 
 When single thought ia civil crime, 
 
 And individual freedom mute ; SO 
 
 Tho' Power should make from land to land 
 The name of Britain trebly great— 
 Tho' every channel of the State 
 
 Should fill and choke with golden land — 
 
 Tet waft me from the harbour-mouth, 25 
 
 Wild wind ! I seek a warmer aky. 
 And I will lee before I die 
 
 The palms and temples of the South. 
 
 — Ttnwyaon. 
 
 37.— "OP OLD SAT FREEDOM ON THE HEIGHTS." 
 
 Of old sat Freedom on the heights, 
 
 The thunders breaking at her feet : 
 
 Above her shook the starry lights : 
 She heard the torrents meet. 
 
 There in her place she did rejoice^ 6 
 
 Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, 
 
 But fragments of her mighty voice 
 Came rolling on the wind. 
 
 Then stept she down thro' town and field 
 
 To mingle with the human race. 
 And part by part to men reveal'd 
 
 The fullness of her face- 
 Grave mother of majestic works, 
 
 Fi'om her isle-altar gazing down. 
 Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks. 
 
 And, King-like, wears the crown : 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
"ton THOU TBT tAKD, WITH tOV« rAR-BROOOHT." lift 
 
 Her open ejee desire the truth. 
 
 The wiadom of h thousand years 
 Is in them. May perpetual youth 
 
 Keep dry their light from tears : SQ 
 
 That her fair form may stand and shine, 
 
 Make bright our days and light our dreams, 
 
 Turning to scorn with lips divine 
 The falsehood of extremes ! 
 
 — Ttnnyaon. 
 
 38— "LOVE THOU THY LAND, WITH LOVE 
 FARrBROUOHT." 
 Love thou thy land, with love far-brought 
 From out the storied Fast, and used 
 Within the Preseut, but tranbfused 
 Thro' future time by power of thought. 
 
 True love tum'd round on fixed poles, 6 
 
 love, that endures not sordid ends. 
 For English natures, freemen, friends. 
 
 Thy brothers and immortal souls. 
 
 But pamper not a hasty time, 
 Nor feed with crude imaginings 10 
 
 The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings 
 
 That every sophister can lime. 
 
 Deliver not the tasks of might 
 
 To weakness, neither hide the ray 
 
 From those, not blind, who wait for day, 16 
 
 Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. 
 
 Make knowledge circle with the winds ; 
 
 But let her herald, Reverence, fly 
 
 Before her to whatever sky 
 Bear seed of men and growth of minds. 20 
 
I ! 
 
 116 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT — BOOK BBCOMD. 
 
 Watch what main-currents draw the years : 
 
 Cut Prejudice against the grain : 
 
 But gentle words are always gain : 
 Regard the weakness of thy peers : 
 
 Nor toil for title, place or touch 25 
 
 Of pension, neither count on praise : 
 It grows to guerdon after-days : 
 
 Nor deal in watch-words overmuch : 
 
 Not clinging to some ancient saw ; 
 Not masterM by some modem term ; 30 
 
 Not swift nor slow to change, but firm : 
 
 And in its season bring the law ; 
 
 That from Discussion's lip may fall 
 With Life, that, working strongly, binds — 
 Set in all lights by many minds, 35 
 
 To close the interests of all. 
 
 ■ i 
 
 For Nature also, cold and warm. 
 And moist and dry, devising long, 
 Thro' many agents making strong, 
 
 Matures the individual form. 
 
 Meet is it changes should control 
 Our being, lest we rust in ease. 
 We all are changed by still degrees, 
 
 All but the basis of the soul. 
 
 So let the change which comes be free 
 To ingroove itself with that which flies, 
 And work, a joint of state, that plies 
 
 Its office, moved with sympathy. 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
"tOVB THOU THY LAND, WITH LOVK FAR-BROUGHT." 117 
 
 A saying, hard to shape in act ; 
 For all the past of Time reveals 
 A bridal dawn of thunder-peak, 
 
 Wherever Thought hath wedded Fact. 
 
 EVn now we hear with inward strife 
 A motion toiling in the gloom — 
 The spirit of the years to come 
 
 Yearning to mix himself with Life. 
 
 A slow-develop'd sti-ength awaits 
 Completion in a painful school ; 
 Phantoms of other forms of rule, 
 
 New Majesties of mighty States — 
 
 The warders of the growing hour, 
 But vague in vapour, hard to mark ; 
 And round them sea and air are dark 
 
 With great contrivances of Power. 
 
 Of many changes, aptly join'd, 
 Is bodied forth the second whole. 
 Regard gradation, lest the soul 
 
 Of Discord race the rising wind ; 
 
 A wind to puff your idol-firas. 
 And heap their ashes on the head ; 
 To shame the boast so often made. 
 
 That we are wiser than our sires. 
 
 Oh yet, if Nature's evil star 
 Drive men in manhood, as in youth, 
 To follow flying steps of truth 
 
 Across the brazen bridge of war — 
 
 50 
 
 66 
 
 60 
 
 66 
 
 70 
 
 76 
 
1 
 
 
 1 
 
 n 
 
 
 11 
 
 .' i JH 
 
 1 i 
 
 !' 
 
 i II 
 
 ■ii 
 
 S£jJ. 
 
 9m 
 
 118 A SCHOOL AKTHOLOOT— BOOK BBCOMD. 
 
 If New and Old, disastrous feud, 
 Must ever shock, like armed foes, 
 And this be true, till Time shall dose, 
 
 That Principles are rain'd in blood ; 
 
 Not yet the wise of heart would cease 
 To hold his hope thro' shame and guilty 
 But with his hand against the hilt, 
 
 Would pace the troubled land, like Peace; 
 
 Not less, tho' dogs of Faction bay, 
 Would serve his kind in deed and word, 
 Certain, if knowledge bring the sword. 
 
 That knowledge takes the sword away— 
 
 Would love the gleams of good that broke 
 From either side, nor veil his eyes : 
 And if some dreadful need should rise 
 
 Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke : 
 
 To-morrow yet would reap to-day, 
 As we bear blossom of the deiid ; 
 Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed 
 
 Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay. 
 
 — Tenni/aon. 
 
 39.-.IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Contemplate all this work of Time, 
 The giant labouring in his youth : 
 Nor dream of human love and truth, 
 
 As dying Nature's earth and lime : 
 
 But trust that those we call the dead 
 
 Are breathers of an ampler day 
 
 Forever nobler ends. They say, 
 The solid earth whereon we tread 
 
 80 
 
 86 
 
 90 
 
IN MEMORIAM— CXVIII. 
 
 119 
 10 
 
 In tracts of fluent heat began, 
 
 And grew to seeming-random forms, 
 
 The seeming prey of cyclic storms. 
 Till at the last arose the man ; 
 
 Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime 
 
 The herald of a higher race, 
 
 And of himself in higher place ^ IS 
 
 If so he type this work of time 
 
 Within himself, from more to more : 
 Or, crown'd with attributes of woe 
 like glories, move his course, and show 
 
 That life is not as idle or ^ 80 
 
 Bat iron dug from central gloom, 
 
 And heated hot with burning fears, 
 
 And dipt in baths of hissing tears. 
 And batter'd with the shocks of doom 
 
 To shape and use. Arise and fly S6 
 
 The reeling Faun, the sensual feast : 
 
 Move upward, working out the beast. 
 
 And let the ape and tiger die. 
 
 — TennyaoTk 
 
I; 
 
 M 
 
 Fi!! 
 
 ill 
 
 BOOK THIRD. 
 
 1.— THE WISHING-GATR 
 Hope roles a land forever green : 
 All powers that serve the bright-eyed queen 
 
 Are confident and gay ; 
 Clouds at her bidding (^sappear ; 
 Points she to a^ght t the bliss draws near, 
 
 And fancy smooths the way. 
 
 Not such the land of wishes— there 
 Dwell fruitless day-dreams, lawless prayer, 
 
 And thoughts with things at strife ; 
 Tet how forlorn, should ye depart, 
 Te superstitions of the htart, 
 
 How poor were human life ! 
 
 When magic lore abjured its might, 
 Te did not forfeit one dear right. 
 
 One tender claim abate ; 
 Witness this symbol of your sway, 
 Surviving near the public way — 
 
 The rustic Wishing-gate 1 
 
 Inquire not if the faery race 
 Shed kindly influence on the place 
 
 Ere northward they retired ; 
 If here a warrior left a spell, 
 Panting for glory as he fell, 
 
 Or here a saint expired. 
 120 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
THB WI8RIN0-0ATB. 
 
 Enough thftt all around U fair, 
 Composed with Nature's finest care 
 
 And in her fondest love — 
 Peace to embosom and content, 
 To overawe the turbulent, 
 
 The selfish to reprove. 
 
 Yea ! even the stranger from afar, 
 Beolining on this moss-grown bar, 
 
 Unknowing and unknown, 
 The infection of the ground partakes, 
 Ixmging for his Beloved, who makes 
 
 All happiness her own. 
 
 Then why should conscious spirits fear 
 The mystic stirring- that are here. 
 
 The ancient faith disclaim 7 
 The local genius ne'er befriends 
 Desires whose course in folly ends. 
 
 Whose just reward is shame. 
 
 Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn, 
 If some, by ceaseless pains outworn. 
 
 Here crave an easier lot ; 
 If some have thirsted to renew 
 A broken vow, or bind a true 
 
 With firmer, holier knot. 
 
 And not in vain, when thoughts are cast 
 Upon the irrevocable past, 
 
 Some penitent sincere 
 May for a worthier future sigh. 
 While trickles from his downcast eye 
 
 No unavailing tear. 
 
 131 
 
 25 
 
 80 
 
 36 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
I' M 
 
 1 
 
 * * 
 
 122 A SCHOOL AMTHOLOOT — BOOK TBIRD. 
 
 The worldling, pining to be freed 66 
 
 From turmoil, who would turn or speed 
 
 The current of his fate, 
 Might stop before this favoured scene 
 At Nature's call, nor blush to lean 
 
 Upon the Wishing-gate. 60 
 
 The sage, who feels how blind, how weak 
 Is man, though loathe such help to aeekt 
 
 Tet passing here might pause, 
 And yearn for insight to allay 
 Misgiving, while the crimson day 66 
 
 In quietness withdraws, 
 
 Or when the church-clock's knell profound 
 To Time's first step across the bound 
 
 Of midnight makes reply — 
 Time pressing on with starry crest 70 
 
 To filial sleep upon the breast 
 
 Of dread Eternity ! 
 
 — Wordtworth. 
 
 2.— ULYSSES. 
 
 it little profits that an idle king. 
 
 By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 
 
 Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole 
 
 Unequal laws unto a savage race. 
 
 That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. 
 
 I cannot rest from travel : I will drink 
 
 life to the lees : all times I have enjoy'd 
 
 Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those 
 
 That loved me, and alone ; on shore, and when 
 
 Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 
 
 Yezt the dim sea : I am become a name ; 
 
 10 
 
ITLT88E8. 123 
 
 For always roaming with a hungry heart 
 
 Much have I seen and known ; cities of men 
 
 And manners, climates, councils, governments, 
 
 Myself not least, but honour'd of them all ; 16 
 
 And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 
 
 Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
 
 I am a part of all that I have met; 
 
 Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 
 
 Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades 20 
 
 For ever and for ever when I move. 
 
 How dull it is to pause, to make an end. 
 
 To rust unbumish'd, not to shine in use ! 
 
 As tho' to breathe were life. life piled on life 
 
 Were all too little, and of one to me 25 
 
 Little remains : but every hour is saved 
 
 From that eternal silence, something more, 
 
 A bringer of new things ; and vile it were 
 
 For some three sims to store and hoard myself. 
 
 And this gray spirit yearning in desire 30 
 
 To follow knowledge like a sinking star. 
 
 Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 
 
 This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
 
 To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle 
 
 Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 35 
 
 This labour, by slow prudence to make mild 
 
 A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
 
 Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
 
 Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 
 
 Of common duties, decent not to fail 40 
 
 In offices of tenderness, and pay 
 
 Meet adoration to my household gods 
 
 When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 
 
 There lies the port ; the vessel pu£& her sail : 
 There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 45 
 
rr 
 
 Iff 
 
 h 
 
 , ' »■ 
 
 u 
 
 I 
 
 134 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT— BOOK THIRD. 
 
 Souls that have toil'd and wrought and thought with 
 
 me — 
 ITiat ever with a frolic welcome took 
 The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
 Free hearts, free foreheads— you and I are old ; 
 Old age h; bh yet his honour and his toil ; 50 
 
 Death closes all : but something ere the end. 
 Some work of noble note, may yet be don^ 
 Not unbecoming men that strove with gods. 
 The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : 
 The long day wanes : the slow moon climbs : the deep 56 
 Moans round with m^y voices. Come, my friends, 
 Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
 Push ofl^ and sitting well in order, smite 
 The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
 To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 60 
 
 Of all the western stars, until I die. 
 It may be that the guixs will wash us down : 
 It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
 And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
 Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho' 66 
 
 We are not now that strength which in old days 
 Moved earth and heaven ; that which we are, we are ; 
 One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
 Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
 To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 70 
 
 . ^ —Teiwymm, 
 
 3.— IN MEMOBIAM. 
 
 ZZVII. 
 
 I envy not in any moods 
 
 The captive void of noble rage. 
 
 The linnet bom within the cage. 
 That never knew the summer woods ^ 
 
TBK RBCOLLCCTIOir. 
 
 I envy not the beast that takes 
 His license in the field of time, 
 Unfetter'd by the sense of crime, 
 
 To whom a oonaoienoe never wakes : 
 
 Nor, what may count itself as blest, 
 The heart that never plighted troth, 
 But stagnates in the weeds of sloth ; 
 
 Nor any want-begotten rest. 
 
 I hold it true, whate'er befall ; 
 
 I feel it, when I sorrow most ; 
 
 Tia better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all. 
 
 125 
 6 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 — Tenny$on. 
 
 4.— THE RECOLLECTION. 
 
 Now the last day of many days 
 All beautiful and bright as thou, 
 The loveliest and the last, is dead : 
 Bise, Memory, and write its praise ! 
 Up to thy wonted work ! come, trace 
 The epitaph of glory fled, — 
 For now the earth has changed its face, 
 A frown is on the heaven's brow. 
 
 We wander'd to the pine forest 
 
 That skirts the ocean's foam ; 
 The lightest wind was in its nest 
 
 The tempest in its home. 
 The whispering waves were half asleep, 
 
 The clouds were gone to play. 
 And on the bosom of the deep 
 
 The smile of heaven lay ; 
 
 10 
 
 19 
 
I t! 
 
 1S6 A SCHOOL AXTBOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 It weoi'd u if the hour were one 
 Sent fnmi beyond the tkies, 
 
 Which soatter'd from above the ran 
 A light of Paradise i 
 
 We paused amid the pines that stood 
 
 The giants of the waste, 
 Tortured by storms to shapes as rude 
 
 As serpents interlaced, 
 And soothed by every arare breath 
 
 That under heaven is blown, 
 To harmonies and hues beneath. 
 
 As tender lis its own : 
 Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 
 
 Like green waves on the sea. 
 As still as in the silent deep 
 
 The ocean woods may be. 
 
 How calm it was ! — the silence there 
 
 By such a chain was bound. 
 That even the busy woodpecker 
 
 Made stiller by her sound 
 Tlie inviolable quietness ; 
 
 Thto breath of peace we drew 
 With its soft motion made not less 
 
 The calm that round us grew. 
 There seem'd from the remotest seat 
 
 Of the white mountain waste 
 To the soft flower beneath our feet 
 
 A magic circle traced, — 
 A spirit interfused around, 
 
 A thrilling silent life ; 
 To momentary peace it bound 
 
 Our mortal nature's strife ; — 
 
 SO 
 
 90 
 
 30 
 
 35 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
TDK BBOOLLMTIOll. 127 
 
 And still I felt the centre of 
 
 The magio circle there 50 
 
 Was one fair form that fill'd with love 
 
 The lifeless atmosphera. 
 
 We paused beside the pools that lie 
 
 Under the forest bough ; 
 Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky 56 
 
 Oulf d in a world below ; ^ 
 
 A firmament of purple light 
 
 Which in the dark earth lay, 
 More boundless than the depth of night 
 
 And purer than the day — 60 
 
 In which the lovely forests grew 
 
 As in the upper air, 
 More perfect both in shape and hue 
 
 Than any spreading there. 
 There lay the gUde and neighbouring lawn, 65 
 
 And through the dark green wood 
 The white sun twinkling like the dawn 
 
 Out of a speckled cloud. 
 Sweet views which in our world above 
 
 Can never well be seen 70 
 
 Were imaged by the water's love 
 
 Of that fair forest green : 
 And all was interfused beneath 
 
 With an Elysian glow, 
 An atmosphere without a breath, 75 
 
 A softer day below, 
 like one beloved, the scene had lent 
 
 To the dark water's breast 
 Its every leaf and lineament 
 
 With more than truth exprest ; 80 
 
1S8 
 
 A lOBOOL AITTBOLOOT— BOOK TBIBO. 
 
 Until an envioas wind orapt by, 
 Like an unweloome thought 
 
 Which from the mind's too faithful eye 
 Bloti one dear image oat. 
 
 — ^Though thoa art erer fair and kind, 
 The forest* ever green, 
 
 Leu oft is peace in SheUeT*! mind 
 Than calm in waters seen 1 
 
 80 
 
 6 — TO DELIA. 
 
 —BhdUy. 
 
 CaroKsharmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
 Brother to Death, in silent darkness bom : 
 Relieve my langnish and restore the light ; 
 With dark forgetting of my care, return. 
 And let the day be time enough to mourn 
 The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
 I«t waking eyes suiBce to wail their scorn 
 Without the torment of the night's untruth. 
 Cease dreams, the images of day desires, 
 To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
 Never let rining sun approve you liars. 
 To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. 
 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain. 
 And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 
 
 —Samuel Daniel. 
 
 10 
 
 6.— (ENONE. 
 There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier 
 Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. 
 The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen. 
 Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine. 
 And oiters, 8lo%7ly drawn. On either hand 
 
(BVOJfi. 139 
 
 The Uwna and m«M)ow-l«dgM midway down 
 
 Hang rich in flowers, and ' -r below them roar* 
 
 The long brook falling thro' the oloT'n ravine 
 
 In cataract after cataract to the sea. 
 
 Behind the valley topmost Oargarus JQ 
 
 Stands up and takes the morning : but in front 
 
 The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal 
 
 Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, 
 
 The crown of Troas. 
 
 Hither came at noon 15 
 
 Mournful CEnone, wandering forlorn 
 Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. 
 Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck 
 Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest. 
 She, leaning on a fragment twined with Wne, 20 
 
 Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 
 Sloped downward to her seat from the upper diffi 
 
 "0 mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
 Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
 Por now the noon-day quiet holds the hill : 26 
 
 The grasshopper is silent in the grass : 
 The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, 
 Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead. 
 The purple flower droops : the golden bee 
 Is lily-cradled : I alone awake. 30 
 
 My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 
 My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, 
 And I am all aweary of my life. 
 
 " mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida 
 Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. S5 
 
 Hear me, O Earth, hear me, O Hills, O Caves 
 That house the cold crown'd snake ! O mountain brooks 
 I am the daughter of a river-god ; 
 9 
 
I !' 
 
 ISO A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT — BOOK THIKO. 
 
 Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all 
 
 My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls 40 
 
 Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, 
 
 A cloud that gather'd shape : for it may be 
 
 That, while I speak of it, a little while 
 
 My heart may wander from its deeper woe. 
 
 " O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 45 
 
 Dear mother Ida, barken ere I die. 
 I waited underneath the dawning hills, 
 Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, 
 And dewy-dark alofl the mountain pine : 
 Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, 50 
 
 Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved. 
 Came up from reedy Simois all alone, 
 
 " mother Ida, barken ere I die. 
 Far ofiF the torrent call'd me from the cleft : 
 Far up the solitary morning smote 55 
 
 The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes 
 I sat alone : white-breasted like a star 
 Fronting the dawn he moved ; a leopard skin 
 Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny hair 
 Gluster'd about his temples like a god's : 60 
 
 And his cheek brighten'd as the foam bow brightens 
 When the wind blows the foam, and all my heart 
 Went forth to embrace him coming ere he came. 
 
 " Dear mother Ida, barken ere I die. 
 He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm 65 
 
 Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold, 
 That smelt ambrosially, end while I look'd 
 And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech 
 Came down upon my heart. 
 
 j ;|, 
 
<BNONB. 
 
 ISl 
 
 " * My own (Enone, 70 
 
 Beautiful-brow'd (Enone, my own soul, 
 Behold this fruit, whoee gleaming rind ingrav'n 
 " For the most fair," would seem to award it thine, 
 As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt 
 The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace 76 
 
 Of movement, and the charm of married brows.' 
 
 " Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
 He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, 
 And added, ' This was cast upon the board, 
 When aU the full-faced pre* » of the gods 80 
 
 Ranged in the halls of Peleus ; whereupon 
 Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due : 
 But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve. 
 Delivering, that to me, by common voice 
 Elected umpire, Rerh comes to-day, gs 
 
 Pallas and Aphroditi, claiming each 
 This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave 
 Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, 
 Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard 
 Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of gods." 90 
 
 " Dear mother Ida, harken ere I dia 
 It was the deep midnoon : one silvery cloud 
 Had lost his way between the piney sides 
 Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came. 
 Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, 95 
 
 And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, 
 Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, 
 Lotus and lilies : and a wind arose. 
 And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, 
 This way and that, in many a wild festoon 100 
 
 Ran riot, garlanding the gnaried boughs 
 With bunch and berrv and flower thro' and thro'. 
 
u 
 
 I 
 
 15S A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 " O mother Ida, barken ere I die. 
 On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, 
 And o'er him flowed a golden cloud, and lean'd 106 
 
 Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew. 
 Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom 
 Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows 
 Larger and clearer, with one mind the gods 
 Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made 1 10 
 
 ProflFer of royal power, ample rule 
 Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue 
 Wherewith to embel^h state, 'from many a vale 
 And river-sunder'd champaign clothed with corn. 
 Or labour'd mine undrainable of ore. 1 ] 5 
 
 Honour,' she said, 'and homage, tax and toll, 
 From many an island town and haven large, 
 Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing citadel 
 In glassy bays among her tallest towers.' 
 
 " O mother Ida, harken ere I die. 1 20 
 
 Still she spake on and still she spake of power, 
 ' Which in all action is the end of all ; 
 Power fitted to the season ; wisdom-bred 
 And throned of wisdom— from all neighbour crowns 
 Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand 125 
 
 Fail from the sceptre-staffi Such boon from me, 
 From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-bom, 
 A shepherd all thy life, but yet king-bom. 
 Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power 
 Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd 130 
 
 Rest in a happy place, and quiet seats 
 Above the thunder, with undying bliss 
 In knowledge of their own supremacy.' 
 
 "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
 She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit 135 
 
 n 
 
(ENONB. ] 33 
 
 Out at ai-m's-length, so much the thought of power 
 Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood 
 Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs 
 O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear 
 Upon her pearlj shoulder leaning cold, 140 
 
 The while, above, her full and earnest eye 
 Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek 
 Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply. 
 
 "♦Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 
 These three alone lead life to sovereign i)ower. I45 
 
 Yet not for power (power of herself 
 Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law. 
 Acting the law we live by without fear; 
 And, because right is right, to follow right 
 Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' 150 
 
 " Dear mother Ida, barken ere I die. 
 Again she said : ' I woo thee not with gifts. 
 Sequel of guerdon could not alter me 
 To fairer. Judge thou me by what I am. 
 So shalt thou find me fairest. I55 
 
 Yet, indeed. 
 If gazing on divinity disrobed 
 Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair, 
 Unbias'd by self-profit, oh ! rest thee sure 
 That I shall love thee well and cleave to thee, 160 
 
 So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood. 
 Shall strike within thy pulses, like a god's. 
 To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks, 
 Dangers and deeds, until endurance grow 
 Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will, 165 
 
 Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, 
 Commeasure perfect freedom.' 
 
* ii,S 
 
 1S4 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTjaOLOOT— BOOK THIRD. 
 
 " Here she ceas'd, 
 And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, • O Paris, 
 Give it to Pallas ! ' but he heard me not, 170 
 
 Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me ! 
 
 " O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 
 Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
 Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, 
 
 Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, 175 
 With rosy slender fingers backward drew 
 From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair 
 Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat 
 And shoulder : from the violets her light foot 
 Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form 180 
 
 Between the shadows of the vine-bunches 
 Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved. 
 
 " Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. 
 She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes. 
 The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh, 185 
 
 Half-whisper'd in his ear, ' I promise thee 
 The fairest and most loving wife in Qreece,' 
 She spoke and laugh'd : I shut my sight for fear : 
 But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm, 
 And I beheld great Herfe's angry eyes, 190 
 
 As she withdrew into the golden cloud. 
 And I was left alone within the bower ; 
 And from that time to this I am alone, 
 And I shall be alone until I die. 
 
 « Tet, motiier Ida, harken ere I die. 195 
 
 Fairest — why fairest wife ? Am I not fair 1 
 My love hath told me so a thousand times. 
 Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, 
 When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, 
 
Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail 200 
 
 Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she ? 
 
 Ah me, my mountain shepherd, that my arms 
 
 Were wound about thee, and my hot lips prest 
 
 Close, close to thine in that quick-falling dew 
 
 Of fruitful kisses, thick as autumn rains 205 
 
 Flash in the pools of whirling Simois. 
 
 *♦ O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
 They came, they cut away my tallest pines, 
 My tall dark pines, that plumed the craggy ledge 
 High over the blue gorge, and all between 210 
 
 The snowy peak and snow-white cataract 
 Foeter'd the callow eaglet— from beneath 
 Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn 
 The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat 
 Low in the valley. Never, never more 215 
 
 Shall lone CEnone see the morning mist 
 Sweep thro' them ; never see them over-laid 
 With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, 
 Between the loud stream and the trembling stars. 
 
 "O mother, hear me yet before I die. 220 
 
 I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds, 
 Among the fragments tumbled from the glens, 
 Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her 
 The Abominable, that uninvited came 
 Into the fair Peleian banquet-hall, 226 
 
 And cast the golden fruit upon the board. 
 And bred this change; that I might speak my mind. 
 And tell her to her face how much I hate 
 Her presence, hated both of gods and men. 
 
 " O mother, hear me yet before I die. 230 
 
 Hath he not sworn his love a thousand times, 
 
136 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 r 
 
 Im 
 
 i' 
 
 '' ' 
 '• 1 
 'i ' 
 
 . ! 
 
 i 
 
 ^ (; 
 ) 'i 
 
 i' i',- 
 
 i II: 
 
 In this green valley, under this green hill, 
 
 Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone 1 
 
 Seal'd it with kisses) water'd it with tears) 
 
 O happy tears, and how unlike to these ! 235 
 
 O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face ? 
 
 O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight T 
 
 death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud, 
 There are enough unhappy on this earth, 
 
 Pass by the happy souls, that love to live : 240 
 
 1 pray thee, pass before my light of life. 
 And shadow all my soul, that I may die. 
 Thou weighest heavy op the heart within. 
 Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die. 
 
 " O mother, hear me yet before I die. 245 
 
 I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts 
 Do shape themselves within me, more and more. 
 Whereof I catch the issue, as T hear 
 Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. 
 Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see 250 
 
 My far-o£F doubtful purpose, as a mother 
 Conjectures of the features of her child 
 Ere it is bom : her child ! — a shudder comes 
 Across me : never child be bom of me, 
 Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes i 255 
 
 '* O mother, hear me yet before I die. 
 Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, 
 Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me 
 Walking the cold and starless road of Death 
 Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love 260 
 
 With the Greek woman. I will rise and go 
 Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth 
 Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says 
 A fire dances before her, and a sound 
 
R08B ATLMBR. 
 
 Rings ever in her ears of armed men. 
 What this may be I know not, but I know 
 That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day, 
 All earth and air seem only burning fire." 
 
 137 
 265 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 7.— "SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN 
 
 WAYS." 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 
 
 Beside the springs of Dove, 
 A maid whom there were none to praise, 
 
 And very few to love : 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half hidden from the eye ! 
 — Fair as a star when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
 
 The difference to me ! 
 
 — Wvrdaworth. 
 
 10 
 
 8.— ROSE AYLMER. 
 
 Ah, what avails the sceptered race, 
 
 Ah, what the form divine ! 
 What every virtue, every grace ! 
 
 Rose Aylmer, all were thine. 
 
 Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 
 
 May weep, but never see, 
 A night of memories and sighs 
 
 I consecrate to thee. 
 
 — Landor. 
 

 138 A SCHOOL AKTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 9— IN MEMORIAM. 
 L 
 
 I held it truth, with him who sings 
 To one dear harp in divers tones, 
 That men may rise on stepping-stones 
 
 Of their dead selves to higher things. 
 
 But who shall so forecast the years, 
 And find in loss a gain to match 1 
 Or reach a hand thro' time to catch 
 
 The far-o£f interest of tears t 
 
 Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd, 
 I«t darkness keep her raven gloss ; 
 Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss. 
 
 To dance with death, to beat the ground, 
 
 Than that the victor Hours should scorn 
 The long result of love, and boast, 
 " Behold the man that loved and lost 
 
 But all he was is overworn." 
 
 II. 
 
 Old Yew, which graspest at the stones 
 That name the underlying dead. 
 Thy fibres net the dreamier? head, 
 
 Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. 
 
 The seasons bring the flower again, 
 And bring the firstling to the flock ; 
 And in the dusk of thee, the clock 
 
 Beats out the little lives of men. 
 
 10 
 
 IS 
 
THK L0T08-BATBR8. 
 
 O not for thee the glow, the bloom, 
 Who changest not in any gale, 
 Nor branding summer suns avail 
 
 To touch thy thousand years of gloom ; 
 
 And gazing on thee, sullen tree, 
 Sick for thy stubborn hardihood, 
 I seem to fail from out my blood 
 
 And grow incorporate into thee. 
 
 IW 
 10 
 
 IS 
 
 — Tenny$on. 
 
 10.— THE LOTOS-EATERS. 
 
 " Courage ! " he said, and pointed toward the land, 
 *' This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." 
 In the afternoon they came unto a land 
 In which it seemed always afternoon. 
 All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 5 
 
 Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 
 Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 
 And like a downward smoke, the slender stream 
 Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. 
 
 A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, 10 
 
 Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 
 
 And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, 
 
 Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. 
 
 They saw the gleaming river seaward flow 
 
 From the inner land : far off, three mountain tops, 15 
 
 Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, 
 
 Stood sunset-flush'd : and, dew'd with showery drops, 
 
 Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copae. 
 
 The charmed sunset lingered low adown 
 
 In the red West : thro' mountain clefts the dale 20 
 
 Was seen far inland, and the yellow down 
 
I 
 
 i ift;. 
 
 140 
 
 A SCHOOL AMTBOLOGT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 liorder'd with palm, and many a winding vale 
 
 And meadow, set with glender galingale; 
 
 A land where all things always seemed the same ! 
 
 And round about the keel with faces pale, 
 
 Dark faces pale agiiinst that rosy flame, 
 
 The mild-eyed, melancholy Lotos eaters came. 
 
 Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, 
 Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave 
 To each, but whoso did receive of them, 
 And taste, to him the gushing of the wave 
 Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave 
 On alien shores ; ai^d if his fellow spake. 
 His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ; 
 And deepnuleep he seem'd, yet all awake, 
 And music in his ears his beating heart did make. 
 
 They sat them down upon the yellow sand. 
 Between the sun and moon upon the shore ; 
 And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, 
 Of child, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 
 Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar. 
 Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
 Then some one said, " We will return no more " ; 
 And all at once they sang, "Our island home 
 Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam." 
 
 Chosic Song. 
 
 There is sweet music here that softer falls 
 
 Than petals from blown roses on the grass. 
 
 Or night-dews on still waters between walls 
 
 Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 
 
 Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, 
 
 Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes ; 
 
 Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful 
 
 25 
 
 30 
 
 S5 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 60 
 
TBI LOlXM-IATUta 
 
 141 
 
 Here are cool moMea deep, 
 
 And thro' the moss the ivies creep, 
 
 And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
 
 And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 
 
 55 
 
 Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness. 
 
 And utterly consumed with sharp distress, 
 
 While all things else have rest from -.eariness? 
 
 All things have rest : why should we toil alone, 60 
 
 We only toil, who are the first of things, 
 
 And make perpetUHl moan, 
 
 Still from one sorrow to another thrown : 
 
 Nor ever fold our wings, 
 
 And cease from wanderings, 05 
 
 Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 
 
 Nor barken what the inner spirit sings, 
 
 " There is no joy but calm ! " 
 
 Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things 1 
 
 Lo I in the middle of the wood, 
 
 The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud 
 
 With winds upon the branch, and there 
 
 Grows green and broad, and takes no care, 
 
 Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon 
 
 Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow 
 
 Falls, and floats adown the air. 
 
 Lo 1 sweeten'd with the summer light, 
 
 The full-juiced apple waxing over-mellow, 
 
 Drops in a silent autumn night. 
 
 All its allotted length of days, 
 
 The flower rip>ens in its place. 
 
 Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 
 
 Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. 
 
 TO 
 
 75 
 
 80 
 
143 
 
 A SOROOL AMTHOLOOT — BOOK THIBIX 
 
 ) 
 
 .■■'A 
 
 
 89 
 
 90 
 
 95 
 
 Hateful it the dark-bine sky, 
 
 Vanltod o'er the dark-blue 
 
 Death is the end of life ; ah, why 
 
 Should life all labour bet 
 
 Let ne alone. Time driveth onward fast, 
 
 And in a little while our lips are dumb. 
 
 Let us alone. What ii it that will lastt 
 
 All things are taken from us, and become 
 
 Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 
 
 Let us alone. What pleasure can we have 
 
 To war with evil t Is there any peace 
 
 In ever climbing up the climbing wave t 
 
 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 
 
 In silence ; ripen, fall and cease : 
 
 Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. 
 
 How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 
 
 With half-shut eyes ever to seem 100 
 
 Falling asleep in a half-dream ! 
 
 To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 
 
 Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height ; 
 
 To hear each other's whisper'd speech ; 
 
 Eating the Lotos day by day, 106 
 
 To watch the crisping ripples on the beach. 
 
 And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; 
 
 To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 
 
 To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 
 
 To muse and brood and live again in memory, 110 
 
 With those old faces of our infancy 
 
 Heap'd over with a mound of grass. 
 
 Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass ! 
 
 Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, 
 
 And dear the last embraces of our wives 116 
 
 And their warm tears : but all hath suffer'd change : 
 
12.1 
 
 TBB Umw-BATBM. I49 
 
 Por rarely now our hooaehold heartha are oold ; 
 
 Our eons inherit ui : oar looks are etrange : 
 
 And we thoald oome like ghosts to trouble joy. 
 
 Or else the island prinoes over-bold 1 30 
 
 Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings 
 
 Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, 
 
 And our groat deeds, as half-forgotten things. 
 
 Is there confusion in the little islet 
 
 I«t what is broken so remain. 
 
 The gods are hard to reconcile : 
 
 "Tis hard to settle order once again. 
 
 There %$ confusion worse than death, 
 
 Trouble on trouble, pain on pain. 
 
 Long labour unto aged breath, 13^ 
 
 Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars 
 
 And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot^stars. 
 
 But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, 
 
 How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) 
 
 With half-dropt eyelid stUl, I35 
 
 Beneath a heaven dark and holy, 
 
 To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
 
 His waters from the purple hill 
 
 To hear the dewy echoes calling 
 
 From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine— 140 
 
 To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling 
 
 Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine ! 
 
 Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, 
 
 Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. 
 
 The Lotos blooms below the barren peak : 
 
 The Lotos blows by every winding creek : 
 
 All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone : 
 
 Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone 
 
 145 
 
144 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOY — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 M 
 
 
 Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust 
 
 is blown. 
 We have had enough of action, and of motion we, 160 
 Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was 
 
 seething free, 
 Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains 
 
 in the sea. 
 Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, 
 In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 
 On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind. 156 
 For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd 
 Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly 
 
 curl'd ' 
 Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming 
 
 world : 
 Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, 
 Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps 
 
 and fiery sands, 160 
 
 Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, 
 
 and praying hands. 
 But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song 
 Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong. 
 Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong ; 
 Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the 
 
 soJ, 165 
 
 Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil. 
 Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil ; 
 Till they perish and they suflfer — some, 'tis whisper'd — 
 
 down in hell 
 Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, 
 Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. 170 
 
 Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore 
 Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; 
 Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. 
 
 — Tennyaon, 
 
TO OYBIACK SKIHNBB. 
 
 145 
 
 10 
 
 11— TO SLEEP. 
 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 
 One after one; the sound of rain, and beos 
 Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
 Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ; 
 I have thought of all by turns, and still I lie 
 Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies 
 Must hear, first utter'il from my orchard trees. 
 And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
 Even thus last night, and two nights more T lay, 
 And could not win thee. Sleep ! by any stealth. ' 
 So do not let me wear to-night awav : 
 Without thee what is all the morning's wealth? 
 Come, bless^ barrier between day and day, 
 Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous henltli ! 
 
 — U'ordiwytrth. 
 
 12.-T0 CYRIACK SKINNER. 
 Oyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench 
 Of British Themis, with no mean applause, 
 Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws. 
 Which others at their bar so often wrench, 
 ToHlay deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 6 
 
 In mirth that after no repenting draws ; 
 Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, 
 And what the Swede intend, and what the French. 
 To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
 Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; 10 
 
 For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 
 And disapproves that care, though wise in show. 
 That with superfluous burden loads the day. 
 And, when God sends a cheerful hour, rrfrains. 
 
 10 — Milton. 
 
 f) 
 
146 
 
 A 80H00L AHTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 It 
 
 13.-^0NNET, XC. 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 
 
 Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow. 
 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scaped this sorrow, 5 
 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe. 
 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow. 
 
 To linger out a purposed overthrow. 
 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 10 
 
 But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 
 
 At first the very worst of fortune's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem woe. 
 
 Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. 
 
 — Shaketpeare. 
 
 14.— FROM "THE ESSAY ON MAN." 
 
 Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
 All but the page prescrib'd, their present state : 
 From brutes what men, from men what spirits know : 
 Or who could suffer being here below f 
 The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
 Had he thy reason, would he skip and play t 
 Fleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food. 
 And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. 
 Oh blindness to the future ! kindly giVn, 
 That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n : 
 Who sees wit*^ equal eye, as God of all, 
 A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, 
 Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd. 
 And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 
 
 10 
 
FROM "THE ESSAY OW MAW.' 
 
 U7 
 
 Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions soar ; 15 
 Wait the great teacher death, and God adore. 
 What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, 
 But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 
 Hope springs eternal in the human breast : 
 Man never m, but always to be blest : 20 
 
 The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 
 
 Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutor'd mind 
 Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; 
 His soul proud science never taught to stray 25 
 
 Far as the solar walk, or milky way ; 
 Yet simple nature to his hope has giv'n, 
 Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n ; 
 Some safer world in depth of woods embrac'd,' 
 Some happier island in the wat'ry waste, ' 30 
 
 Where slaves once more their native land behold, 
 No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. ' 
 To Be, contents his natural desire, 
 He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire ; 
 But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, 35 
 
 His faithful dog shall bear him company. 
 
 Go, wiser thou ! and in thy scale of sense 
 Weigh thy opinion against Providence ; 
 Call imperfection what thou fancy'st such, 
 Say, here he gives too little, there too much : 40 
 
 Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, 
 Yet cry, if man's unhappy, God's unjust ; 
 K man alone ingress not Heav'n's high care, 
 Alone made perfect here, immortal there : 
 Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, 46 
 
 Re-judge his justice, be the god of God. 
 In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies • 
 All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. 
 
U8 
 
 A 8CBOOL AMTHOLOOY — BOOK THIBD. 
 
 Pride still is Mining at the blest abodes, 
 
 Men would be angels, angels would be gods. 60 
 
 Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, 
 
 Aspiring to be angels, men rebel : 
 
 And who but wishes to invert the laws 
 
 Of order, sins against th' Eternal Cause. 
 
 • • • • • • • 
 
 All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 65 
 
 Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; 
 That, chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the same, 
 Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame, 
 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze. 
 Glows in the stMrs, abd blossoms in the trees, 60 
 
 lives thro' all life, extends thro' all extent. 
 Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
 Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
 As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
 As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, 65 
 
 As the rapt seraph that adores and bums ; 
 To Him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
 He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all. 
 
 Cease then, nor order imperfection name : 
 Our proper bliss depends cm what we blame. 7D 
 
 Know thy own point : this kind, this due degree 
 Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee. 
 Submit. — In this, or any other sphere, 
 Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear : 
 Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r 79 
 
 Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
 All nature is but art unknown to thee ; 
 All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; 
 All discord, harmony not understood ; 
 All partial evil, universal good ; g9 
 
 And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 
 One truth is clear, «' Whatever is, is right." -Pope 
 
soiro. 
 
 149 
 
 15.— SONG. 
 
 Rarely, rarely, comest thou, 
 
 Spirit of Delight ! 
 Wherefore hast thou left me now 
 
 Many a day and night ? 
 Many a weary night and day 5 
 
 Tis since thou art fled away. 
 
 How shall ever one like me "^ 
 
 Win thee back again ? 
 With the joyous and the free 
 
 Thou wilt scoff at pain. 10 
 
 Spirit false ! thou hast forgot 
 All but those who need thee not. 
 
 As a lizard with the shade 
 
 Of a trembling lea^ 
 Tbon with sorrow art dismayed ; 15 
 
 Even the sighs of grief 
 Beproach thee, that thou art not near, 
 And reinroach thoa wflt not hear. 
 
 I«t me set my mournful ditty 
 
 To a merry measure, 20 
 
 Thou wilt never come for pity. 
 
 Thou wilt come for pleasure. 
 Pity then will cut away 
 Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 
 
 I love all that thou lovest, 25 
 
 Spirit of Delight ! 
 The fresh earth in new leaves dressed, 
 
 And the starry night ; 
 Autumn evening, and the morn 
 When the golden mists are born. Sf 
 
100 
 
 A aOBOOI. ANTHOLOOT — BOOK TBIRa 
 
 I love snow, and all the forms ^ 
 
 Of the radiant frost ; 
 I love waves, and winds, and storms, 
 
 Every thing almost 
 Which is Nature's, and may be 36 
 
 Untainted by man's misery. 
 
 I love tranquil solitude^ 
 
 And such society 
 As is quiet, wise and good ; 
 
 Between thee and me 40 
 
 What difference ? but thou dost possess 
 The things I seek, not love them less. 
 
 I love Love^though he has wings, 
 
 And like light can flee, 
 But abov6 all other things, 45 
 
 Spirit^ I love thee — 
 Thou art love and life ! O cume, 
 Make once more my heart thy home. 
 
 —SheUey. 
 
 16 — ABOVE AND BELOW. 
 I. 
 
 O dwellers in the valley-land, 
 
 Who in deep twilight grope and cower, 
 Till the slow mountain's dial-hand 
 
 Shortens to noon's triumphal hour, 
 While ye sit idle, do ye think 
 
 The Lord's great work sits idle too ? 
 That light dare not o'erleap the brink 
 
 Of mom, because 'tis dark with you? 
 
 5 
 
▲BOTB AND BBLOW. 161 
 
 Though yet your valleys skulk in night, 
 
 In God's ripe field the day is cried, 10 
 
 And reapers with their sickles bright, 
 
 Troop singing down the mountain-side : 
 Come np^ and feel what health there is 
 
 In the frank Dawn's delighted eyes, 
 As, bending with a pitying kiss, 1 5 
 
 The night-shed tears of Earth she dries ! 
 
 The Lord wants reapers : O, mount up. 
 
 Before night comes, and says, ♦' Too late ! " 
 Stay not for taking scrip or cup. 
 
 The Master hungers while ye wait ; 20 
 
 "Tis from these heights alone your eyes 
 
 The advancing spears of day can see. 
 That o'er the eastern hill-tops rise, 
 
 To break your long captivity. 
 
 II. 
 Lone watcher on the mountain height 25 
 
 It is right precious to behold 
 The first long surf of climbing light 
 
 Flood all the thirsty east with gold ; 
 But we, who in the shadow sit. 
 
 Know also when the day is nigh, 30 
 
 Seeing thy shining forehead lit 
 
 With his inspiring prophecy. 
 
 Thou hast thine office ; we have ours ; 
 
 God lacks not early service here, 
 But what are thine eleventh hours 35 
 
 He counts with ua for morning cheer ; 
 Our day, for Him, is long enough, 
 
 And when he giveth work to do. 
 The bruised reed is amply tough 
 
 To pierce the shield of error through. 40 
 
f I 
 
 1S2 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 But not the less do thou aspire "^ 
 
 Light's earlier messages to preach ; 
 Keep back no syllable of fire, 
 
 Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech. 
 Yet Qod deems not thine aeried sight 40 
 
 More worthy than our twilight dim ; 
 For meek Obedience, too, is light, 
 
 And following that is finding Him. 
 
 ^ — J. R. Lowell. 
 
 17.— INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, 
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense. 
 With Ul-match'd aims the architect who plann'd 
 (Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
 Of white-robed scholars only) this immense 
 And glorious work of fine intelligence ! |V 
 
 — Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 
 Of nicely-calculated less or more : — 
 So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense 
 These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 
 Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells 10 
 
 Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
 Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; 
 Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
 That they were born for immortality. 
 
 — Wordsworik. 
 
 18.— « I WATCH, AND LONG HAVE WATCHED, 
 WITH CALM REGRET." 
 
 I watch, and long have watched, with calm regret, 
 Yon slowly-sinking star — immortal sire 
 (So might he seem) of all the glittering quire ! 
 Blue ether still surrounds him — yet — and yet ; 
 
TBI SOUTABT RKAPKR. 
 
 103 
 
 But now the horizon's rooky parapet 5 
 
 Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire, 
 
 He bums— transmuted to a dusky fire 
 
 Then pays submissively the appointed debt 
 
 To the flying momenU, and is seen no more. 
 
 Angels and gods! We struggle with our fate, 10 
 
 WhUe health, power, glory, from their height decline, 
 
 Depressed; and then extinguished ; and our state 
 
 In this, how diflTerent, lost star, from thine, 
 
 That no to-morrow shall our beams restore ! 
 
 — Wurdavxrrth. 
 
 19.— AFTERTHOUGHT. 
 
 I thought of thee, my partner and my guide, 
 
 As being passed away.— Vain sympathies ! 
 
 For backward, Duddon, as I cast my eyes, 
 
 I see what was, and is, and will abide ; 
 
 StiU gUdes the stream, and shall not cease to glide; 5 
 
 The Form remains, the Function never dies ; 
 
 WhUe we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise. 
 
 We Men, who in our mom of youth defied 
 
 The elements, must vanish ; be it so ! 
 
 Enough, if something from our hands have power 10 
 
 To live and act and serve the future hour ; 
 
 And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, ' 
 
 Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent 
 dower, 
 
 We feel that we are greater than we know. 
 
 — Wordaworth. 
 
 20.— THE SOLITARY REAPER. 
 Behold her, smgle in the field. 
 Yon solitary Highland lass. 
 Reding and Hti^ng t^ herself; 
 St(^ h^%, or g&kjij paav 1 
 
164 
 
 A lOHOOL AMTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
 And sings a melancholj strain ; 
 Oh, listen ! for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound. 
 
 No nightingale did ever ohaunt 
 So sweetly to reposing bands 
 Of travellers in some shady haunt 
 
 Among Arabian sands : 
 A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
 In springtime from the cuckoo-bird, 
 Breaking t^e silence of the seas 
 Among the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings t— 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
 For old, unhappy, f ar-oflF things, 
 
 And battles long ago : 
 Or is it some more humble lay 
 Familiar matter of to day 1 
 Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
 That has been, and may be again 1 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 K i 
 
 "I f 
 
 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 25 
 
 As if her song could have no ending ; 
 
 I saw her singing at heir rork. 
 And o'er the sickle bending ; 
 
 I listened till I had my fill ; 
 
 And when I mounted up th(.< hill. 
 
 The music in my heart I b<)re 
 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 — WordnoortK 
 
 30 
 
 i t 
 
IN MIMOKUM—LXIV. 
 
 155 
 
 21.— IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Dott thou look back on what hath been, 
 Aa some divinely gifted man, 
 Whose life in low estate began 
 
 And on a simple village green ; 
 
 Who breaks his Inrth's invidious bar, 
 And grasps the skirts of happy chance, 
 And breasts the blows of circumstance, 
 
 And grapples with his evil star ; 
 
 Who makes by force his merit known, 
 And lives to clutch the golden keys. 
 To mould a mighty state's decrees, 
 
 And shape the whisper of the throne ; 
 
 And moving up from high to higher, 
 Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope 
 The pillar of a people's hope, 
 
 The centre of a world's desire ; 
 
 Yet feels, as in a pensive dream. 
 When all his active powers are still, 
 A distant deamess in the hill, 
 
 A secret sweetness in the stream. 
 
 The limit of his narrower fate. 
 While yet beside its vocal springs 
 He play'd at counsellors and kings, 
 
 With one that was his earliest mate ; 
 
 Who ploughs with pain his native lea 
 And reaps the labour of his hands, 
 Or in the furrow musing stands : 
 
 " Does my old friend remember mo 1 " 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 26 
 
 — Tennyaon. 
 
••ctoconr nuumoH ran cha«t 
 
 (Afttl ond BO TEST CHART No. 2) 
 
 A 
 
 /1PPLIED IN/MGE 1 
 
 inc 
 
 1653 East Main Strati 
 Roch«»t«f. Nm York 14«09 uSA 
 (716) 482 - 0300 - PhonT^ 
 (716) 286 - S989 - Fox 
 
166 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK THIBa 
 
 22.— SONNET XXIX. 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate ; 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possesst. 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on Thee— and then my state. 
 Like to the laik at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
 For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 — Shakeapeare. 
 
 10 
 
 23.— ODE TO EVENING. 
 If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 
 May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, 
 
 like thy own solemn springs, 
 
 Thy springs, and dying gales ; 
 
 O Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired sun 
 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 
 
 With brede ethereal wove, \y* \ 
 
 O'erhang his wavy bed ; 
 
 f Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat, 
 With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing ; 
 Or where the beetle winds 
 His small, but sullen horn. 
 
 10 
 
ODB TO EVENING. 
 
 As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, /K 
 
 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum A 
 Now teach me, maid composed, 
 To breathe some softened strain. 
 
 ij^t^ 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
 May not unseemly with thy stillness suit ; 
 
 As, musing slow, I hail 
 
 Thy genial loved return ! 
 
 For when thy folding-star arising shows 
 His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 
 
 The fragrant Hours and elves 
 
 Who sleep in flowers the day. 
 
 And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 25 
 And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, 
 
 The pensive Pleasures sweet. 
 
 Prepare thy shadowy car ; 
 
 Then lead, calm votaress, where some sheety lake 
 
 Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallowed pile, 30 
 
 Or upland fallows grey 
 
 Reflect its last cool gleam. 
 
 But when chill blustering winds or driving rain 
 Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut, 
 
 That, from the mountain's side, 35 
 
 Views wilds, and swelling floods, 
 
 And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires ; 
 And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all 
 
 Thy dewy fingers draw 
 
 The gradual dusky veil. 40 
 
158 
 
 A SCHOOL ARTHOLOGT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
 And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 
 
 While Summer loves to sport 
 
 Beneath thy lingering light ; 
 
 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 46 
 
 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air. 
 
 Affrights thy shrinking train. 
 
 And rudely rends thy robes ; 
 
 So long sure-found beneath the sylvan shed 
 
 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipped Health, 60 
 
 Thy gentlest influence own. 
 
 And hymn th^ favourite name. 
 
 —W. CMitu. 
 
 24.— ST. AGNES' EVE. 
 Deep on the convent-roof the snows 
 
 Are sparkling to the moon : 
 My breath to heaven like vapour goes : 
 
 May my soul follow soon ! 
 The shadows of the convent-towers 5 
 
 Slant down the snowy sward. 
 Still creeping with the creeping hours 
 
 That lead me to my Lord : 
 Make Thou my spirit pure and clear 
 
 As are the frosty skies, 10 
 
 Or this first snowdrop of the year 
 
 That in my bosom lies. 
 
 As these white robes are soil'd and dark, 
 
 To yonder shining ground ; 
 As this pale taper's earthly spark. 
 
 To yonder argent round ; 
 So shows my soul before the Lamb, 
 
 My spirit before Thee ; 
 
 16 
 
 '^1 
 
 ill'! 
 
IN MIMORIAM — OZV. 
 
 So in mine earthlj hoase I am, 
 
 To that I hope to be. 
 Break up the heavens, O Lord ! and far, 
 
 Thro' all yon starlight keen. 
 Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star. 
 
 In raiment white and clean. 
 
 169 
 
 20 
 
 He lifts me to the golden doors ; 25 
 
 The flashes come and go ; 
 All heaven bursts her starry floors. 
 
 And strows her lights below, 
 And deepens on and up ! the gates 
 
 Roll back, and far within 30 
 
 For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits 
 
 To make me pure of sin. 
 The sabbaths of Eternity, 
 
 One sabbath deep and wide 
 
 A light upon the shining sea — 35 
 
 The Bridegroom with His bride ! 
 
 —Tennyton. 
 
 26 — IN MEMORIAM. 
 cxv. 
 
 Now fades the last long streak of snow. 
 Now bourgeons every maze of quick 
 About the flowering squares, and thick 
 
 By ashen roots the violets blow. 
 
 Now rings the woodland loud and long. 
 The distance takes a lovelier hue. 
 And drown'd in yonder living blue 
 
 The lark becomes a sightless song. 
 
ir 
 
 160 
 
 A SCHOOL AlTTHOLOOr— BOOK THIBO. 
 
 I. r 
 
 Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, 
 The flocks are whiter down the vale. 
 And milkier every milky sail 
 
 On winding stream or distant sea ; 
 
 Where now the seamew pipes, or dives 
 In yonder greening gleam, and fly 
 The happy birds, that change their sky 
 
 To build and brood ; that live their lives 
 
 From land to land : and in my breast 
 Spring wakens too ; and my regret 
 Becomes an April violet, 
 
 And buds and blossoms liki) the rest. 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 SO 
 
 -Tetmytotk 
 
 26.— INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST," 
 BOOK ni. 
 
 Hail, holy Light, oflfepring %jl Heaven first bom ! 
 
 Or of the Eternal coetemal beam 
 
 May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light. 
 
 And never but in unapproachM light 
 
 Dwelt from eternity— dwelt then in thee, S 
 
 Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! 
 
 Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, 
 
 Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the Sun, 
 
 Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
 
 Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 10 
 
 The rising world of waters dark and deep. 
 
 Won from the void and formless Infinite ! 
 
 Thee I revisit no',7 with bolder wing. 
 
 Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained 
 
 In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight, 16 
 
 Through utter and through middle darkness borne. 
 
INTRODUCTION TO "PARADISE LOST," BOOK III. 161 
 
 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre 
 
 I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 
 
 Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down 
 
 The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, 20 
 
 Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe. 
 
 And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 
 
 Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
 
 To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
 
 So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 25 
 
 Or dim suflEusion veiled. Yet not the more 
 
 Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
 
 Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
 
 Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
 
 Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 30 
 
 That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
 
 Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
 
 Those other two equalled with me in fate, 
 
 So were I equalled with them in renown, 
 
 Blind Thamyris and blind Mseonides, 35 
 
 And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : 
 
 Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move 
 
 Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 
 
 Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid. 
 
 Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 40 
 
 Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
 
 Day, or the sweet approach of even or mom. 
 
 Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose. 
 
 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 
 
 But cloud instead and ever-during dark 45 
 
 Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
 
 Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair. 
 
 Presented with a universal blank 
 
 Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased, 
 
 And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 50 
 
If, 
 
 i" 
 
 m 
 
 162 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOQT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 V 
 
 So much the rather thou, Celestial Light, 
 
 Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
 
 Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thenoe 
 
 Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
 
 Of things invisible to mortal sight. 05 
 
 — Milton. 
 
 27.— "SINCE THERE'S NO HELP, COME LET US 
 KISS AND PART." 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, 
 
 Nay, I have done« you get no more of me ; 
 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 
 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 6 
 
 And when we meet at any time again. 
 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 
 Thbt we one jot of former love retain. 
 
 Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath. 
 
 When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, 10 
 
 When faith is kneeling by his bed of deavh. 
 
 And innocence is closing up his eyes, 
 
 —Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, 
 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 
 
 — M. Drayton. 
 
 28.— A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. 
 
 What was he doing, the great god Pan, 
 
 Down in the reeds by the river? 
 Spreading ruin and scattering ban, * 
 Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat^ 
 And breaking the golden lilies afloat 6 
 
 With the dragon-fly on the river. 
 
A MUSICAL IirSTKUMBirT. 1(| 
 
 He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, 
 From the deep cool bed of the river : 
 
 The limpid water tarbidly ran, 
 
 And the broken lilies a-dying lay, iq 
 
 And the dragon-fly had fled away, 
 Ere he brought it out of the river. 
 
 High on the shore sat the great god Pan, 
 
 While tnrbidly flowed the river ; 
 And hacked and hewed as a great gwl can, 16 
 
 With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, 
 TiU there was not a sign of the leaf indeed 
 
 To prove it fresh from the river. 
 
 He cut it short, did the great god Pan, 
 
 (How tall it stood in the river ! ) so 
 
 Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, 
 
 SteadUy from the outside ring. 
 
 And notched the poor dry empty thing 
 In holes, as he sat by the river. 
 
 " This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, 26 
 
 (Laughed while he sat by the river,) 
 " The only way, since the gods began 
 To make sweet music, they could succeed." 
 Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, 
 
 He blew in power by the river. 30 
 
 Sweetj sweel, sweet, O Pan ! 
 
 Piercing sweet by the river ! 
 Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! 
 The sun on the hill forgot to die. 
 And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 35 
 
 Came back to dream on the river. 
 
164 A SCHOOL A1ITH0U>0T — BOOK THIBO. 
 
 Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, 
 To langh as he sits by the river, 
 Making a poet oat of a man : 
 The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — 40 
 
 For the reed which grows never more again 
 As a reed wiiu the reeds in the river. 
 
 —Slitabeih Barret Browning. 
 (By permiuion qf Smith, SUer A Co.) 
 
 29.— ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 
 
 O, wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 
 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
 
 PestilencoHBtricken multitudes : O, thou, f^ 
 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 
 The wingM seeds, where they lie cold and low. 
 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 
 Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow 
 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 10 
 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
 
 Destroyer and preserver ; hear, O, hear ! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, 15 
 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, 
 
 Angels of rain and lightning : there are spread 
 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge. 
 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 20 
 
 Of some fierce Msenad, even from the dim verge 
 
ODE TO TBI Wm Wiwa 105 
 
 Of the horizon to the zeuith'H height 
 
 The locks of the approoc. ag .torn. Thou dirge 
 
 W the dying year, to wL.oh this oloung night 
 
 WiU be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 05 
 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 
 Of vapours, from whose soUd atmosphere 
 
 BlMk rain, and fire, and hail will burst : O, hear I 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams - 
 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30 
 
 Lulled by the coU of his crystWline streams. 
 
 Beside a pumice isle in Bais's bay, 
 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day 
 
 All overgrown with asure moss and flower. 35 
 
 80 sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
 
 For whose path the Athmtic's level powers 
 
 Oeave themselves into chasms, while far below 
 
 ^e sea-blooms and the 0017 woods wiiich wear 
 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40 
 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gmy with fear. 
 
 And tremble and despoil themselves : O, hear ! 
 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; 
 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee • 
 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 45 
 
 The impulse of thy strength, only leas free 
 
 Than thou, O, uncontrollable ! If even 
 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven 
 
 As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed ' 50 
 
 Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven 
 A^ thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
 Oh ! hf t me as a wave, a leaf, a doud ! 
 
166 
 
 A lOHOOL AXTBOLOGT — BOOE THIRD. 
 
 
 I fr.ll upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
 
 A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 66 
 
 One too like thee : tameless, and swift, and proud. 
 
 Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : 
 What if my leaves are falling like its own t 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, 60 
 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit 6erce, 
 My spirit I fie thou me, impetuous one 1 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
 lake withered leaves to quicken a new birth 1 
 And, by the inoahtation of this verse, 66 
 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
 Be through my lips to unawakened earth 
 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O, wind, 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind t 70 
 
 —SktUey. 
 
 30.— EXTREME UNCTION. 
 
 Go ! leave me. Priest ; my soul would be 
 
 Alone with the consoler, Death ; 
 Far sadder eyes than thine will see 
 
 This crumbling clay yield up its breath ; 
 These shrivelled hands have deeper stains 
 
 Than holy oil can cleanse away, — 
 Hands that have plucked the world's coarse gains 
 
 As erst they plucked the flowers of May. 
 
 Call, if thou canst, to these gray eyes 
 Some faith from youth's traditions wrung ; 
 
 This fruitless husk which dustward dries 
 Has been a heart cnce, has been young ; 
 
 10 
 
KXTRBMB UNOTIOK. 107 
 
 On this bowed head the awful Piwt 
 
 Onoe Uid it« oonseorating hands ; 
 The Future in its purpose vast 10 
 
 Paused, waiting my supreme commands. 
 
 But look I whose shadows block the doorl 
 
 Who are those two that stand aloof? 
 See ! on my hands this freshening gore 
 
 Writes o'er again its crimson proof I JQ 
 
 My looked-for death-bed guests are met ; 
 
 There my dead Youth doth wring its hands, 
 And there, with eyes that goad me yet, 
 
 The ghost of my Ideal stands ! 
 
 Ood bends from out the deep and says, 35 
 
 " I gave thee the great gift of life ; 
 Wast thou not called in many ways 7 
 
 Are not my earth and heaven at strife ? 
 I gave thee of my seed to sow, 
 
 Bringest thou me my hundred-fold ? " 30 
 
 Can I look up with face aglow. 
 
 And answer, " Father, here is gold ?" 
 
 I have been innocent ; God knows 
 
 When first this wasted life began. 
 Not grape with grape more kindly grows 36 
 
 Than I with every brother man : 
 Now here I gasp ; what lose my kind. 
 
 When this fast ebbing breath shall partt 
 What bands of love and service bind 
 
 This being to the world's sad heart! 40 
 
 CJhrist still was wandering o'er the earth 
 
 Without a place to lay His head ; 
 He found free welcome at my hearth. 
 
 He shared my cup and broke my bread : 
 
168 
 
 A SCHOOL AKTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 Now, when I hear those steps sublime 
 That bring tLe other worid to this, 
 
 My snake-turned nature, sunk in slime. 
 Starts sideway with defiant hiss. 
 
 Upon the hour when I was bom, 
 
 God said, '* Another man shall be," 
 And the great Maker did not scorn 
 
 Out of Himself to fashion me ; 
 He sunned me with His ripening looks. 
 
 And Heaven's rich instincts in me grew, 
 As effortless as woodland nooks 
 
 Send violets up and paint them blue. 
 
 Yes, I who now, with angry tears, 
 
 Am exiled back to brutish clod. 
 Have borne unquenched for fourscore years 
 
 A spark of the eternal God : 
 And to what endl How yield I back 
 
 The trust for such high uses given t 
 Heaven's light hath but revealed a track 
 
 Whereby to crawl away from Heaven. 
 
 Men think it is an awful sight 
 
 To see a soul just set adrift 
 On that drear voyage from whose night 
 
 The ominous shadows never lift ; 
 But 'tis more awful to behold 
 
 A helpless infant newly bom. 
 Whose little hands unconscious hold 
 
 The keys of darkness and of mom. 
 
 Mine held them once ; I flung away 
 Those keys that might have open set 
 
 The golden sluices of the day. 
 
 But clutch the keys of darkness yet ; — 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 70 
 
 75 
 
IN MEMOBIAM— LIV. 
 
 169 
 
 I hear the reapers singing go 
 
 Into God's harvest ; I, that might 
 
 "With them have chosen, here below 
 Grope shuddering at the gates of night. 
 
 O glorious Youth, that once wast mine ! 
 
 O high Ideal 1 all in vain 
 Ye enter at this ruined shrine 
 
 Whence worship ne'er shall rise again ; 
 The bat and owl inhabit here, 
 
 The snake nests in the altar-stone, 
 The sacred vessels moulder near, 
 
 The image of the Ood is gone. 
 
 80 
 
 85 
 
 R. LoweU. 
 
 31.— IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Oh yet we trust that somehow good 
 Will be the final goal of ill, 
 To pangs of nature, sins of will, 
 
 Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; 
 
 That nothing walks with aimless feet; 
 That not one life shall be destroy'd. 
 Or cast as rubbish to the void. 
 
 When Qod hath made the pile complete ; 
 
 That not a worm is cloven in vain ; 
 That not a moth with vain desire 
 Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire. 
 
 Or but subserves another's gain. 
 
 Behold, we know not anything ; 
 
 I can but trust that good shall fall 
 At last— far oflF— at last, to all. 
 
 And every winter change to spring. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
170 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 So runs my dream : but what am I ? 
 An infant crying in the night : 
 An infant crying for the light : 
 
 And with no language but a cry. 
 
 20 
 
 — Tennyaon. 
 
 32.— THE LOST LEADER. 
 
 Just for a handful of silver he left us, 
 
 Just for a riband to stick in his coat — 
 Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, 
 
 Lost all the others she lets us devote ; 
 They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, 5 
 
 So much was theirs who so little allowed : 
 How all our copper had gone for his service ! 
 
 Rags — were they purple, his heart had been proud ! 
 We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him. 
 
 Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, 10 
 
 Learned his great language, caught his clear accents. 
 
 Made him our pattern to live and to die ! 
 Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, 
 
 Burns, Shelley, were with us, — they watch from their 
 graves ! 
 He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, 16 
 
 He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves ! 
 
 n. 
 
 We shall march prospering, — not thro' his presence ; 
 
 Songs may inspirit us, — not from his lyre ; 
 Deeds will be done, — while he boasts his quiescence. 
 
 Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire. 20 
 
 Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more. 
 
 One task more declined, one more footpath untrod, 
 
ODE TO DUTY. 
 
 171 
 
 One more devirs-triumph and sorrow for angels, 
 
 One wrong more to man, one more insult to God ! 
 Life's night begins : let him never come back to us ! 25 
 
 There would be doubt, hesitation and pain, 
 Forced praise on our part — the glimmer of twilight, 
 
 Never glad confident morning again ! 
 Best fight on well, for we taught him — strike gallantly, 
 
 Menace our heart ere we master his own ; 30 
 
 Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, 
 
 Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne ! 
 
 — R. Browning. 
 
 33.— ODE TO DUTY. 
 
 Stem Daughter of the Voice of God ! 
 
 O Duty ! if that name thou love 
 Who art a light to guide, a rod 
 
 To check the erring, and reprove ; 
 Thou, who art victory and law 6 
 
 When empty terrors overawe ; 
 From vain temptations dost set free, 
 And caUn'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! 
 
 There are who ask not if thine eye 
 
 Be on them ; who, in love and truth, 10 
 
 Where no misgiving is, rely 
 
 Upon the genial sense of youth : 
 Glad hearts, without reproach or blot. 
 Who do thy work and know it not : 
 Oh ! if through confide^* e misplaced 15 
 
 They fail, thy saving .rms, dread Power ! around them 
 cast. 
 
172 
 
 B 
 
 A SCHOOL AKTHOLOOY — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 Seirene will be our days and bright, 
 
 And happy will our nature b^ 
 When love is an unerring light, 
 
 And joy its own security. 20 
 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Even now who, not unwisely bold, 
 Live in the spirit of this creed, 
 Yet seek thy firm support according to their need. 
 
 I, loving freedom, and antried ; 35 
 
 No sport of every random gust, 
 Yet being to myself a guide. 
 
 Too blindly havq reposed my trust ; 
 And oft, when in my heart was heard 
 Thy timely mandate, I deferred SO 
 
 The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
 But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 
 
 Through no disturbance of my soul, 
 
 Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
 I supplicate for thy control ; 35 
 
 But in the quietness of thought. 
 Me this unchartered freedom tires ; 
 I feel the weight of chance desires ; 
 My hopes no more must change their name, 
 I long for a repose that ever is the same. 40 
 
 Stem Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
 
 The (Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 
 As is the smile upon thy face. 
 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 45 
 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
 Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; 
 And the most ancient heavens, through thee, arc 
 fresh and strong. 
 
"O LYRIC LOVK, HALF-ANOIL A»D HALF-BIRD." 173 
 
 To hnmbler functions, awful Power ! 
 
 I call thee 1 I myself commend 50 
 
 Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
 
 Oh, let my weakness have an end I 
 Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
 The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
 
 The confidence of reason give, 55 
 
 And in the light of truth thy bondman lot me live ! 
 
 — fVordaworth. 
 
 3i.- 
 
 -"O LYRIC LOVE, HALF-ANGEL AND HALF- 
 BIBD." 
 
 (From The Ring and the Booh.) 
 O lyric Love, half-angel and half-bird. 
 
 And all a wonder and a wild desire, 
 
 Boldest of hearts that ever braved the sun. 
 Took sanctuary within the holier blue. 
 And sang a kindred soul out to his face,— 6 
 
 Yet human at the red-ripe of the heart- 
 When the first summons from the darkling earth 
 Reached thee amid thy chambers, blanched their blue, 
 And bared them of the glory— to drop down. 
 To toil for man, to suffer or to die,— 10 
 
 This is the same voice : can thy soul know change? 
 Hail then, and hearken from the realms of help ! 
 Never may I commence my song, my due 
 To God who best taught song by gift of thee. 
 
 Except with bent head and beseeching hand 16 
 
 That still, despite the distance and the dark. 
 
 What was, again may be; some interchange 
 
 Of grace, some splendour once thy very thtraght. 
 
 Some benediction anciently thy smile : 
 
 —Never conclude, but raising hand and head 20 
 
174 
 
 A SCHOOL AITTHOLOOT — BOOK THIRD. 
 
 Thither where eyes, that cannot reach, yet yearn 
 
 For all hope, all sustainment, all reward, 
 
 Their utmost up and on,— so blessing back 
 
 In those thy reahns of help, that heaven thy home. 
 
 Some whiteness which, I judge, thy face makes proud, 25 
 
 Some wanness where, I think, thy foot may fall. 
 
 — B, Browning. 
 (BypermiMUm of Smith, Elder <fe Co.) 
 
 36.— IN MEMORIAM. 
 1 cxiv. 
 Who loves not Knowledge t Who shall rail 
 Against her beauty ? May she mix 
 With men and prosper ! Who shall fix 
 Her pillars ? Let her work prevail. 
 
 But on her forehead sits a fire : 
 
 She sets her forward countenance 
 And leaps into the future chance, 
 
 Submitting all things to desire. 
 
 Half-grown a« yet, a child, and vain 
 
 She cannot fight the fear of death. 
 What is she, cut from love and faith, 
 
 But some wild Pallas from the brain 
 
 Of demons ? fiery-hot to burst 
 
 All barriers in her onward race 
 
 For power. Let her know her place ; 
 
 She is the second, not the first. 
 
 A higher hand must make her mild, 
 If all be not in vain ; and guide 
 Her footsteps, moving side by side 
 
 With wisdom, like the younger child : 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
THE POST. 
 
 176 
 
 For she is earthly of the mind, 
 
 But Wisdom heavenly of the soul. 
 
 O, friend, who earnest to thy goal 
 So early, leaving me behind, 
 
 I would the great world grew like thee, 26 
 
 Who grewest not alone in power 
 And knowledge, but by year and hour 
 
 In reverence and in charity. 
 
 — Tenny$on. 
 
 36.— THE POET. 
 
 The poet in a golden clime was bom, 
 
 With golden stars above ; 
 Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, 
 The love of love. 
 
 He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, 6 
 
 He saw thro' his own soul. 
 The marvel of the everlasting will, 
 An open scroll 
 
 Before him lay : with echoing feet he threaded 
 
 The secretest walks of fame : IQ 
 
 The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed 
 And wing'd with flame. 
 
 Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue. 
 
 And of so fierce a flight. 
 From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, 15 
 
 Filling with light 
 
 And vagrant melodies the winds which bore 
 
 Them earthward till they lit ; 
 Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, 
 
 The fruitful wit 20 
 
 i: 
 
 n ■ 
 
176 A SCHOOL AMTHOLOOT — BOOK THIBD. 
 
 Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew 
 
 Where'er they fell, behold, 
 like to the mother plant in semblance grew, 
 A flower all gold, 
 
 And bravely fnmish'd all abroad to fling 25 
 
 The winged shafts of trath. 
 To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring 
 Of Hope and Youth. 
 
 So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, 
 
 Tho' one c^d fling the fire. 30 
 
 Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams 
 Of high desire. 
 
 Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world 
 
 Like one great garden show'd, 
 And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd, 36 
 Bare sunrise flow'd. 
 
 And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise 
 
 Her beautiful bold brow, 
 When rites and forms before his burning eyes 
 Melted like snow. 
 
 40 
 
 I! I 
 
 There was no blood upon her maiden robes 
 
 Suun'd by those orient skies ; 
 But round about the circles of the globes 
 Of her keen eyes. 
 
 And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame 
 
 Wisdom, a name to shake 
 All evil dreams of power — a sacred name. 
 And when she spake, 
 
 45 
 
CALUOLBS' aOlfO. 
 
 177 
 
 Her words did gather thunder as they ran. 
 
 And as the lightning to the thunder 00 
 
 Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, 
 Making earth wonder, 
 
 So was their meaning to her words. No sword 
 
 Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, 
 But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word 65 
 
 She shook the world. 
 
 — Tennyaon. 
 
 37— CALLICLES' SONG. 
 (From EmpedoeU* on Etna). 
 Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts, 
 Thick breaks the red flame; 
 All Etna heaves fiercely 
 Her forestK^othed frame. 
 
 Not here, O Apollo ! 5 
 
 Are haunts meet for thee. 
 
 But, where Helicon breaks down 
 
 In diff to the sea, 
 
 Where the moon-silver'd inlets 
 Send &r their light voice 
 Up the still vale of Thisbe, 
 O speed, and rejoice ! 
 
 On the sward at the cliff-top 
 Lie strewn the white flocks, 
 On the cliff-side the pigeons 
 Boost deep in the rocks. 
 
 In the moonlight the shepherds, 
 Soft luU'd by the rills, 
 Lie wrapt in their blankets 
 Asleep on the hills. 
 
 10 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 

 i ! 
 
 178 A SCHOOL AllTBOLOOT — BOOK THIBO. 
 
 — What fonni are these ooming 
 So white through the gloom 1 
 What garments out-glistening 
 The gold-flower*!! broom 1 
 
 What sweet-breathing presence 
 Out-perfumes the thyme t 
 What voices enrapture 
 The night's balmy prime t — ' 
 
 Tis Apollo comes leading 
 His choir, the Nine. 
 — ^The leader is fairest, 
 But all are divine. 
 
 They are lont in the hollows I 
 They stream up again ! 
 What seeks on this mountain 
 The glorified train 1— 
 
 They bathe on this mountain, 
 In the spring by their road ; 
 Then on to Olympus, 
 Their endless abode. 
 
 — Whose praise do they mention t 
 Of what is it told f— 
 What will be for ever ; 
 What was from of old. 
 
 First hymn they the Father 
 Of all things ; and then, 
 The rest of immortals, 
 The action of men. 
 
 The day in his hotness, 
 The strife with the pa]m ; 
 The night in her silence, 
 The stars in their calm. 
 
 35 
 
 SO 
 
 85 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 -"McMihew Arnold. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 ThM larger JguTf rtftr to the pages, /*<, tmaller to the fine*. 
 
 BOOK PIBST. 
 
 R08ABELLE. 
 Thi. ballad, from the Zay qf the LaH Minstrel, u wng. at • f«tiTal 
 
 OAney, and l»d aUo a a^t at Roilin. not far from Edinborah 
 
 B!;lS?^lin^r^i^ W «>. prindpal mZo. of th. 
 BMona of Rodin ; it u between Kiroaldy and Dywrt. on a .t^ ^p.- 
 waalied by the Firth of Forth. ^^ *^' *"« 
 
 2.10. Inch. Cdtic word for iriand. Oftwi found in Scotch proper 
 
 8, 21. the rinf. It wai a faToarite paatime in kter feadal time* for 
 horMmen^ whU. riding at f nU n>e«l. to d.ow their dull by^LSoff 
 on the point of the lance a ring •n.pendwl from a beam. ^""^«°'^ 
 
 a 28. Rodiii. A beantifnl chapel in the meet florid etyle of Gothic 
 -chit^re, with profnee carving, on the piUar. and buttreMe.. ^ 
 
 t^i^tLS;'"^"'" "'^ *" "^^ '^"^ of amemberof 
 
 bourhJiid^f sst "'."jjt::?ru:t:r'"''""" "• "•• "••«''• 
 
 „ , " • """ oeneatn tbe latter are caves suppoeed to 
 have been hoUowed ae places of refuge. "^ 
 
 TO THE DAISY. 
 
 i. 8. thorough for "through." HistoricaUy these are but two form, 
 of one word. 
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENS. 
 •nii. is a genuine ancient ballad, a. Scotf. JRo«ibelk i. a modem 
 mutation. BaUad. were the product of a time when readL^" 
 "^- •^»P^'»~»*' «"» the literaiy taste, of the multitude wer» 
 mmutered to by perwn. who made it their business to sing or recite 
 poems which were not origindly written down, but passed f^m mouth 
 to mouth and from one generation to another. It wa. »t a comparatively 
 Sr ^"la^^ T ^^ »^«» *« *»« "<i»-d to writing or to bTprintli 
 Hanoe a ballad underwent a contineal process of alteration, according 
 
180 
 
 A MBOOL AXTHOUMIT. 
 
 rr • 
 
 to Mm powtn of nMBory aad •kill in oonpovitioa of th* rMitor (or 
 mkutttlt M bo WM ooUod), ond in aooorduoo aIm with tho tMto of tho 
 hMm»— for tho minotrd would nuinrally oxprad or omit m ho foond 
 paMiUti ^MMd tho radionoo— M th»t tho bollnd bM tho diitinotiTO 
 poonliority of being • grodnnl growth, • ooniMwito prodnot, and ia not 
 tho work of n lingU Mthor. Notnndljr, too, tho ttjlo ond trootmont of 
 n iMlliid WM timplo and diroot, attaining, at ita baat, groat oondonaation, 
 vtgonr and pathoa, and often naivo and artleea beanty ; at ita wont, 
 degenerating into tho oonunonpUoo or vnlgar. Another reanlt of tho 
 oonditiona of baUad omnpoaitioB is that the aamo ballad exieta in variooa 
 Toreiona, aocording aa it took ahapo in tho minda of different trana- 
 mittera, or in different diatrioth Moot frequently the rabjeot of a 
 hf]}^A i» Mmo aotnal ooonrreuce which enliated popular interest 
 
 The veraion of Sir Patrick 8i>eH» found in the text is that given by 
 Boott in bia MimtrtUy qf (he SeoUiah Border. It haa been oonjeotnred 
 that tho ballad is bated on some historio incident eounected with 
 Margaret, grand-daughter and anooesaor to Alexander III., king of 
 f 4»tUnd (died 128S). She waa the daughter of the king of Norway, 
 and had to be brought over the sea to her kingdom ; but no incident 
 oorreapcmding to that narrated in the baUad is now known to have 
 oeennred. The poem is in LowUnd Scotch dialect 
 
 4. 1. Dunfermline. An abbey and paUoe in Fifeshire ; a favnnrito 
 reaidenoe of Alexander III. 
 
 4. 3. tkcdy. Skilful. 
 
 5. 9. braid letter. Open or patent, in opposition to dose rolls 
 
 6. 10. mann. Must 
 6. 42. gene. Suffice. 
 
 6. 43. half-foa. The eighth part of a peck. 
 6. S5. the lift The sky. 
 6. 86. gurly. Stormy. 
 
 6. 57. Uy). Leaped, !.«., sprang or snapped. 
 
 7. 71. bout Perhaps a form of "bolt" Scott in his note interprets 
 "aplanksUrted." 
 
 7. 75. wap. Wrap tightly. 
 
 7. 86. flattered. "Fluttered, or rather floated, on the foam."— S!co«. 
 
 S. 93-100. The picture of the ladies walking, with their fans and 
 gold combs, is purely conventional, and evidently gives the point of 
 view of those who have but an outside and distant prospect of life 
 among the upper classes. Note, too. the importance naively given to 
 feather-beds (1. 85). 
 
 In the briefest, and perhaps best version (sec Child'a Ballads or 
 
« 
 
 voTif on pp. S-IA. 
 
 181 
 
 Chtmmet^$ BaUadt), tbis ImUmI oonnuU of stMSM oonPMpondisg to 
 ■Uuwk 1-3. 5, 0. 12, IS. 21 Md 24.27. This dmIim the wnok tdie 
 piMM on th« outward voyags, and 04inn«ot« it mora immodiately Mid 
 dirwtly with Sir Pfttriok'i agitatioo on rMMring tha l«tt«r. 
 
 "IT IS NOT TO BE THOUGHT OF." 
 
 8, 4. The word* in qnotkHon nuurka nro from Daniel'i Civil War^ 
 Book ii., at 7. 
 
 BOADICE.V. 
 
 Thia oda ia anid to have been written Jnat after Cowper had read the 
 atory of Boadioea in Hame'a HiMory qf England. Boadioea waa Qneen 
 of a Britiah tribe, the loeni, and having been heraelf scoorged by the 
 Romana and her danghtera ill-treated, aha revolted in a.d. 61, waa 
 defeated, and rather than fall into the hands of the viotora poiaoned 
 heraelf. Tennyaon traata the aama thsme in Metrical ExperimenU. 
 
 PIBROCH OF DOxfALD DHU. 
 Soott telle na that thia ia baaed on a very ancient pibroch [an air for 
 the bagpipea] belonging to the Clan MaoDonald ; ami that it ia auppoaed 
 to refer to a victory of Donald Ballooh at luverloohy in 1431 over the 
 Earla of Mar and Gaithneaa. The Gaelic worda to which the melody ia 
 ■et, ha traualatea : 
 
 Tbs pips summons of DoiwM th« Blaok. 
 Th« pip* tammons d Donald ths BUck. 
 
 Ths war-pips and the pennon are on ths gmuwring place at Invsriooh/. 
 Thia poem may be compared with the aomewbat prrallel deacription 
 of the effecta of the Fiery Croaa in the Lady of the Late, III., xiv. 
 
 LOCHINVAR. 
 
 Thia poem ia from the Fifth Canto of Marmion, where it ia repreaented 
 aa being anng by Lady Heron, who oomea fr«)m the Bordera ; the aong 
 deals with Border oonditiona and ia full of Border namea. 
 
 14. 20. The tide riaea in the Solway with extraordinary apeed and 
 force ; aee Scott'a Redgauntlet, Letter iv., where thia fast ia made the 
 baaia of a pictnresqne incident. 
 
 16. 32. galliard. A lively dance. 
 
 FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK DHU. 
 
 Thia ia an incident of the atory of the Lady qfthe Lake : King Jamea. 
 in pursuit of a deer, becomea aeparated from hia companiona and loaea 
 hia way in the neighbourhood of Loch Katrine, the territory of a High- 
 land Chief. Rodwick Dhu. who ia just beginning hostilitiea against the 
 King. It has been foretold that the party will be v* .u>fiou8 who firat 
 
 i 
 
182 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 } 
 
 Ui 
 
 ■laya an adversary ; and in order to make sure of a, favourable omflQ 
 the Highlanders determine to kill the stranger, whose real character is 
 unknown to them, an! whom they suspect of being a spy. Their 
 treachery is revealed to James by a wretched victim of Roderick, a 
 Lowland captive named Blanche of Devan. James thereupon slays his 
 pretended guide, Red Murdoch, not before, however, an arrow from 
 Munloch'j bow missing James has given Blanche her death-wound. 
 James now unwittingly stumbles upon the spot where Roderick unat* 
 tended is passing the night. Each is, of course, unaware of the other's 
 identity. Roderick, true to the laws of hospitality, gives food to the 
 stranger and agrees to pilot him to Lowland territory ; on the road they 
 quarrel, Roderick reveals his name, but chivalrously true to his promise 
 takes no advantage of the opportunity to wreak vengeance upon his 
 adversary. At this point the selection begins. 
 
 15. 3. The stream drainf the chain of lakes, Katrine, Achray and 
 Vennachar. 
 
 15. 6. Bochastle. An extensive moor containing some remains of 
 intrenchments supposed to be of Roman origin. 
 
 16. 13. Vich-Alpine. Descendant of Alpine ; a title of Roderick. 
 16. 14, 15. Roderick is ironically quoting from what his companion 
 
 had said in their earlier conversation. 
 
 16. 22. Coilantogie. A ford across the river at the eastern end of 
 Loch Vennachar. 
 
 16. 39. read. Interpreted, explained ; common in this sense in our 
 earlier literature. 
 
 17. 64. kem. Scott uses this word (which properly means an Irish 
 soldier) as equivalent to eateran, the Lowland Scotch name for a High- 
 land robber : hence a term of contempt. 
 
 17. 61. carpet-knig^ht A knight who is made by the monarch'b 
 favour in time of peace, as distinguished from one dubbed on the field 
 for prowess displayed. 
 
 17. 67. He had a look of Blanche of Devan's hair in his bonnet. 
 
 17. 69. ruth. Pity. 
 
 OZYMANDIAS. 
 
 The statue here referred to was, according to the Greek historian, 
 Diodorus, reputed to be the largest in Egypt, the foot exceeding seven 
 cubits in length. The inscription was: "I am Ozymandias, king of 
 kings ; if aity one wishes to know what I am and where I lie let him 
 ■orpass me in some of my exploits." 
 
NOTES ON PP. 25-26. 
 
 183 
 
 THE LOSS OF THE "BIRKENHEAD." 
 
 In 1852 the troopahip Birkenhead, while carrying about 500 soldiers 
 to the C»pe, itrack on • rock near Cape Town, and went down in a few 
 minutes. Colonel Seton, who was in command, mustered the men on 
 deck, where they stood until the ship sank under them, in order not to 
 risk the lives of the women and children, who were being put into the 
 few boats that could be launched. Some of the soldiers escaped by 
 swimming or clinging to the wreck, but the Colonel, with over 350 men, 
 perished. 
 
 "WHEN ICICLES HANG BY THE WALL." 
 
 25. 9. keel. Properly " to cool," then "to cool by stirring" ; it may 
 have been applied also, as other commentators think is the cose here, 
 to scumming. 
 
 2B. II. saw. Saying, especially a maxim, or moral truth. 
 
 25. 14. roasted crabs. It was the custom to put roasted crab-apples 
 and spices into ale ; of. Midaummer Night' a Dream 11., i,, 48. 
 
 EDINBURGH. 
 
 The spectator is supposed to be standing on BUckford Hill, and to be 
 looking due north. Buskin cites this passage as an example of Scott's 
 delight in colour and his mastery in using it in descriptions. 
 
 25. 1,2. In liarmUm, from which this extract is taken, an army is 
 represented as encamped in the neighbourhood. 
 
 "A WEARY LOT IS THINE, FAIR MAID." 
 This song is from Jiokeby where it is sung at the revels of a robber 
 band by one of the bandits. Scott says in his note : " The last verse of 
 this song is taken from an old Scottish ballad." This ballad is now 
 generally held to have been written by Bums, and may be found on 
 p. 93 above. 
 
 26. 4. rue. A bitter herb ; on account of having the same spelling 
 as "rue," meaning remorse, this plant was used to symbolize repent- 
 ance ; see Hamlet, IV., iv. 
 
 26. 7. Lincoln green. A green cloth in which, according to the old 
 ballads, foresters, the followers of Robin Hood, etc., were commonly 
 clothed. 
 
 THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 
 
 This is one of Tennyson's earliest renderings of an Arthurian legend. 
 He subsequently treated the same subject, in a very different way, in 
 one of the Idyls of the King, viz., Lancelot and Elaine. "The key to 
 this tale of magic symbolism is of deep hunum significance, and is to be 
 found in lines 69-72. Canon Ainger, in his Tennymn for the Young, 
 
 n 
 
184 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOtOOT. 
 
 >' ■ 
 
 ij 
 
 if!!i 'i 
 
 i :j 
 
 qaotet the following interpretation given him by my father: 'The 
 new-bom love for eomething, for some one in the wide world from 
 which she haa been so long seoladed, takes her oat of the region of 
 shadows into that of realities. ' " ( Temyton'a L\fe by Mb Son. ) 
 
 27. 3. wold. Open, rolling land, bare of trees, snch as Tennyson 
 was familiar with in Ldncolnshire. 
 
 27. 6. Camelot. The legendary capital of Arthur's kingdom. 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 35. 14. watch-case. The commentators offer two interpretations : 
 ••a sentry-box" or "an alarm-wat<;h." 
 
 ON HIS HAVIWG ARRIVED AT Tia£ AGE OP 
 TWENTY-THREE. 
 
 86. 4. shew'th. Old spelling and pronunciation for "showeth." 
 
 35* 8. timely-happy. F<^unate in regard to time. 
 
 85. 10. even. Equal, in proportion to; an adjective here. 
 
 THE WARDEN OP THE CINQUE PORTS. 
 Cinque is the Prenoh word for "five," though in this connection the 
 old pnmonoiation, rink, is retained. On the five towns mentioned in 
 line 9, William the Conqueror conferred special privileges in considera- 
 tion for ships which they furnished ; they were placed under the 
 supervision of a special officer called the Warden of the Cinque Ports. 
 The Warden referred to in the poem is the Duke of Wellington, and 
 the lines were written shortly after Longfellow had heard of his death 
 in the autumn of 1852. 
 
 36. 21. burden. In the sense in which we speak of the burden of a 
 song ; the refrain. 
 
 THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA. 
 
 This poem is based upon the following incident : " Some Seiks, and a 
 private of the BufEs [the East Kent regiment], having remained behind 
 with the grog-carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next 
 morning they were brought before the authorities, and commanded to 
 perform the Kotou. The Seiks obeyed, but Moyse, the English soldier, 
 declared that he would not prostrate himself before any Chinaman 
 alive, was immediately knocked upon the head, and his body thrown on 
 a dunghill."— (CAtna Correspondent of the Timet.) This took place in 
 1860, when Lord Elgin was ambassador to China. 
 
 88. 39. The reference is probably to Leonidas, who fell in defending 
 the pass of Thermopyln against the Persians, thinking, although he 
 knew the defence was hopeless, that a Spartan should not desert his posti 
 
MOTES ON PP. 42-63. 
 
 185 
 
 JOCK OP HAZELDEAN. 
 
 Scott developed this poem out of the first stanza, which is ancient. 
 
 42. 4. sail. Dialectic for " shall." 
 
 42. 7. loot " Did let » ; Scotch dialect 
 
 42. 8. Hazeldean is on the Teviot 
 
 42. U, 12. "Young Frank "evidently belongs to the En,rlish side 
 of the Borders. Uagley-diUe is the name of a township in lyurham. 
 near Barnard Castle. 
 
 42. 19. managed. Trained. 
 
 MARMION AND DOUGLAS. 
 
 43. 12. TantaUon's towers. The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a 
 high rock projecting into the German Ocean, east of North Berwick. 
 It was a principal seat of the Douglas family. 
 
 THE CLOUD. 
 46. 21-30. What natural phenomenon is described in the poetical 
 language of these lines is by no means clear. Since the pilot is the 
 lightning, SheUey may have thought that the motion of the clouds i. 
 influenced by electric forces existing in the earth, and may here repre- 
 sent these forces as ' ' genii. " ' r 
 
 BATTLE OP BEAL' AN DUINE. 
 
 Seal' an Duine is the name of a pass in the Trosac'^^ : where a battle 
 IS represented as taking place between the Lowlana army of King 
 James and a Highland force under Roderick Dhu. (See note on /fe* 
 Jamea and Roderick Dhu, p. 181. ) 
 
 61. 2. Ben^enufc A mountain to the south of Loch Katrine. 
 
 61. 4. Loch Achray. A lake in the Trosachs. 
 
 61. 9. erne Eagle. 
 
 61. 16. Benledi is the name of a mountain north of Loch Achray. 
 
 62. 24, 26. silver star. The reference is to the coat of arms of the 
 Morays (or Hurrays). The Earl of Mar and the head of the Moray 
 famUy are leaders on the Lowland side. 
 
 ffi. 28. boune. "Ready," "prepared to set out" ; it is the same 
 woi^ which appears in such modem phrases as "homeward bound." 
 
 62. 36. barded. Covered with defensive armour ; properly the word 
 18 apphed to horses only. -^ r j 
 
 62. 46. vaward. Another form of "vanguard." 
 
 63. 84. TincheL "A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a 
 great space and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of 
 gwne together, who usuaUy made desperate efforts to break throueh 
 the ttnchel." {SeoU.) * 
 
186 
 
 A SCHOOL AMTHOLOOT. 
 
 «I7 
 
 'I 
 
 1 * 
 
 61. 119. Bracklinn. About a mile from the village of Callander. 
 
 64. 120. linn. Scotch word for "waterfall " ; coutained in the name 
 
 BraeUinn. 
 
 TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. 
 
 "On the propoaals of certain miniaten at the committee for the pro* 
 pagation of the gospel" is added to the title in the originaL These 
 proposals had to do with the endowment of a state church and the 
 establishment of Presbyterianiam. Both Milton and Cromwell were 
 Independents ; and Milton doubtless hoped that Cromwell would oppose 
 any sort of state church. 
 
 56. 7. Darwen stream. This is near Preston, where in 1648, Crom- 
 well routed the Scots in one of the most important battles of the Civil 
 War. 
 
 55. 8. Dunbar field. Cromwell defeated the Scots at Dunbar, Sept 
 3rd, 1650. i 
 
 65. 9. Worcetter. A victory of Cromwell's, Sept. 3rd, 1651, which 
 he was accustomed to term his "crowning mercy," and which was, in 
 fitct, the last battle he had to fight. 
 
 66. 14. Compare Jfatthew vii, 15 : " Beware of false prophets, which 
 oome to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. " 
 
 ON HIS BLINDNESS. 
 Milton, whose sight had long been failing, became blind in 1652; 
 when he was in his 44th year. 
 
 65. 3, 4 Compare Matthew xzv. Milton modestly considers him- 
 self as belonging to the class represented by the servant who received 
 but one talent, and life he regards as no life at all, unless it is devoted 
 to making use of the powers which €k>d gave him. 
 
 66. 8. fondly. Foolishly. 
 
 IX MEMORIAM : CVL 
 
 87. 19- /n Memoriam is a series of poems occasioned by the death 
 In 1833 of Tennyson's intimate friend A. H. riallam, in his 23rd year, 
 Tennyson being some two years older. The lyric in the text follows 
 a long series devoted to lamenting the poet's loss. 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 
 PERSONAL TALK. 
 60. 13. The gentle Lady. Desdemo'- n-ife of Othello the Moor of 
 Venice in Shakespeare's great tragedy. 
 60. 14. Una. The heroine of the First Book of Spenser's fVi«rie Queen. 
 
NOTES ON PP. 61-63. 
 
 187 
 
 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. 
 
 Chapman tniuUted the Iliad in 1611, the Odytsey in 1616, into 
 English vene ; Keftti wm unable to read Greek. 
 
 81. 4. Apollo^ among the Greek divinitiea, waa the special patron 
 of poetry and the other fine arta. 
 
 81. 11, Cortes waa the conqueror of Mexico, here confused with 
 Balboa. Keats had probably in mind the following passage from 
 Robertson's ffutory qf America: «'At length the Indians aasured them 
 that from the top of the next mountain they should discover the ocean, 
 which waa the object of their wishes. When with infinite toU they had 
 climbed up the greater part of that steep ascent Balboa commanded his 
 men to halt, that he might be the first who should enjoy a spectacle 
 which he had so long desired. As soon as he beheld the South Sea 
 stretching in endless prospect below him he feU on his knees, and, 
 lifting up his eyes to heaven, returned thanks to God who had con- 
 ducted him to a discovery so beneficial to his country and so honourable 
 to himself. His foUowers, observing his transport of joy, mshed 
 forward to join in his wonder, exulUtion and gratitude." 
 
 THE ISLES OP GREECE. 
 
 61. 2. Sappho. One of the most famous of Greek lyric poets ; she 
 was a native of the island of Lesbos. 
 
 61. 4. Delos. Island in the ^Egean, said to have been sum- 
 moned out of the deep by the trident of Poseidon, and to have been the 
 birth-place of Apollo (Phoebus). 
 
 61. 7. Homer, the great epic poet, was, according to one story, a 
 native of Scio (Chios) ; and Anacreon, a famous writer of love lyrics, waa 
 a native of Teas on the coast of Asia Minor. 
 
 61. 12. "Islandsof the Blest" See note on p. 124,1.63. Theseislands 
 were sometimes identified with the Cape de Verd Islands or the Canaries. 
 
 62. 13. Marathon, in Attica ; scene of the Athenian victory over the 
 Persians in 490 b.c. 
 
 62. 20. Salamis. An island on the coast of Attica, where the 
 Athenian fleet won a great victory over that of Xerxes, 480 b.c 
 
 62. 42. See note p. 38, 1. 39. 
 
 63. 59. Cadmus, according to Greek myth, introduced the use of 
 writing from Phoenecia or Egypt. 
 
 63. 64. Polyciates. The powerful tyrant of the island of Samoe, and 
 a patron of art and literature. 
 
 63. 69. Miltiades did great service in the struggle against Persia, 
 and led the Athenian troops at Marathon. 
 
188 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 
 64. 74. Suli and Parpi are modem namei of plaoee in Albania. 
 
 64. 78. The Ileracleidffi (the word means descendant of Hercules), 
 according to Greek tradition, helped the Dorians to conquer the 
 Peloponnesus. 
 
 64. 91> Sunium. The ancient name of the southern promontory of 
 Attica. On it was a magnificent temple of Minenra, of which some of 
 the columns are still standing. 
 
 INFLUENCE OP NATURAL OBJECTS. 
 
 66- 20. lake. This is Esthwaite Lake, a few miles inland from 
 Morecamb Bay, on the west coast of England. 
 
 66. 31. village. The village was Hawkshead, where Wordsworth 
 spent his school days. 
 
 66. 42. Coleridge in The Friend says; "When very many are 
 skati 9 together the sounds and the noises give an impulse to the icy 
 trees, and the woods all ro«nd the lake tinkle." Compare also Tenny- 
 son's descriptiun of a wintry night in Morte dH Arthur, lines 188-190. 
 
 "0 TJRIGNALL BANKS." 
 
 This song, like " A weary lot is thine, fair maid" (p. 26 above), is 
 from Roheby, and is sung by the same person upon the same occasion 
 (see note, p. 183). Scott says in a letter to a friend, speaking of Rdkeby: 
 "There are two or three songs, and particularly one in praise of 
 Brignall Banks, which I trust yon will like, because, entre nou$, I like 
 them myself." Brignall Banks are on the river Qreta in Yorkshire ; 
 and the other places named are in the immediate neighbourhood. 
 
 68- 17. read. Interpret. 
 
 68. 40. tuck. Beat. 
 
 68. 47. tnickle. Much ; an antique and provincial form. 
 CONCLUSION OP "THE VANITY OP HUMAN WISHES." 
 
 The poem of which these lines form the conclusion, is occupied with 
 
 showing the nnsatisfactoriness of the objects of desire, and that if 
 
 attained they are more likely to bring evil and unhappiness than the 
 
 reverse. 
 
 SONNET XCVIII. 
 
 72. 5. In astrology the influence of Saturn was supposed to produce a 
 dull, heavy, or, as it was called, saturnine temperament 
 
 THE EVE OP WATERLOO. 
 The Duchess of Richmond gave a ball in Brussels on the night of 
 June 15, 1816. from which the officers were called away to join in the 
 advance ; then followed on the 16th the preliminary engagement of 
 
NOTES ON PP. 78-77. 
 
 189 
 
 Qoatre Bras, which Byron in the poem chooaei to identify with the 
 battle of Waterloo on June 18th. 
 
 73. 20. The Dnke of Bmnswick fell at Qaatre Bras ; his father had 
 died fighting against Napoleon at Jeua ( 1806). 
 
 74. 47. Lochid is the chief of the Camerons. 
 74. 47. Albjn. Gaelic name for Scotland. 
 74. 49. pibroch. Music for the bagpipes. 
 
 74. 64. Evan's, Donald's fame. "Sir Evan Cameron and his des> 
 cendant Donald, the 'gentle Lochiel' of the 'forty-five'" (Byron). 
 
 74. S5. Ardennes. "The wood of Soigniea is supposed to be a rem* 
 nant of the forest of Ardennes " {Byron) This wood forms part of the 
 field of Waterloo. 
 
 CHARLES XII. 
 
 Charles XII, the famous warrior-king of Sweden, reigned 1697-1718. 
 
 76. 9, 10. surrounding kins^s, viz.. Pater the Great of Russia, the 
 King of Denmark, the King of Poland, and the Elector of Saxony ; the 
 King of Denmark capitulated in 1700, the King of Poland resigned in 
 1701. 
 
 75. 20. Pultowa's day. Charles was defeated at the battle of 
 Pultowa, 1709. 
 
 75. 22. Charles took refuge in Turkey, was well received and liberally 
 maintained by the Sulfa«n. He intrigued to win the help of Turkey 
 against Russia, but Russian influence proved the stronger, and at length, 
 in 1714, he made his escape. 
 
 75. 30. He was shot in 1718 at Frederickshall, on the coast of Norway ; 
 whether by one of the enemy or by an assassin is unknown. 
 
 ODE TO AUTUMN. 
 The second stanza of this poem is an illustration of that gift which 
 Keats shares with the Greeks " for personifying the powers of nature 
 in clearly-defined, imaginary shapes, endowed with human beauty and 
 half -human faculties." Note how pictorial is this stanza, yet the poet 
 does not attempt to give the details which would be presented in an 
 actual picture. 
 
 77. 28. river-sallows. " Sallows " are willows. 
 
 NUTTING. 
 " The poem— a fragment of autobiography— illustratos the processes, 
 and in Mdents by which Wordsworth's animal joy in nature in boyhood 
 Wiis gradually purifietl and spiritnaiized. " ( Dowden. ) It is in the main 
 descriptive ; the poet elaborates and lingers on the details, in part for 
 their own sake and because they were associated with the glow of boyish 
 
m 
 
 
 i 
 
 w 
 
 190 
 
 A SOROOt AXTHOLOOT. 
 
 Ufa and th« fairy oluurm that bftonta the fresh experienoee of childhood 
 (of. To the Cuekoo, p. 48 above). Bnt it ie oharaoterietic of Words- 
 worth that the poem is not a mere desoription of nature as it presents 
 itself to the bodily eye, bat of nature as inflnenoing man ; and that the 
 piotore senres to lead np to an interpretation of nature — to the state- 
 ment of something which is the ontoome, not of mere obserration by the 
 bodily organs, but of the imaginative and philosophic facalty : — 
 
 A seiue lublime 
 Of lomethliiK far more deeply intorfuMd, 
 Whose dwelling Is the light of setting soiis, 
 And the round ooesn, snd the living air, 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
 A motion and a spirit that impels 
 All thinking things, all obJecU of aU thought, 
 And rolls through all things. 
 
 78> Il> my fmgal dame.' This was Anne Tyson, the villagAr in 
 whose cottage Wordsworth lodged "while attending the Grammar School 
 at Hawkshead. 
 
 79- 33. water-t>reaks. Ripples or wavelets. 
 
 FAIR HELEN. 
 
 This like Sir Patrick Spent is from Scott's Border MirulreUy. It is 
 an ancient popular song produced under similar conditions (sfie note, 
 p. 179) to the Ballad proper, from which it differs in its Ijrrical form, 
 and in the fact that it is the expression of feeling on the part of the 
 supposed speaker instead of being merely an objective narrative. In its 
 simple fashion it is a work of high excellence, exhibiting extraordinary 
 pathos, sincerity, and suggestiveness. As is usually the case with the 
 ballad proper this poem is based on an actual incident, which is narrated 
 by Scott. A lady of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell (for this is disputed 
 by the two clans) daughter of the Laird Kirkconnell in Dumfries-shire 
 was loved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. On account of the 
 opposition of her friends who favoured the other suitor, the lady was 
 accustomed to meet one of these lovers, Adam Fleming by name, at 
 night in the church-yard of Kirkconnell, a romantic spot almost sur- 
 rounded by the river Kirtle. On one of these occasione the rejected 
 lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank and levelled his carbine 
 at his rival ; Helen threw herself before her lover, received the bullet 
 and died in his arms. In the desperate combat which followed Fleming 
 hewed the murderer in pieces. 
 
 80 7. burd. Damael, or lady. 
 
K0TK8 Oir PP. 82-88. 
 
 191 
 
 THE REVEBIE OP POOR SUSAN. 
 The leene u kid in London. Cheaptide it the well-known thorongh- 
 fare in the city proper. Wood Strtet rune out of it, and Lothbury ia » 
 street behind the Bank of EngUnd. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, CI. 
 
 Thie poem wae written on the oocMion of the Tennyson family leaving 
 their old home, the rectory of Somersby, in 1837. 
 
 82. 11. leswr wain. This is the consteUation of Ursa Minor, in 
 whose tail is the polar star. Ursa Major was popnUrly caUed Arthur's 
 Wain, i.e., waggon. 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 
 
 •• The fame of the BUgy has spread to all coantries, and has exercised 
 an influence on all the poetry of Europe, from Denmark to Italy, from 
 Prance to Russia. With the exception of certain works of Byron and 
 Shakespeare no English poem has been so widely admired and imitated 
 abroad ; and after more than a century of existence we find it is as 
 fresh as ever. ... It possesses the charm of incomparable felicity, 
 of a melody that is not too subtle to charm every ear, of a moral per- 
 suasiveness that appeals to every generation, and of metrical skill that 
 in each line procUims the master. The Ekgy may ahnoat be looked 
 upon as the typical piece of English verse— our poem of poems ; not that 
 it is the most brilliant, or original, or profound lyric in the Unguage, 
 but because it combines in more balanced perfection than any other all 
 the qualities that go to the production of a fine poetical effect"— (Oom;.) 
 
 84. 41. storied. Bearing an inscription or pictured representation. 
 
 84. 61. rage. This word is used by the poeta of the 17th and 18th 
 centuries in the sense of poetic fire. 
 
 86. 90. pious. In the sense of the Latin plus, dutiful ; tears which 
 are the natural due of the situation. 
 
 87. 119. science. "Knowledge" in the widest sense; this is the 
 18th century meaning of the word ; in the 19th century "science " is 
 usually applied to one part only of the wide field of knowledge. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVET. 
 Robert Levet was one of Dr. Johnson's proteg&i ; he practised medi- 
 dne in a humble fashion among the very poor, and died in an apartment 
 of Dr. Johnson's house which he had occupied for more than 20 years. 
 
 87. 7- officious. In earlier English usage the word did not necessarily 
 imply excess and servility as it does in our day. 
 
 88. 28. single talent Of. MaUhew, Chapxxv. 
 
192 
 
 A SCHOOL AKTHOLOOT. 
 
 tit! 
 III! 
 
 in 
 
 • EVENING. 
 
 89. 13. Pandean chorus. Pan wm a Greek dirinity who prasidad 
 over flooka, paetnrea, and foreats ; he was also fond of unsio, and waa 
 the inTaoior of the shepherd or Pandean pipes, eonsisting of reeds of 
 different lengths fastened together. Pantkan her* may ba need with 
 reference to the natural and primitire oharaoter of the mnsio, or to the 
 Tarying notes like the sounds of the varioos reeds in Pan's pipes. 
 
 "HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS." 
 "There is no sort of historioal foundation about 'Good Nawa from 
 Ghent.' I wrote it under the bulwark of a vessel off the Afrioan ooast 
 after I had been at sea long enough to i^preoiate even the fancy of a 
 gallop on the back of a certain good horse ' York,' then in my stable at 
 home." (Browning.) Notwithstanding, the actual plaoea which might 
 be passed on the route are accurately indicated and may be traced on 
 the map. It haa been conjectured that there may have been in the 
 poet's mind some vague memory of the Pacification of Ghent, which 
 was a tr«aty of union between various parts of the Low Countries 
 against the Spaniards, and that the necessity for haste might ba ao* 
 countM for by the supposition that the burghers of Aiz had resolved to 
 destroy the city at a certain date unless there were some prospect of 
 its being kept out of Spanish hands — a not impouible supposition. 
 
 90. 10. pique. "The pommel of the saddle. We state this on 
 authority of an army officer, although the meaning is in none of the 
 dictionaries." {Boye'a Bdition.) 
 
 91. 41. donie-q>ire. The spire of a cathedral (German, Dom.) 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 93. 10. maun. Must. 
 
 91. 28. lee«lang. Livelong. 
 
 MORTE D'ARTHUR. 
 This is the earliest (published in 1842 written at least as early as 
 1837), and probably best of all the IdtflU of the King; when included 
 in this series of Idylls, the poem was extended and called the Patsing of 
 Arthur. It is based upon the story of King Arthur's death as told in a 
 famous prose book by Sir Thomas Malory, the Morte d^ Arthur (written 
 about 1570) ; Tennyson follows the original story very closely. 
 
 94. 3. idng Arthur'a table. In Arthur's hall was a ronnd table with 
 seats to accommodate his knights ; after it was named the famous order 
 of knights established by the king. 
 
 94. 4. Lyonnesse. A fabulous country extending from Cornwall to 
 
iiOTu ON n. M-ioc ]93 
 
 warrior^ which oftra poMeMwI niMi.^ ««Z V? ''*•?""■ "^ '•«»««»■ 
 
 TO THE BEV. DR WORDSWORTH 
 Thi. poem is •ddrtmed to the writer*, brother. Ohrirtopher who w« 
 .t that time rector of L«nbeth; it .•fer. to the f;aZrr2h^° te" 
 
 l^"a«c^£'^; ^'^ — or helt were r.,J:.TJtZ':Z 
 104. 62. the Thunderer. Jnpiter. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, LXXXVI. 
 
 J2* I' t ^' ^ ^"^^ ""-^ **°^'^' P- 27. 1. 11, above. 
 
 1U&. 7. homer: In classic art rivers were for some unknown n»»>n 
 r^presentedas bull,, .nd hence tte epithet camiger (homS)T.S 
 to nvers ; cf. Aendd, viii, 77. and Ofor^c*. iv. 371. ^ 
 
194 
 
 A SCHOOL AXTROLOOT. 
 
 i 
 
 ..^ 
 
 W0L8EY. 
 106 W. Joh».<« probably h«d in min.l what the pUy r.f lUnry 
 K/ZAfoUowing the old chronicle, pat. in the mouth of WoUcy : 
 Yin, louow • jj^ J j^^ ^^^ ^y o^ ^,th h.ii the ml 
 
 \ MTvad my king, h« wouW not In my »g« 
 H»v« »«*l mt niA«d to mln« tn«mlef. 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS 
 Sir 0«)rae Beaumont wm • landwapcpainter of .ome note in his own 
 d.f ^TITiS^te friend of Wordeworth. The Peel C«tl. referred 
 t U " th"oo«t of Unc-hire. and oppoeita i. a vilUjge where Word.^ 
 woTepent four week, in 1794. In the year (1806) '" 7^'«»»J^; 
 ;S-«I.n«uw.ro written, the poet', brother John w- drowned u. 
 the wreck of the abip of which he wa. commander. 
 
 i 
 
 BOOK THIRD. 
 
 THE WI8HING0ATE. 
 
 To thi. poem Wordsworth prefixed the foUowing note ; "In the vale 
 of GnumerTby the nde of the old highway leadmg to Amb.-.:de. i. a 
 IS^ScZ tiL out of mind. ha. been called the Wishing-gate. from 
 fwief tS wi.he. formed or indulged there have a favourable iMue 
 
 Tui pTm U a fine example of the .ubtle. quiet charm of Wordeworth . 
 JiriSiout anything very extraordinary either in thought or expre.- 
 S tC verJ are imbued with elevated and «K,tbmg d.gmty and 
 
 «>^"**y- ULYSSES. 
 
 Ulv,w.wa. one of the Greek heroe. who fought agaimitTroy, and 
 w« Sguished among them for hU wi.dom and craft ; on hx. v^-ge 
 JIew«S^ hi. idand kingdom of Ithaca he gave offence to Po«e.don 
 lZlt^mf^ who delayed hi. return by various miefortune.. These 
 Sve!ZL.^Sie.ulJect of Homer'. Ody^e,. which represent. Ulysses 
 
 ^Twrrestored to hi. kingdom and his faithful wife Penelope. 
 LnysoZ making use of a hint from Dante's Inferno, represents 
 mX after hi. return a. restle«i ««nidst the commonplaceness of 
 orinary life and yearning for further travel «>d "P^"^"^'^- ..^^^ 
 
 Tennyson himself said, in speaking to a fnend, that Ulysse, was 
 JZ under the sense of loss [of hi. friend Hallam ; see note on P^57 
 r 19 above], end that all had gone by. but that stiU U e niust bo fought 
 t, the ^I" So that we have in tins poem an example of a poehc^ 
 which Tennyson possesse. in high measure-the mfusxon of his own 
 
"owi «r n. iti-ui. 
 
 196 
 
 TBI BEOOLLEOnON. 
 
 <ENOSE. 
 
 129. 18. Ilios. Troy. 
 
 liiS ^th. wtw it"jsi"" °^ "• "-^^ .t «» ««». 
 
 «l-iioI.pJ ^*°'»°"" "W^ "ft" "''".d to in 
 
 m. 74. Omul. Mimirt.ii,.n,nipb. 
 
 b^^tSrSfk^^ ""** •^'«" -. ««-d«i „ . 
 
m. 
 
 i- 
 
 196 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 id Greek hero Peleiu ; he had omitted to invite Erit, the Goddewof 
 T)iscord, md ahe took this method of puninhing his neglect 
 
 m Sa Irii WM the offioiJ mewenger of the godB. 
 
 m 86. 86. Herk (Juno) wm the wife of Zeni and the queen of the 
 Olympian god.; P«Um (Minerva) wa. the Godde« of Wudom; and 
 Aphroditk (Venus), of Love. 
 
 m. 97. «ni«nuM« and wphodel. Gi^k name, of flower, aswci- 
 ated with wene. of extraordinary or unearthly beauty ; the former bas 
 been identified by wme with .weet marjoram, the latter with a .peae. 
 
 of lily. „ 
 
 131. 98. Lotus. See note on the Lotos- Eaten, p. l»7. 
 132* 104. peacock. The peacock wa. wwred to Her*. 
 131 174. Idallan. So called from IdaUum, in Cypnui, one of her 
 
 favourite haunt.. , . ^t. * « 
 
 134. 176. According ti) the myth, AphroditA wa. bom of the foam of 
 the wa, and Papho$, a city of Cyprus, wa. the place where .he hmded 
 
 after her birth. ,. ■, . tt t.^ 
 
 134 178 Ambrosial. TWs i. an epithet applied by Homer to 
 
 thingi pertaining to the god. ; it may refer to the fragrance of the hair. 
 ]S. 187 Thia wa. Helen, wife of Menelau., King of Lacedsemon ; 
 
 her .ubwquent abduction by Pari. wa. the cause of the Trojan war. 
 
 135. 208, 209. In order to make diip. to carry Pan. to Greece that 
 
 he might win Helen. -i *!. *. -ii 
 
 136. 246 fol She ha. a vague premonition of the evil, tnat wiu 
 
 oome to Troy from this bribe of Aphrodite'.. 
 
 136 263. Cassandra. Daughter of Priam, King of Troy; on her 
 ApoUo batowed the gift of prophecy, with the provision, however, ttiat 
 none of her predictions should ever be believed ; M> when .he foretold 
 the destruction of Troy they dmt her up as mad. 
 
 "SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS." 
 1S7. 2. Dove. A beautiful stream that rises on the borders of Derby 
 and Stafford, and flows into the Trent. 
 
 THE LOTOS-EATERS. 
 The germ of this poem is contained in a few lines of Homer's Odyttey 
 (Bk ix, 82 foL), when Ulysses, in the story of his a^vantures, says: 
 "But on the tenth day we set foot on the land of the L otos-Eaters, who 
 feed on flowers. . . . I seiit forward .hip-mates to go and ^k what 
 manner of men they might be who lived on the land by bread, having 
 picked out two men, and sent a third with them » henUd. And they 
 vent their way forthwith, and mixed with the Lotos-Eater.; no tJie 
 
arOTKS ON pp. 13»-146. 
 
 197 
 
 Loto.-E.ter. plotted nc harm to oar sM >ni»te.. but gave them of lotn. 
 to eat But whoever o th.m ate the (oney-sweet dTJVi^fV 
 
 Jt^'er^rSzs^i'ir.K^^^^^ 
 
 -toftM, Which i. dewsrihed a. . i«» *u yaywey wa« the Zizyphua 
 
 theaiLof 1.1^ r^ *ir' "'^"'y »'»™''. bearing fruit about 
 
 me ttze of a .loe, with a .weet, farinaceous pulp. 
 
 J2' i *"* ^^ !•'■' ^y«^' "»• »««»« of the band. 
 m. 23. galingale. A qiecie. of .edge. 
 
 /9I ; ^tl^^ \T^ **' *^" ^"^ ''"« •"PP°««'i to be shriU and weak 
 (See Aenetd, vi, 492, and HanUet, I, i. ) **' 
 
 143. 120. the island princes. The home of UlysBe. and hi. com 
 pamons wa. the island of Ithaca. ""' 
 
 143. 133. amaranth. A fabulous flower wh.vi, /.« ti. .. 
 
 143. 142. acanthus. A phmt with graceful, pendant leaves whose 
 form ui familiar in the capital of Corinthian columns. 
 
 144. 164. hoUow. Conasting of a valley, or full of vallevs • cf th« 
 openmg description. "' ^»"eys , cf. the 
 
 „ J^ ^^i ^i. '^* **^«" *nd indiflFerence of the gods wa. a 
 notion of the Epicurean philosophy ^^ * 
 
 ^m, 169. Elysian vaUeys. JKy«„^ wa. the abode of heroe. after 
 
 144. 170. asphodel See note, p. 131, L 97. 
 
 TO CYRIACK SKINNER. 
 
 145. 1. MUton'. young friend to whom this sonnet is addressed was 
 
 ^Syt^^^L'T'^''^^'^^-^^^-^"^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^146. 2. Themis. A personification of order a. established by law and 
 
 .^;i4rrr' "^'*'»<>— 3«dge";wespeakofaiudge 
 
 J^JJ^^^ ^"^' ""'-'''' ' ^'"-^^^^ «-^ -themati- 
 ^ 145. 8. At the time this wnnet wa. written (about 1666). the Swedes 
 were at war with Poland and Russia, the French with Spdn. 
 
198 
 
 A SCHOOL AMTHOIiOOT. 
 
 
 FROM THE "ESSAY ON MAN." 
 147. 26. the solar walk. The apparent course of the aan through the 
 
 heavenB. , ,, 
 
 147 41. enrt. Tarte ; fw ihy gu$t, to please thyself. 
 IS* 66. A^pAi.«i«gel of exited rank; the word come, from 
 a Hehrew root meaning •• to bum." hence Pope's "bums. 
 INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL. 
 152 1. King's CoUege was founded by King H«iry VI. who had a 
 reputation for sanctity (see Shakespeare. Biehard III, v, D- 
 
 AFTERTHOUGHT. 
 
 This concludes a series of sonnets upon the River Duddon. inwMch 
 the poet follows the stream downward from Its «,urce. TheJJiddon 
 Ls where Westmoreland. Cumberhuid «id D«icad«ro meet, and flow, 
 south into Morecambe Bay. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, LXIV. 
 165. 1. The poet addresses his dead friend, see note on p. 57, L 19. 
 
 ODE TO EVENING. 
 
 156 1. oaten stop. The shepherds in classical pastoral poetry are 
 
 repSen J^Tph^ opon pipes made from the -talk, of oate ; toe 
 
 ZT ^ the hL"^ mLs of which, as in a f ^. «»;j*"7 r^' 
 
 ^ placed. "Oatenstop" is therefore, equiralent to the nextphfl»e, 
 
 "pastoral song." ^^ ^^^^, j,^ 
 
 January 21st is wcred to St, Agnes, who .uffered ""^yij^?^" 
 reicTof the Emperor Diodetian. With the eve of St. Ague, day 
 r^r.uperstition. were comiected. e.peciaUy that upon obsemng 
 ZZ^^" nu^iden might have a virion of her future husbjnd (d 
 ?^. Z of St Amus) ; the heroine of Tennyson's poem has her 
 STcSlslTthC" ofni^y different character from tho« ordinarily 
 
 '^t'^Tll'^Z^ian. V. L : "For we know if o„ ^Hhly 
 ,.o^o) this tabernacle were di.«>lved. we have a buUd^ng of God. an 
 house not made with hand., eternal in ^«^«*^- 
 
 IfiO 21 Breakup. Break open. a. m JfattA«w xxiv., «. 
 m 36' STSii^ «u Of. Sevelation xv.. 2 : " I «w as it were 
 a iS?of gia« ^.Sd with fire ; and them that »»d 8°t*«-^«/;^;^ 
 :rtoeW^ . .t«.doathe..ao£gl-..h.v»gtheharp.o£ 
 
 God." 
 
KOTES ON PP. 150 171. 
 
 199 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, CXV. 
 
 159. 2. quick. A living hedge, usually of hawthorne. 
 INTRODUCTION TO "PARADISE LOST." BOOK III. 
 
 160. 7. hear'stthou rather. "Dost thou prefer to be called- » an 
 umution of a Utin use of auUio (of. Horace'. Lires II, vi..T) ' 
 
 the^. h ?^ ^7^ ^^' «"" °* ^«" ^^^''J^ ^« '^•d d«»«ribed in 
 rive, of Hats. ^'' ^"''"" '''' '^^'^^^^^ ^'^^'^^ -- -« °^ «^« 
 
 to\f ^^- ^'^^^^/y'*- AUuding to the Hymn to Night attributed 
 to the mythical Greek poet Orpheus. 
 
 termVttf ^?^ ^"^ ^ translation of gutla serena, a medical 
 
 £ tr !c5 Sr "^^^"" ''-'^ °^ '""^^" ■' - '' ^'- '''^ -^-•- 
 
 161. 35, 36. Thamyris is a poet mentioned by Homer {Iliad II, 595) • 
 iTt^'^rr r ^'""^"' '^'"'^ and Phineus are two bUnd 
 
 TXi.:vsir^' *'^ ^^"^" ^" ^^-^^^ ^-- (cf. 
 
 "SINCE THERE'S NO HELP " 
 
 A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. 
 
 162. 1. Pan. See note, p. 89, 1. 13. 
 
 ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 
 
 164. 21. Maenad. A follower of Bacchus, frenzied under his 
 mfl^nce and represented as dancing and shouting wUdly. ^ 
 
 165. 32. Baias's Bay. The Bay of Naples. 
 
 THE LOST LEADER. 
 
 Jl}: of ^°iu }^ " ^* *'*** °" "*''^* ^«*^«f «J»°nId now fight with 
 
 he hL r"! i" "' *•"«'* "^ ^ '«^*> - »-^«^f of the -w clu^ 
 he has adopted; our cause will ultimately triumph, and he wS 
 acknowledge that we were right. P . «ia ne wm 
 
 ODE TO DUTY. 
 
 This is one of the finest examples of Wordsworth's power to show the 
 
 poetic side of the homely and commonplace. In th^^Ze he throw! 
 
 the ch«m of .njagination and sentiment, not about a peZn. or ob^rt 
 
 or xncdent of hfe, but about a feeling, daily experien'^ed. ^nd-to S 
 
 rlrliXT"' r.^^"''^'y-°ft- P---U1 and oppressive, the frelLg 
 of moral obligation, that something ought to be done. TWs ode i. J 
 
200 
 
 A SCHOOL ANTBOLOOT. 
 
 example of what Matthew Arnold held to be the true function of 
 poetry— "the oritioum of life"— "the powerful and beautiful applica- 
 tion of ideaa to life " ; it ia not didactic in tone, it does not preach ; it 
 quickena the moral nature by the contagion of noble enthusiawn, by the 
 power of inaight and of truth. ^ , 
 
 172. 37, 38. Even the very young know something of this weight in 
 hoUday times, when there has been, during a prolonged period, an 
 absence of fixed employments, and of calls which must be attended to. 
 
 "O LYRIC LOVE." 
 
 The extraordinarily beautiful, though very obscure, passage is a sort 
 of dedication by the poet of his great work, the Sing and the Book, to 
 his dead wife, Elizabeth Barret Browning. The attempt to construe 
 and interpret these lines is an excellent Uterary discipline, but no one 
 need be ashamed to confess himself, in some parts, baffled. 
 IN MEMOEIAM, CXIV. 
 
 174 12. PallM. A name of Athene (Minerva), the Goddess of Wis- 
 dom who, according to the myth, came into existence by springing fully 
 
 armed from her father Zeno's head. 
 
 176. 26. The poet again addresses his dead friend Hallam. 
 
 THE POET. 
 175. 18. There is a reference to the blowing of small poisoned arrows 
 from a tube by certain tribes of Indians. .,, nu 
 
 175 15 Calpc. One of the pillars of Hercules, identified with Gib- 
 raltar* which was considered the Western boundary of the ancient 
 world ; as was Caucasus the Eastern. 
 
 CALLICLES' SONG. 
 
 177. 6. not here, te., not on Etna. 
 
 177. 7. HeUcon. A mountain in Boeotia, sacred to Apollo and the 
 Muses, running down to the Gulf of Corinth. 
 
 177. 11. Thitbe. A town in the valley to the south of Helicon. 
 its! 30. The Nine. The nine Muses. 
 
 178. 38. On Mount HeUcon were two famous fountaina sacred to the 
 Muses — Aganippe and Hippootene. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH. 
 
 (The referanoM are to pagee.) 
 
 Abmold, Matthew (1822-1888), 177. 
 
 Brownino, Elizabeth Barrett (1809-1861), 162. 
 
 BROwmNO, Robert (1812-1889), 90, 170, 173. 
 
 Bryant, William Ccllbn (1794-1878), 33. 
 
 Burns, Robert, (1759-1796), 93. 
 
 Btron, George Gordon, Lord (1788-1824), 61, 72. 
 
 Collins, Wiluah (1721-1759), 156. 
 
 CowFER, William (1731-1800), 9. 
 
 Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), 128. 
 
 DoiTLB, Sir Francis Hastings (1810-1888), 22, 37. 
 
 Dratton, Michael (1563-1631), 162. 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliybr (1728-1774), 40. 
 
 Gray, Thomas (1716-1771), 82. 
 
 Johnson, Samuel (1709-1784), 69, 76, 87, 106. 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821), 61. 77. 
 
 Lampman, Archibald (1861-1899), 12, 24, 41, 50, 64, 88, 102. 
 
 Iandor, Walter Savage (1776-1864), 137. 
 
 Logan, John (1748-1788), 21. 
 
 Longfellow, Henry Wadswobth (1807-1882), 35, 38. 
 
 Lowell, James Russell (1819-1891), 150, 166. 
 
 Milton, John (1608-1674), 35, 66, 55, 146, 160. 
 
 Pope, Alexander (1688-1744), 146. 
 
 Soorr, Sir Walter (1771-1832), 1, 10, 14, 16, 26, 26, 42, 43, 67, 90. 
 
 Shakespeare, William (1664-1616), 26, 32, 72, 146, 156. 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshb (1792-1822), 20, 46, 106, 125, 149, 164. 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred, Lord (1809-1892), 27, 49, 57, 69, 70, 71, 81, 89, 94, 
 
 106, 110, 113, 114, 116, 118, 122, 124, 128, 138, 139, 156, 168, 159, 
 
 169, 174, 176. 
 Wordsworth, William (1770-1850), 1, 3, 4, 8, 20, 48, 56, 68, 58, 60, 65. 
 
 76, 76, 78, 81. 92, 102, 111, 120, 137, 146, 162, 162, 163, 163, 171. 
 Whitb, Joseph Blanco (1775-1841), 13. 
 
 201