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Chap. 7 Poets Pages 135 to 155 Special Programme Architects .... Chap. 8 Poets Pages 1 56 to 1 87 Architects ....Chaps. 9, 10 .... Poets Pages 188 to 206 Architects ....Chaps. 11, 12.... ^ Poets Pages 207 to 224 >^ Architects .... Chap. 13 ^"m. Poets Pages 225 to 246 ^ Architects .... Chap. 14 •^ Poets Pages 247 to 267 f Architects ....Chaps. 15,16.... Poets Pages 268 to 290 [^y^- xt>- xi>- ri>- ■~'^.- ^y ^J;- ^- >y;- < - <^' ^ ^ ■ ■- <5>' 57- l^E f ik yt « ni M ce 690263 in til frc tlii to Ar ha! doi wri ma exc the mai oft owr by usee PREFACE. V/hen asked to prepare a manual of English poetry, my only hesitation arose from the number and the excellence of t4 col- lections which are already in existence. It is not long since the Archbishop of Dublin published h\^ Household Book of Knalhh Poetry, and the late Mr. Emerson his Parnassus ; and though more than twenty years have elapsed since the publication of Mr. 1 algrave's Golden Treasury, that little volume is still ex- ceedingly precious to all lovers of Songs and Lyrics My hesitation was removed when I considered that the plan here adopted differs in some respects from that which is found in most other selections ; and still more when I remembered the deep pleasure which thousands of readers have derivf i from mulftudcs of different volumes of the same character with Ins. In my own school-days it was part of our weekly work to learn by heart a certain amo.-nt of English poetry, and an Anthology was put into our hands for this purpose. The book has probably long been out of print, nor had it any very pre- dommant claims to attention. It admitted many poems by writers altogether unknown, or long forgotten ; 'and while I made room for some passages of only tenth-rate excellence it excluded others of the supremest merit. Yet I can testify that the httle volume gave no small amour^. of innocent pleasure to many boys, and that the impressions left by frequent reading of the passages there collected formed a valuable part of my own eany education. The practice of learning English poetry ' by heart in Public Schools is not, I fear, so cornmon'as it used to be, but I am quite sure that it would with very small IV PHKFACF. expenditure of time produce more valnable results than some of the studies in wliich long hours are weekly spent. Since fan)iliarity with the best English poetry is so desirable, I have come to the conclusion that I can at least do no harm by publishing the following selections. This volume is not meant to come into competition with any existing manuals. I have collected from our best })oets in each main epo(;h of English poetry such complete poems, or brief passages from lonsrer works, as seemed most likely to be of use in forming the taste of young readers. No one could read or loam by the passages here collected without being morally and mentally the richer and better for it. "The noble mansion," says Walter Savage Landor, " is most distinguished by the beautiful images it retains of beings passed away ; and so is the noble mind." The picture gallery of a pure imagination cannot be stored with loftier or lovelier iuuxges than those which it may derive from the writings of the true singers who are here rep- resented. The poets, better than any other moral teachers, lead us to "the great in ccmduct, and the pure in thought." No one has better described their highest function than the poet who so nobly fulfilled it— William Wordsworth. "I doubt not, " he wrote to a friend, " that you will share with me an invin- cible confidence that my writings, and among them these little poems, will co-operate with the benign tendencies of human nature and society, wherever found ; and that they will in their degree, be efficacious in making men wiser and better. ... To console the afflicted ; to add sunlight to daylight by making the happy happier ; to teach the young and the gracious of every age to see, to think, to feel, and therefore to become more actively and securely virtuous, — this is their office, which I trust they will faithfully perform, long after we, that is, all that is mortal of us, are mouldered in our graves." Surely this is a lofty description of the aim of poetry ; yet, lofty as it is, our truest poets have set before themselves no lower standard. The first few passages are taken from Chaucer. The paucity , of them must not be taken, any more than in the case of other PREFACE. poets, for a measure of Chaucer's greatness. The task of selection has been guided In every instance by special reasons, and it seemed undesirable to multiply for young readers pas- sages whiidi abound in archaic words and phrases. But even frotn the sliort specimens here given, it may he seen that Chaucer resembles Shakespeare in happy sprightliness and serene benignity ; that he is, as all poets should be, " simple, sensuous, passionate" ; that he knows how to awaken laughter by delicate touches of satire, and also to bring tears into the eyes by natural pathos. If he resembles Shakespeare in his cheerfulness, and power of describing character and telling a story, he resemi)les Wordsworth in his freedom from mere * * poetic phraseology. ' ' And anone, as I the day espied, No lenger wolde I in my bed abide, But nnto a wood that was fast by I went forth alone and boldely, And held the way downe by a brooke side, Til I came to a laud of white and greno. So fiiire one had I never in been. Tlie ground was grene y-powdred with daisie, The floures and the groves alike high All grene and white— was nothing else seeiie. Could anything be more exqui- itely true yet more absolutely simple than the little touch of simple white and green with which the poet brings a spring meadow under the sunlight before our eyes ? Chaucer has been compared to an April day, full in itself of warmth and brightness, but followed often by rough weeks and frosty nights, which nip all the early blossoms. He died in 1400, and the whole remainder of the fifteenth century does not produce a single pre-eminent poet. The jealousy and opposi- tion of the clergy to all novelties— a prescient intuition of the day when they should smart under the scourge of such poetf?^ as Skelton, Lindsay, and Butler — the absence of all patronage, the troubles in the civil wars of the Roses, in which, says the VI I'ltKFACE. chronicler, " the sound of tl»e church hells was not heard for drums and trumpets," may liavo contril)Uted to the donith of prominent poets. Possibly, however, to the niidtlle of tliis century is due, in its oldest form, thiit jjrand old ballad of Chevy Chase, which Sir Thilip Sidney used to say " stirred his heart like the blast of a trumpet" ; and it is at least probable that duriiiy; this prosaic period many another of our great ballads 8[tran|j; from the heart of the people. These ballads form a distinct and separate phrase of literature, a!id are well worth studv and attention. Even tlie ru^trcdness of their anti.piity, and the uncertainty of their original form in the multitudinous shap.)3 tlK^y have assumed in the traditions of the people, only make them more venerable, just as one v(!iieratcs an old sword all the more for the rust upon its scabbard and the hacks and dents upon its blade. They deal in strong situations, and describe with unsparing yet reveretit truth the fiercest passions of human nature. Undoubtedly they are hot, rude, graphic : lie whose mind is not strong enough to walk among scenes of battle and murder and sudden death ; he whose " slothful loves and dainty sympathies" are too fine sjmn to face the dark- est and most unspoken tragedies of human life, must turn else- where. Yet, as Mr. Aliingham observes, " All is not darkness and tempest in this region of song ; gay stories of true love with a happy ending are many ; and they who love enchant- ments, and to be borne off into fairy land, may have their wish at the turning of a leaf." Take the well-known ballad of Helen of Kirkconnel. Her lover is talking to Helen, when his rival aims a shot at him, which the maiden receives into her own heart : — O think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt and spak na mair ! Then did she swoon wi' meikle care On fair Kirkconnel lea ; And I went down the water side, None but ray foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide On fair Kirkconnel lea. PREPACK. vii I I croflHcd tho Htroam, tho Bwoid did draw, I hacked him into piocos Hraa', I hacked him into ihvvvh huux', For hor sake that di(»d for nie. Ami then, af„.r tl,i, tcrrifi. „utl,„r,t of „v„.o v,.„..a„„cc regret, in tho very next verse :— Holon fair beyond (!omi)are, I'll mak' a Rarliind o' _yf„ir hair, Shall hind my hrart for ov.rma'ir Until tho day I deo. 1 wad I wnro whero Holon lios ; Night and day on m.« sho cries, And I am weary of tli.. skicH, For her sake that died for me. The same qualities come out, perhaps ^vith yet niore strikinrr -tensity, m the ballad of AWon. o' GoLn. Tins tra t Z a ra,d upon a castle in the lord's absence, and tr.s to s i tl " person of h.s lady. Seeing the armed men in the distan o i tlnnks xt ,s her lord returning, arrays herself in her robr'at prepares a banquet ; but when Gordon comes the gates art 'sin nd^he mounts the tower to parley with him. He orde : W to come down on pam of being burnt in the castle with her She stood tipon her eastle wa', And let twa bullets flee ; ' She missed that bloody butcher's heart, And only rased his knee. " Set fire to the house," quo' fause Gordon. Wud wi' dule and ire ; " ^''"^^ '''ycle, ye sail rue that shot, As yo burn in the fire." WHhout a single break in the narrative, instantly, in the poet', .mag>nat.on, the eaatle is in flames, and the tWck loCis Vlll PREFACE. rolling through it in choking volumes toward the chamber of the little ones. O then bespak her little son, Sat on the nurse's knee : " O mither dear, gie owre this house, For the reek it smothers me." " I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn, Sae wad I a' my fee. For ae blast of the western wind To blaw the reek frae thee." O then bespak her daughter dear, She was baith Jimj} and sma' : " O, row me in a pair o' sheets, And throw me owre the wa'.' ' They rowed her in a pair o' sheets, k And throwed her owre the wa' ; But ou the point o' Gordon's spear She gat a deadly fa*." bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry weve her cheeks. And clear, clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the red bloud dreeps. Then wi' his spear he turned her owre ; gin her face was wan ! He said, " Ye are the first that e' er 1 wished alive again." He cam, and lookit again at hti, O gin her skin was white ! " I might hae spared that bonnie face To hae been some man's delight." " Bt;sk and boun, my merry men a', For ill dooms I do guess : 1 canna look on that bonnie face, As it lies on the grass." S /icken with this new and wild remorse — aghast to see the sweet flower-face of the young girl, with its dew of blood upon the yellow hair — the wretch flies. Meanwhile the lord riding PREFACE. IX back mhe cartle find, it i„ fl.™e«, and „rge, hi, ,„on for- Then some they rade, and some they ran. Out owre the grass and bent ; But ere the foremost could win' up, Baith layde and babes were brent. And after the Gordon he is gane, As fast as he might dri'e • And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's bluid He 8 wroken his fair ladye. Aftor reading .„ch horrible trag a.sthi,, one ask,, I, it a fi .abject for p„ctr,» is it right to deal with s„ch ccne,« The ,„,„er,s snnple. It is not right, i, they be told simp W to h,rrow our feehngs with idle and fruitless emotion, 27X the vice o modern sensa.ionalisn, ; but it is right, i tl, i„ and „„m be spoken of with due gravity and right ess o feel ■ng. 1 ity and terror may be evoked, but, as «s the case in anc,e.,t tragedy, they may be evoked only' for purify n^ 1! poses. It ,s a s.u and an error to paint the horrL of iffeTr he so,e purpose of beguiling „„ Wfe ,,„„ . i,„, ,, ., ' J^ "a:e\i:;"?°;\!l'r-j':-^ on/i 11.. "^"^*-S SO With a duo sense of ts solemn and unspeakable import. ^oicmn As no ballads could be D-Vnn n. fi.« i- v j ,r^i T , & " ^" "'<^ limited snare of tlilo ballad nf AV \ the midst of its simplicity-the udiiaa ot Adward, or the Tmn H,.,,ti ^^ . ^ PODularitv nf I- 1 T Brofhers-the ancientnr-ss and popular ty of wh.d. ,s be.st attested by the larjre number of different versions in which it appears. ' ^ There were twa brothers at the scule. And when they got awa', It's " Will ye play at the stane-chucking Or will ye play at the ba', Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, And there we'll wrestle a fiV ?" PREFACE. " I winna play at the stane-chticking, I winna play at the ba', But I'll gae i;p to yon bonny green hill, And there we'll wrestle a fa'." They wrestled np, they wrestled down, Till John fell to the ground : A dirk fell out of William's ponch, And gave John a deadly wound. " O lift ine np upon your back, Take me to yon well fair, And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair." He lifted his brother upon his back, Ta' en him to yon well fair, And washed his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er But they bleed aye mair and mair. "O tak ye aff my holland sark, And rive it gair by gair, And bind it in my bluidy wounds, And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair." He's taken aflE his holland sark, And rived it gair by gair, And bound it in his bluidy wounds, But they bled aye nuiir and mair. " O tak ye aff my green sleiding, .\nd row me saftly in. And tak me up to yon kirk style, Where the grass grows fair and green." He's taken aff the green sleiding, And rowed him saftly in, He's laid him down by yon ^^irk style, Where the grass grows fair and green. <« O what will ye say to your father dear. When ye gae hamo at e'enV" "I'll say ye 're lying by yon kirk sfyle, Where the grass grows fair and green.' " () no, O no, my brother dear, O ye must not say sear Willie, tell to me?" "It is the bluid of my a'e brother, O dule and wae is me." "O what will ye say to your father dear, Dear Willie, tell to me ?' ' "I'll saddle my steed, and awa' 111 ride To dwell in some far countree." " ^ !;^«'i7ill ye come back hame again Dear Willie, tell to me?" ' And that will never be. " She turned hersel' right round about, ^ And her heart burst into three : My a e dear son is dead and gane And my t'other ane lu.'er I'll see " xl Xll PREFACE. This ballad is truly woiulorful. The ]»ictare of the gay boys coming oat of school ; the wrestle on the bonny green hill ; the accident ; the tender care of the homicide for his brother, and the brother's sympathizing fear of the results to him ; the agitation as ho satin his father's chair ; the creeping chill which comes over his mother's heart as, question after question, she divines with more and more terrible certainty what has hap- pened ; the boy's dread of his father's anger ; the burst of remorse with which he makes his wild confession ; his head- long Hight ; and then the terrifically powerful image, unmatched and unmatchable save in Homer and the Niebelungen, She turned hersel' light round about, And her heart burst into three — all these combine to give a splendid specimen of the peculiar power and excellence of our ancient ballad literature. Pope said that it was easy to mark the general course of Englioh poetry : Chauoer, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Dry- den, are the great landmarks of it. If we-add the names of Pope, Cowper, Wordsworth, the list of poetic epochs is com- plete down to the beginning of the present generation. The dulness which I have said characterizes the whole of the fifteenth century, lasted far on into the sixteenth. The first half indeed of that century had the verse of Stephen Hawes and the rugged satire of Skelton to enliven it ; but Eldmund Spenser, born in 1.55:3, is its first epoch-making name. Ten years later was born tlie poet of all time, William Shakespeare. This is the Elizabethan age of our literature, an astonishing and unequalled period of growth. Never again till the great French Revolution was there such a sudden blaze of majesty, of genius, and of strength. The decay of scholasticism, the downfall of the feudal power, the revival of classical literature, the discovery of America the progress of scientific invention, above all the spread of the Reformation, and the disenthral- menL of the national mind from the iron tyranny and super- stition of the Dark Ages, combined to stimulate the intellect of TREFACE. XUl gay boys 'cen hill ; 5 Lrothcr, him ; the hill which stion, she has hap- biirst of liis head- iimatched e peculiar course of Iton, Dry- names of lis is com- ion. The fifteenth alf indeed 1 and the I Spenser, ^cars later .. This is ihing and the great if majesty, ticism, the literature, invention, disenthral- and super- intellect of men, and to thrill them with such electrical flashes of eagerness an.l awakenment, as to account in part for the mighty "result. The soil had been broken up, and the vegetation "\iirst fortl'i in tropical exul.eranco In that day lived Shakespc^ar,., and Bacon, and Sidney, and Spenser, and Surrey, and Hooker,' and Ben Jonson, and Raleigh— and the names of poet, and soldier, and statesman, and philosopher, formed often one garland for a single brow. In i)oetry, however, the name of Spenser is the earliest ; and in spite of tli. tediousness of long- continued allegory, the chivalry, the sweetness, the richness of his Faerk Queene will always win ]um a lofty place amonc^ the lovers of true poetry. In him too, as in all our greatest^ we have a steady moral purpose. His end was, he tells us, " to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtuous and gentle discipline" ; and Milton said of him, that " he dare be known to think our sage and serious poet Spenser a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas." But, great as Spenser was, his greatness was eclipsed by tlie greatest poet of that century— perhaps of any century— William Shakespeare. We cannot think of him without amazement His works are, next to the Bible, the most precious and price- less lieritage of imaginative genius. What new worlds they open to us ! In one play we are in magic islands, surrounded by perilous seas, with delicate spirits singing and harping in our ears; in the next, we are sitting at the stately council- board of kings, or listening to the roar of artillery round beleaguered cities ; in another our faces are reddened by the glare of the witches' caldron upon the blasted heath /in a fourth, we watch the elves, under the yellow moonlight, dancin-^ their ringlets to the wind. And how perfect in their kind is the splendor or the loveliness of those ever-changing scenes ; whether, as in the Troilus and Cresmia, TTpon the ringing plains of v/indy Troy We drink delight of battle with our peers ; or in As You Like It, we watch the wounded deer, stumbling wearily beside the rivulet under the waving boughs of the Forest XIV PREFACE. I! I of Ardennes ; or in Macbeth see the " tcmplc-liauntinrj inHVtlet" flitthiff to and fro in tlie " cajrer air" about tlie Castle of Inver- ness ; or in Cymhcline take slieltcr under the noble Jlriton's cave ; or in Romeo and Juliet assist ut the lighted masque in the hall of the Capulets ; or with Jul'msi CWar stand, thronged with conspiring senators, in the Capitol of Rome. Sometimes the electric flame of the poet's genius seems to be blazing in the lightning, sometimes to be slumbering in the dewdrop. In the follow! uix pages only one or two passages have been selected from his plays — partly because they are all familiar to us as household words, but chiefly because such passages lose so incomparably when they are dissevered from their context. William Shakespeare died in IGIO ; in that year Milton was a child of eight years old. The genius of Milton dominates throuirh()ut the seventeentli century as that of Shakespeare in the sixteenth. It was the short and splendid period of Puritan mastery interpolated between the Sliakespeare of Klizabeth and the Dryden of Charles II. Other poets indeed there were : there were Donne, and Quarles, and George Herbert, and Crashaw, and Ilerrick ; there were Cowley, and Marvell, and Waller ; and a crowd of Cavalier poets before tlie Revolution and after the Restoration. Side by side with these, " with his garland and sinsxing robes about him," stands the solitary sub- lime form of John Milton, perhaps the very noblest of England's sons. Sliakespeare was a more myriad-minded genius, but Milton was the rarer and the lordlier soul. It may be his lit- erary imperfection, but assuredly it ia his moral strength, that Milton could not have conceived such a character as FalstafE. For that "foul gn.y-haired iniquity" he would have had no bursts of inextinguishable laughter, nor any other words than those of King Henry V. : — " I know thee not, old man : fall to thy prayers. Ho^v ill white hairs heroine a fool and jester ! I have long dreamed of such a kind of man, So surfeit-swelled, so old, and so profane ; But, being awake, I dp despise my dream." '•^■ PREFACE. XV nr iTiartlet" a of Inver- e Briton's niiisfjiie in I, thronged Sometimes zing in the .p. have been faniiliar to ■isaijes lose r context. Milton was dominates :espeare in of Puritan zalu'th and lere were : trhert, and arvell, and Revohition *' witii his )litary sub- Entrland's renins, but be his lit- ength. that as Falstaff. ave liad no words than A modern writer has imagined Milton appearing at the Mer- maid Tavern, a pure beautiful youth, and, in answer to some burst of witty ribaldry, casting among the company that grand theory of his, " that he who would not bo frustrate of his hope to write well liercafter in laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem — that is, a composition and pattern of the best and honorablest tilings." " What a blush would have mounted on the old face of Ben Jonson before such a rebuke ! what inter- ruption of the jollity ! what mingled uneasiness and resentment ! — wliat forced laughter to conceal consternation ! Only Shake- speare, one thinks, would have turned on the bold youth a mild and approving eye, would have looked round the room to ob- serve the whole scene ; and remembering, perhajjs, some pas- sages in his own life, would, mayhap, have had his own tliouglits. " But tlie days of Milton's manhood were cast among men in- finitely -more degraded than the Elizabethan wits; and among the rhymesters of the Restoration he stands out like a being of another s{)liere. In tlie darkest days of English history, amid the loudest dissonance of ]]accluis and his revellers, in days which, as Macaulay says, cannot be recalled without a blush, "the days of servitude without loyalty, and sensuality without love, of dwarfish talents and gigantic vices, the paradise of cold hearts and narrow minds, the golden age of the coward, the bigot, and the slave" ;— in those days, blind, detested, impov- erished, deserted, Milton - with voice iiucluuigeil, To hoarse or mute, though falh'U ou evil days, On evil Jays though fallen, and evil tongues, In darkness, and with dingers compassed round And solitude — Rtill "gazed on the bright countenance of Truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies," and gave to the world, in Paradise LcH, the imperishable memorial of a lofty soul. Dryden and Milton were contemporaries for more than forty years ; but while Dryden was adding by numerous plays and XVI PREFACE. prologues to the corruption of the stage, Milton was speaking in a voice which has been compared to tlio swoll of the ad- vancing tide, settling into the long thunder of billows, breaking for leagues along the shore. While the gay creatures who fluttered in the brief sunshine of a licentious prosperity were grating upon their "scrannel pipes" their "lean and flashy songs," he was asserting Eternal Providence, and justifying the ways of God to man. There is no need to apologize for the length of the extracts from the grand austere J?uritan, who took his inspiration not "from the heat of youth and the vapors of wine," not even " by the iuvocatior of Dame Memory and her siren daughters," but "by devout prayer to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and all knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he will." The next poets who mark an epoch in English literature are Drydcn and Pope. Dryden died in the year 1700 (and here let me remark, in passing, that three of our greatest poets died in the first year of a century— Chaucer in 1400, Dryden in IVOO, Cowper in 1800). It is the merit of Dryden to have brought into perfection the lieroic couplet ; and this is what Gray alludes to when he says — Behold, where Dryden' s less presumptiaous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. That Dryden was a great poet is undeniable ; that he dese- crated his high powers and burned them, like the incense of Israel, in unhallowed shrines, is no less certain. Happily, poetry like most of his, " prurient yet passionless," is also ephemeral. He was well aware of — he was even deeply penitent for— the sin he had committed in thus polluting the vestal flames of genius by kindling them on the altar of base passions ; and in some of his own noblest lines he says — i s speaking )f the ad- ., breaking tares who erity were ind flasliy ifying the c extracts ration not not even lighters," an enrich > seraphim y the lips ratnre are (and liere ^oots died )ryden in I to have is is what ug pace. lie dese- ncense of ly, poetry jhemeral. for — the flames of i ; and in PREFACE. X7ii O grncioiis God, how far have we Profaned thy heavenly fjift of poesy ! Made prostitute and profligate the Muse, Debased to each obscene and impious use, Whose harmony was first ordained above ' For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love !- O, wretched we, why were we hurried down This lubrique and adulterate age . . . ? What can we say t' excuse our second fall ? It is not without regret that I have here on.itted his famous Alexander s Feast, and substituted for it his other less-known Ode on St. Cecilia^s Day. The latter contains however some very majestic lines, and is in many respects better suited for tiie roJlowing pao-es. The impulse begun by Dryden was continued by Pope, who Made poetry a mere mechanic art, And every scribbler had his tune by heart. As Milton reflects the grandeur of Puritanism in the glorious days of Cromwell, as Dryden in his many instances tf false taste represents the decadent reign of Charles II., so Pope iu Jus smooth, artificial mannerism, is the representative of 'the eighteenth century. In that age critics could quote with ex- travagant admiration a description of Night in which the mountains are said to nod their drowsy heads, and the flowers to swea under the night-dews. The poet of such an a^e if he refleoted the characteristics of his own time, could h^- , expected to excel except in philosophical poetry like The Jj" on Man or. n such scathing satire as the linc^ to Addison o^ Pote'f t "i? T^'^-'^^^oio. as ne Ra,e of tke ZoJ' Z 1 ope s tune all affectation of '' the great" in poetry was over • or unag.nat.on there was mere fancy ; for courageous labor and ' 1 s^ ^id^^ '^''r^" and,V«...U.; forth ie. u elv Ideal b".!d,ng up of a continuous action," there were Whties of which the author was half ashamed, d wliC genUel' llTT ^-^ ^V"'"^^^ ''' leisure'of idle t gentlemen, bo far from being born L . golden clime, -.f '^rxr-^^ ^. XVlll PREFACE. With golden sttirH iil)ovp, Dowered with the hnto of hiite, the Hoerii of Hcorn, The love of love, the poet was " ji muu about town. " T\w. lofty ideal of a poet's work had fallen into utter dcijradatioii, and J 'ope lielped its fall. Vet such was his natural genius, so corree.t his style, so powerful his influence, tlmtthe sixty years of vacant and reg- ular inanity which followed arc mainly duo to him. Accordingly, the next of our cpocli-making poets is AVilliam Cowper, the sliy, religious hypochondriac, who spent his life in r.mote country villages with old ladies and evanirelieal clergymen, and who never gave a line to the world till he was fifty years of age. His main contribution to Knglisli literature consists in the fact that by liis pure siiiiple naturalness and heartiness ho was the first to break loose from those chains and swaddling-bands in which Pope had bound the English Muse, and wliich liad produced tlieir worst degeiu'racy in tlie vaporous follies of a multitude of writers who are now forgotten. Uo had indeed been preceded in tliis work by James Thompson, and to a certain extent by other poets, but none of these were his equals in originality and power. Joined with him in spirit were Crabbe, the homely poet of village life, liisliop Percy, the collector of tlio Jielioetry is no lor.ger confined to a single current; but, divi.ling itself into a hundred channels, refreshes every .eg,on of hmnan intelligence an,l Innnan emotion, and hke the river of bliss through the midst of heaven- r ills o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream. nin amt3. I ho literature of the last century has been enriched by t e works of Scott. Byron, Keats. Shelley, Moore, W^ s- ::!:'p^^''^^' ''"•^"^^' ^-"^^^^"' ^^-^^ -^ '^ ^-^ of epoch_^^ dham \\ ordsworth. The days are not very far pa«t when fl.ppant critics thought that they wore crushin' Wore wor h (t e, might says Southey, have talked as welfof cri t Skiddaw) by quoting the two lines : A drowsy, frowsy poejn, called the Excursion Writ m a manner whieh is my aversion, wlilt oT ''/""'■• ,"■"•'■ "' "'"'-'---"S thai famous p„en, wUich Coleridge, witli cntl.usiasra, called 17 PRRFACR. An «^>rphio Hon^;, inrloed, A HoriK divine of hinh and ^-HHHioniitt) UiuughtH, To their own luuHiu (tlmntud. ri^-ron w;i8 long rcpirded as tlio ftupronio poot of his (lfiy,un(l lie WHS indeed the founder, or, at any rate, the chief representa- tive of a Bchool. No one would (luestion his genius or his great- ness. But from his school emanated such poems as liyron's Heavvn and Earthy Moon^s Loves of the Ati;/«'/s, Shelley's Ceiici, and fiiiigh Hunt's li'nniui ; from the school of Wordsworth such poejus as niad(! rtien more full of admiration, hope, and love, liyron wrote much that no person of delicate feeling could rci'.d without indignation ; Wordsworth made liis laurel greener hy uttering notliing base. The tendency of mucli of liyron's verse was to make men moodier, more immoral, more egotistical, more selrish ; the tendency of all that Wordsworth wrote was "to lend ardor to virtue and confidenf to truth. " And therefore much of Jiyron's poetry and nearly all his favorite characters — hia Corsairs, and Laras, and Giaours, andSelims, and Don Juans, and Manfreds — are on their way to the limbo of oblivion ; while Wordsworth lius inaugurated a new epoch, and remains the greatest poet of the epoch lie l)egan. The difference between the two, as poets, may be seen in the contrast between the two as n-cn. The one traversed all Europe in search of pleasure, and too often ** his pathos is but the regret and liis wisdom the languor and satiety, of the jaded voluptuary" : the > Uior lived in a rustic cottage among the hill., and wrote with th'> ii^Hv of heaven upon him in the bosom of a pure domesti' .r'". ne of those crises, so marked in the history i^i g oat minds, which color the whole after-course of existence. '• To the brim," he, says m^ re{)resentii" or his grcat- 1 as liyroii's llcy's C'eiici, Hwortli such c, uiid love. f coiihl rcjul grcoiior l>y yron's verso stical, iiioi'o e was "to il therefore liaructers — Don Juans, 'ion ; whih) poniaiiis the ICO between n the two as easurc, and ft'isdom the *'iapi iived th'> !i;'-h; of life. One 1 the early rkcd in the !r-course of M I'ltKFACK. xxi My honrt was full ; I mado no vows, hiit vows Wore thou imido for lue ; bond unknown to nin Wus yiviiii, timt I should lie, olso sinniiif^ greatly, A (Ifdiciitod spirit : on I walked Jn thankful blt'ssedness which yot survives. And t . this consecration—" the silent influences of the moin- ing poured upon his head by the Invisible! Hand"— ho remained faithful as few priests have over been to their calling, a priest of nature, a priest of God, I liave for many reasons excluded from the following pages the works of authors yet living. No selection of English poetry can ever be entirely satisfactory to all readers : some will wonder why one poem, which is dear to them, has been omitted, while another poem, which they fail to value, has found a place. Diversities of taste are— perhaps happily— inHnite ; and unless a book be made much longer than this, mucli must of n«!ce8sity bo left out which ranks among the highest efforts of poetic genius. Many poets whose names are not represented in the following pages— such as Ilawes, Sackville, Gascoigne, Daniel, Donne, Carew, Giles and Thineas Fletcher, Wither, Browne, Davenant, Philips, Parnell, Prior, Gay, Swift, Dyer. Shenstone, Young, Akensido, T. Warton, Mason, Crabbe, and others of more recent date— would furnish passages not unworthy of selection. But it is ..bvious that this book would have grown to an unwieldy size if Tnany choice poems and fragments of poems had not been deliberately excluded. I can only repeat that the pretensions of this selection are very modest and hum- ble. If, however it prove to be acceptable, if it fulfil the hopes with which it has been thrown together, it may be followed in due time by a selection from the writings of those poets, boih English and American, who to our great happiness are still living among, us and " whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world." The general plan of the work has been to arrange together the chief poets of each century, and to add selections from the Minor Poets. The term Minor Poets is not always intended as XXll PREFACE. a note of distinct, inferiority. The order in which the passages are placed is not in every case strictly chronological. F. W. FARRAR. iVbfe—The selections in this volume from tlio works of Mrs. E. Barrett Browning, Arthur Hugh Clough, Thomas C'arlyle, George Eliot, Lord Macaulay, and others, are made by the kind permission of Mr. Robert Browning, Messrs. Maemillan and On., Messrs. Chapman and Hall, Mrs. C. L. Lewes, and Messrs. Longman and Co. K tho passages n,al. FARRAR. irkH of Mrs. E. 'arlyle, George i permission of !SKrs. Chapman I Co. CONTENTS. Prbfack , PAOB .. iii gioutUtntt^ ilentuttf. PAGE Geofpry Chaucer. TheSquier 89 The Perwone 30 Constance and her Child ai The Last Verses of Chaucer 32 $ixUtntf^ itntuvtf. Edmund Spenskk. Una and the Red Cross KHight. . . 34 The Ministry of A ugels 30 The Bower of Bliss 3r Epithalaniion 37 William Siiakespeakk. Speech of Ulysses to Achilles 40 Mercy 4] Music 42 Sleep 4;} Flowers 43 Cleopatra's Barge 44 f'lipid 45 Sonnets 45 U'lge 4r MINOR I'OBTS OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTHUV. Sir Philip Sidney. Sonnets 43 Christopher Marlowe. The Passionate Shepherd to Ills Love Sir Walter Ralkioh. Rei)ly to Marlowe's " The Passlon- iite Shepherd to his Love" Liiu's supposed to be written tho night before his execution 49 GO 50 SiK Edward Dvkr. My Mind to nie a Kingdom is 51 Michael Drayton. The Battle of Agiuccnirt 58 Beaumont and Fletcher. A Sud Song 54 From "An Honest Man's Fort- une." 54 Lines on the Tombs of Westmin- ster Abbey .r^ Joshua Svlvester. A Contented Mind , 55 ^totttUtnit^ €«n(uir^. John Milton. Soliloquy of Satan m Satan 57 Address to Light 68 TIk- Adoration of the Angels 59 The BeBcriptioii of Adam and Eve. 60 XXIV CONTENTS. FAGB The Approach of Evening 60 Adam and Eve's Morning Hymn. . 61 Abdiel 62 Lycidas 64 The Might of Innocence 69 The Light of Virtue 69 Sonnets : On his being arrived to the Age of Twenty-tliree 69 On tlio Massacre lute in Pieraont. 70 On his Blindness 70 At a Solemn Music 71 OnTime 71 Hymn on the Nativity 72 FASB John Drtden. Private Judgment 75 The Unity of the Catholic Church. 75 Lines Printed under the Portrait of Milton 70 Eleonora 70 A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687. 78 Joseph Addison. The Blessings of Liberty — 79 Paraphrase on Psalm xxiii 80 An Ode 81 •;^^'lic Church. 75 Lhc Portrait 7G 70 8 Day, 1087. 78 rty 79 xxiii 80 81 CONTENTS. XXV itl 93 94 1 95 9« 90 97 98 Incaiiiiitidii. 9S scry of Man. 99 99 100 101 I Koyal So- 102 10« PAQE Albxander Pope. From " An Essay on Man" 104 On the Character of Addison 105 From " An Elegy on uu Unfortu- nate Lady" 10(3 The Universal Prayer 107 Ode on Solitude 108 Epitaph on Mrs. Elizabeth Cor- l^ett 109 James Thomson. From " The Seasons" 109 A Hymn on the Seasons no SAi>iUBL Johnson. The Fall of Greatness. Ill William Collins. Ode on the Death of Mr. Thom- son 114 An Ode n^ The Passions 115 Thomas Gray. Elegy written In a Country Churchyard 119 Hymn to Adversity 122 The Bard 124 minor poets of the Thomas Tickell. To the Earl of Warwick, on the Death of Addison 15^ Charles Wbslkt. Wrestling Jacob , 157 Catholic Love 153 Charles Churchill. "'Tis not the babbling of an idle world" J60 Thomas Chattkrton. Minstrels Roundelay leo James Beattik. The Hermit jgi Mrs. Barbauld. !-''« 168 PAGK Oliver Goldsmith. The Traveller jgs The Happiest Spot 129 The Village Clergyman 129 Stanzas on Woman 1,31 Retaliation i.'jj William Cowpeb. Lines on receiving His Mother's Picture 134 An Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. . . . rsr The Castaway jsg Providence j4q The Journey to Emmaus 141 God in Creation 143 Autobiographical 143 Grace and the World 143 Boadicea. An Ode 145 Robert Burns. To a .Mountain Daisy 145 To a Mouse, on turning her up in her Nest with the Plough 148 A Bard's Epitaph 149 To Mary in Heaven 150 John Anderson, my Jo 151 A Man's a Man for a' that 151 Bannockburn 153 The Muse of Scotland to Robert Burns 153 eiohtbenth century. Anonymous. The Lament of the Border Widow. 162 William Hamilton of Bangar. The Braes of Yarrow i(>3 Lady Anne Lindsay. Auld Robin Gray igg Lady Nairne. The Land o' the Leal 167 William Blake. Song jgg Introduction to "Songs of Inno- cence" jgg The Lamb jgg The Tiger ..'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.' 169 XXVI CONTENTS. 'Jlindefnf^ ^tntatrf. PAGE William Wordsworth. Mist opening in the Hills 171 Among the Monntains 172 Ode. Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of early Childhood 173 OdetoDnty 177 Character of the Happy Warrior. . 178 Lucy Gray, or Solitude 180 The Force of Prayer 181 Sonnet 183 Thoughts guggested the day after Beciog the grave of Burns on the Banks of Nith, near the Poet's residence 183 Hooting to the Owls 185 Yew-'J'rees 185 Daffodils 186 Lucy 187 Sonnets : Milton 187 The World and Nature 187 The Wild Duck's Nest 188 Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Severed Friendship 180 Love 189 Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni 191 KOBERT SOUTHEY. A Prayer 193 The Library 193 The Magic Thread 194 Sir Walter Scott. Nelson, Pitt, and Fox 195 Marmion's Defiance of the Doug- las 197 The Chase 199 Loch Katrine 203 Tlie Lay of Rosabelle 203 Lochin var 204 County Guy 205 The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill. 20C James Hoog, Kilmeny 20« A Boy 'i Song 209 TAOB Lord Byron. From "The Bride of AbydoB".... 210 Stanzas for Music 211 The Ocean 311 Before the Battle of Waterloo 212 The Death of Henry Kirke White. 214 The Isles of Greece 214 On the Day I complete my Thirty- sixth Year 216 Thomas Moore. My Birthday 217 Dear Harp of my Country 218 This World is all a Fleeting Show. 219 The Harp that once through Tara's Halls 219 The Minstrel Boy 219 The Meeting of the Waters 220 Charles Lamb. Lines written in my own Album.. 220 Old familiar Faces 221 Leigh Hunt, The Fish, the Man, and the Spirit. 232 Abou Ben Adhcmand the Angel.. 223 To T. L. U., six years old, during a Sickness 223 John Kbats. Madeline in her Chamber 224 Hyperion's Oloom 225 The Titans 226 Apollo 227 La belle Dunu; sans Mercy 228 On first looking into Chapman's Homer 229 On leaving some friends at an Early Hour 229 Percy Btsshe Shelley. The Poet 230 Adonais : an Elegy on the Death of John Keats 231 The Cloud 238 Ode to the West Wind 239 Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples 241 To S4J CONTENTS. xxvn PAOK Abydos".... 210 211 211 Vaterloo 212 Kirke White. 214 214 ;e my Thlrty- 216 S17 intry 218 Beting Show. SIS trough Tara's .... 219 219 V^aters 220 )wn Album.. 220 221 ndthe Spirit. 222 i the Angel.. 223 ■p old, during 22.3 nber 224 225 226 227 Hercy 228 Lo Chapman's 229 'iends at an 229 ,EY. 230 on the Death 231 2!58 id 239 ►ejection near 241 84» PAOB Felicia Hekans. A Ballad of Roiicesvalles 242 The Homus of England 243 A Dirge 344 The Graves of a HouBehold 244 Casablanca 245 Thomas Campbell. Ye Mariners of England 246 The Battle of the Baltic 247 Hohenlinden 249 The Soldier's Dream 249 Thomas Hood. The Deathbed 350 The Bridge of Sighs 2.50 Samuel Roqehs. Human Life 252 A Mother's Love 253 I'AGE Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The Sleep \ 353 Cowper's Grave 2,54 A Child Asleep 2.50 The Cry of the Children 257 Akthdr Hush Clough. Come Back 1 260 "With whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning" .... 2G1 Say not, the Struggle naught availeth 2CI Come home, come home 262 Qua Cursum V'cntas 262 "What went ye out for to see?". 263 Where are the great, whom thou wouldst wish to praise thee ?. . . 264 Charles Kinosley. The Sands of Dee 264 A Farewell 204 Lorraine 2C5 MINOR POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. Henrt KiRKE White. To an Early Primrose . 265 Charles Wolfe. The Burial of Sir John Moore 266 Bishop Heber. Hymn to the Seasons 267 From Bishop Heber 's Journal .... 267 EP'Pliaiiy 268 Blanco White. Night and Death 269 Allan Cunningham. " A wet sheet and a flowing sea " . 269 Hartley Coleridge. On the Blank Leaf of a Bible 269 Mary Magdalene 270 James Montuo.mbry. The Common Lot 27Q John Wilson. The Evening Cloud 271 Thomas Babington Macaulay. The Speech of Icilius 272 Lines written after his Defeat at the Edinburgh Election 273 Epitaph on a Jacobite 275 Walter Savage Landor. S\, eet Scents 275 The Shell 276 Rose Aylmer 076 On his Seventy-flfth Birthday.... 876 Adelaide Anne Procter. A Lost Chord 276 John Keble. First Sunday after Epiphany 277 Second Sunday after Easter 278 Edward, Lord Lytton. The Desire of Fame aso Alexander Smith. Forgetfulness 28I A Dream 3^2 XXVlll CONTENTS. PAGE The Dying King 282 Duty and Fame 282 Thomas Carltle. To-Day 283 Adieu 283 Arthur Pknryhn Stanley. Ash Wednesday 884 The Untravelled Traveller 285 FAQB George Eliot. "Oh, may I join the choir invisi- ble" 28C Anna L.ktitia Warino. Thy Will be Done 2^? Anonymous. The Nightmare 288 A Ripple on the Lake 890 FAOB le choir invisl- 280 UNO. 28T 288 ike 290 ^0UtrteetttTx Cir^ttttttrQ. GEOFFRY CHAUCER. Born about 1340. Died 1400. THE SQUIER. With him ther was his sone, a yonge Squier, A lover, and a lusty bachelor. With lockes crull ' as they were laide in presse. Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse. Of his stature he was of even lengthe And wonderly deliver.'^ and grete of sirengthe And he hadde be sometime in chevachie, In Flanndres, in Artois, and in Picardie And borne him wel, as of so litel space ' In hope to stonden in his ladies grace Embrouded was he, as it were a mede Alle ful of freshe fioures, white and rede Singing he was, or floyting 3 all the day He was as freshe as is the monthe of M^y Short was his goune, with sieves long and wide. Wei coude he sit on hors. and fayre ride. He coude songes make, and wel endit'^ Just and eke dance, and wel pourtraie 'and write So bote he loved, that by nightertale * He slep no more than doth the nightingale Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable And carf 6 before his fader at the table. Prologue of Canterbury Tales. curled. 5 agile. , fl^j.^g ' carved. ' 'light time. 30 FOUKTEENTH CENTUKY. THE PEItSONE. A GOOD man ther \vas of r-iligioun, That wan a poure Persoue ' of a town ; But rich he was of holy thought and werk. He also was a lerned man, and a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche. His parishens devoutly wolde he teche. Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, And in adversitie ful patient : And such he was i-proved often sithes.* Ful loth wer hiui to cursen for his tithes. But rathere wolde he yeven, out of doute, Unto his poure parishens aboute. Of his offring, and eke of his substance. He coude in litel thing have suffisauce. Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder, But he ne left nought for no rain ne thunder, Jn sicknesso and in mischief to visito The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite,'' Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf. This noble ensample to his sliepe ho yaf, That first he wrought, and afterward he taught. Out of the gospel he the wordes caught, And this figure he added yet thcrto. That if gold ruste, what shuld iren do ? For if a jjreest be foulc, on whom we truste, No wonder is a lewed man to ruste : And shame it is if that a preest take kepe. To see a shitten shejjherd, and cleno shepe : Wei ought a jjreest en.sample for to yeve, By his clene nesse, how his shepe shulde live. He sette not his benifice to hire. And lette his shepe accombred in the mire, And ran unto London, unto Heint Poules, To seken him a chanterie for soules,-* Or with a brotherhedo to be withold. But dwelt at home, and kepte well his fold. So that the wolf ne made it not miscarie. He was a shephei'd, and no mercenarie. > parson. a oft-tinum. s high and low. * An endowment for saying masses. OEOFFUY CHAUCER. 31 And though he holy were, and virtuous, H(s was to sinful men not dispitous, Ng in his- speche dan^'erous no digne, ' But in his teching descrete and bonigne. To drawen folk to heven, with taironosse, By good ensamplo was his bisinesse : But it were any i)erson obstinat, AVhat so he were of highe, or low estat, Him wolde he snibben sharply for the nones » A better ])reest I trowe that nowher non is, He waited after no pomijo ne reverence, He maked hiiu no spiced ■' conscience, ' But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taught, but first he folwed it himselv'e. Prolofjiie of (h)itprbuni Tnlm, CONSTANCE /ND HER CHILD. Wepen both yong and old in al that place When that the king this cursed lettre sent • And Constance with a dedly pale face The fourthe day. toward the ship she wente • But natheless sho taketh in good entente The will of Crist, and kneeling on the strond bhe sayde, « Lord, ay welcome be thy sond * \ " He that me kepte fro the false blame. While I was in the lond amonges you He can me kepe fro harme and eke fro shame In the salt see, although I se not how : As strong as ever he was he is yet now • In him trust I, and in his mother dere ' That is to me my sail and eke my stere." s Hire litel child lay weping in hire arm. And, kneling, pitously to him she sayde, " Pees, litel sone, I wol do thee no harme : " With that hire couverchief of hire hed she braid « And over his litel eyen she it layde, And in hire arme she lulleth it ful fast. And into the heaven hire eyen up she cast. » haughty. a occasion. ■" sending, visitation, * rudder. ' nice, fastidious; • took ofE. Ill) 32 FOUHTKKNTII CENTURY. '* MofltT," quod Hho, " and nmydon l)riRht Marie. Koth is, that thurgh wn lan's eggeinent ' Mankind was lorne '' and damned ay to die, For which thy chihl was on a orois y»ont : Thy hlisKful eyeu saw al his torment ; Than is ther no comparison botweeno Thy wo and any wo man may susteno. " Thou saw thy chihl yshiin before thin eyon, And yet now liveth my litel chihl, piirfay ! ' Now, lady bright, to whom all woful crien, Thou glory of womankind, thou fairs may, Thou haven of refute, bright sterre of day, Eew on my chihl, that of thy gentillnease Eewest on every rewful in destresse. " O Htel child, alas ! what is thy gilt, That never wroughtest sinne as yet parde * ? "Why wolde thin harde father have thee spilt ' ? O mercy, dere constable," ((juod she) "As let my litel child dwell heie with thee : And if thou darst not saven him fro blame. So kisse him ones in his fadres name." Therewith she loketh backward to the lond, And sayde ; " Farewell, housebond routheles !" And Tip she rist " and walketh down the strond Toward the ship, hire f olloweth all the prees \ And ever she praieth hire child to hold his pees, And taketh hire leve, and with an holy entente, She blesseth hire, and into the ship she wente. Man of Lawes Tale. Canterbury Tales. THE LAST VERSES OF CHAUCER. (Written on his death-bed.) Fly from the press, and dwell with sothfastness ; Suffice unto thy good though it be small ; For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness. Press hath envy, and weal is blent o'er all ; Savour no more than thee behoven shall ; Rede well thyself, that other folk cwst rede, And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drede. 5 incitement. « lost. ^ by my troth. * Par dleux. » killed. • rieeth. ' crowd, *i ^4 ^ Marie. on, GEOFFIIY CUAUCER. Pftin thfie not each crooked to redroHs In truHt of Lor that turneth an n ball ; Groat roHt standoth in littlo biisinoss*; Bowaro also to spurn against a nallo ; ' Strive not as doth a crocho with a wall ; Doomoth thyself that deemest other's deed And truth thoo shall deliver 't is no dredo. ' That tlioo is sent rocoivo in buxomness ; The wrestling of this world nskoth a full' ; Hero is no homo, lioro is but wildon„.Hs ;' Forth, pilgrim, forth ; () boast out of thy stall ; Look up on high, and thank thy God of all • Waiveth thy lust and lot thy ghost thoo load! And truth thee shall deliver 't is no drode 33 ilt»? ,08 !" ond es'. i pees, ;,ente, Bnte. lierhury Tales. itness ; 3SS, le, ar dieux. k ilt-etccutlx CfTcttttirtj. I I EDMUND SPENSER. Born 15N3. Died 1598. UNA AND THE RED CROSS KNIGHT. A OENTLE knight was pricking on the jilain, Yclad in mighty arras and silver Hhield, Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; Yet arms till that time did he never wield : His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, As much disdaining to the curb to yield : Full jolly knight ho seemed, and fair did sit. As one for knightly jonsts and fierce encounters fii. And on his breast a bloody cross he bore. The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweet sake that glorious badge ho wore, And dead (as living) ever him adored : Upon his shield the like was also scored, Fo.- sovereign hope, which in his help ho had : Right faithful true he was in deed and word ; But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad : Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. ITpon a great adventure ho was bound. That glorious Gloriana to him gave, (That greatest glorious queen of fairy lond,) To win him worship, and her grace to have. Which of all earthly things he most did crave ; And ever .as he rode his heart did yearn To prove his puissance in battle brave Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; Upon his foe. a dragon horrible and stern. it I I % ■I :A fit. 0, JEDMUND SI'EKSER. A lovely larly rode him fair hoside, Hl.oii It lowly HHS moro whitn thiiriHijow ; Yet Hli., uiudi whiter, but the smne did hide Under H veil that wimpled wuh full low, Aud over all a. bliick stole she did throw, As one that inly mourned : ho whs she sad. And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow ; Seemed in her heart some hidden care she had And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she lad' So pure and innocent, as that same lamb, She was in life, and every virtuous lore ;' And by descent from royal lineage came' Of ancient Kings and Queens, that had of yore Their scepters stretcht from east to western shore, And all the world in their subjection held ; Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar Forwasted all their land, and them expelled • ' Whom to avenge she had this knight from far compelled. Behind her faraway a Dwarf did lag. That lazy seemed, in being ever last,' Or wearied with bearing of her bag, ' Of needments at his back. Thus as they past, The day with clouds was sudden overcast, And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain Did pour into his leman's lap so fast. That every wight to shroud it did constrain ; And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. Enforst to seek some cover nigh at hand, A shady grove not far away they spied, That promised aid the tempest to withstand • Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride' Did spread so broad, that heaven's light did hide Not pierceable with power of any star : And all within were paths and alleys wide. With footing worn, and leading inward far Fair harbor that them seems, so in they entered are. And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led Joying to hear the bird's s^eet harmony. Which therein shrouded from the tempest dread. Seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky 35 30 SIXTEENTH CENTURY Much can they praise the trees so straight aud high. The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop Elm, the Poplar never dry. The builder Oak, sole king of forests all. The Aspin good for staves, the Cypress funeral. The Laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, tlie Fir that weepeth still, The Willow worn of forlorn paramours, The Yew obedient to the benders will, The Birch for shafts, the Sallow for the mill, The Myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound. The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill, The fruitful Olive, and the Plantain round, The carver Holme, the Maple seldom inward sound. Led with delight, they thus beguile the way. Until the blustering storm is overblown ; When, weening to return, whence they did stray, They cannot find that path which first was shown. But wander to and fro in ways unknown. Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween. That makes them doubt their wits be not their own . So many paths, so many turnings seen, That which of them to take, in divers doubt thoy been. The Faerie Queen, Book L # THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS. And is there care in heaven ? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base. That may compassion of their evils move ? There is : else much more wretched were tlx case Of men than beasts. But O ! th' exceeding grace Of highest God that loves his creatures so. And all his works with mercy doth embrace. That blessed Angels he sends to and fro. To serve to wicked man, to ser^e his wicked foe ! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, ligli. niid. \n, n, own : oy been. hiee)i, Book L ace 36 ! EDMUND SPENSER. Against foul fiends to aid us militant ' They for us fight, they watch and duly ward And their bright squadrons round about us n'lant • And all for love, and nothing for reward O ! why should heavenly God to men have such regard ? The Faerie Queen, Book II. THE BOWER OF BLISS. Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound Of all that might delight a dainty ear Such as at once might not on mortal ground bave in this Paradise, be heard elsewhere ' Eight hard it was for wight which did it hear lo read what manner music that might be • ' For all that pleasing is to living ear, Was there consorted in one harmony • BirdH. voices, instruments, winds, waiers. all agree. The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerful shade ihe,r notes unto the voice attempered sweet ; Ih angelical soft trembling voices niade lu th instrun^ents divine respondence sweet • Th.. silver sounding instruments did meet Wth the base murmur of the waters fall • Ihe water's fall with difference discreet ' Now soft now loud, unto the wind did call The gentle warbling wind low answered to all. The Faerie Queen, Book IJ EPITHALAMION. Wake now, my love, awake ! for it is time • The rosy morn long since left Tithone's bed All ready to her silver coach to climb • Hark n"^'';J^'\' *° '^°^ ^^« ^^^"«"« '^ead. Ha k ! how the cheerful birds do chant their lays And carol of Love's praise ^ The merry lark her matins sings aloft : Iho thrush replies ; the mavis descant plays ; The ouzel shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft • So goodly all agree, with sweet consent. lo this day's merriment. 37 38 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. Ah ! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long, When ineeter were that ye should now awake, To await the coming of your joyous make, And hearken to the birds' love-learned song, The dewy leaves among ! For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. * # itt * * * My love is now awake out of her dreams, And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams, More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight. Help quickly her to dight. But first come ye fair hours, which were begot, In Jove's sweet paradise of Day and Night ; Which do the seasons of the year allot. And all that ever in this world is fair, Do make and still repair. And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen The which do still adorn her beauty's pride. Help to adorn my beautifuUeet bride : And as ye her array, still throw between Some graces to be seen ; And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing. The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo rin^ # Id Id « # * Lo ! where she comes along with portly pace. Like PhcBbe, from her chamber in the East, Arising forth to run her mighty race. Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. So well it her beseems, that ye would ween Some angel she had been. Her loag loose yellow locks like golden wire. Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers between. Do like a golden mantle her attire. And, being crowned with a garland green, Seem like some maiden queen. Her modest eyes abashed to behold. So many gazers as on her do stare, Upon the lowly ground affixed are ; Nor dare lift up her countenance too bold, EDMUND SPENSER. 39 ho ring. beams. t, echo ring. Bnt hlnsh to hear her praises sung so loud, So far from being proud. Natheless do ye still loud her praises sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. ****** But if ye sav- that which no eyes can see, The inward beauty of her lively sprite, Garnished with heavenly gifts of high'degree. Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, And stand astonished like to those which read ' Medusa's mazeful head. There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood. Regard of honour, and high modesty ; Where virtue reigns as queen in royal throne, And giveth laws alone. The which the base affections do obey, And yield their services unto her will ;' No thought of thing uncomely ever may Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill. Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures, And unrevealed pleasures, Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing That all the woods should answer, and your 'echo ring. Open the temple gates unto my love, Open them wide that she may enter in, And all the posts adorn as doth behove' And all the pillars deck with garlands trim For to receive this Saint with honour due, ' That Cometh in to you. With trembling steps, and humble reverence, bhe Cometh in, before the Almighty's view ; Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience, When so ye come into these holy places. To humble your proud faces : Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may The sacred ceremonies there partake The which do endless matrimony make ; And let the roaring organs loudly play The praises of the Lord in lively notes ; The whiles with hollow throats. 40 SIXTKRNTII CENTURY, The choristers the joyous anthem sing, That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. Behold while she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, And blesseth her with his two happy hands. How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil stain Like crimson dyed in grain. That even the angels which continually About the sacred altar do remain. Forget their service and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair. The more they on it stare. Rut her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, That suffers not one look to glance astray, Which may let in a little thought unsound. Why blush ye, lo"e, to give to me your hand. The pledge of all our band ! Sing, ye sweet angels. Alleluia sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Born 1564. Died 1616. SPEECH OF ULYSSES TO ACHILLES, Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back. Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great, sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done : perseverance, dear my lord. Keeps honour bright : to have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; Fer honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ; For emulation hath a thousand sons, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 41 1 ""I 4" That one by one pursue : if you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an entered tide, they all rush by And leave you hindmost ; Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'errun and trampled on : then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours ; For time is like a fashionable host That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand, And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly, Grasps in the comer : welcome ever smiles. And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was ; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service. Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To env'ous and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. That all, with one consent, praise newborn gawds. Though they are made and moulded of things past, And give to dust, that is a little gilt. More laud than gilt o'erdusted. Troilus and Cressida, Act iii. Sc. 3. MERCY. The quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed ; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes' : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown ; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty. Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; It is enthroned in the heart of kings. It is an attribute to God himself ; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this - That in the course of justice none of us 43 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. h. Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy. And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. Merchant of Venice, Act iv. Sc. L MUSIC. Lorenzo. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. There's not the smallest orb which thou behold 'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins : Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. Jessica. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music. Lorenzo. The reason is, your spirits are attentive : For do but note a wild and wanton herd. Or race of youthful and unhandled colts. Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud. Which is the hot condition of their blood ; If thej' but hear perchance a trumpet sound. Or any air of music touch their ears. You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze. By the sweet power of music : therefore the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, Ncr is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull us night, And his affections darl. as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted. Merchant of Venice, Act v. 8c. 1. M "%t; WILLIAM SHAKESPEAIIE. 43 SLEEP. King Henry. How many thousand of my poorest suhjects Are at this hour asleep ! O gentle Sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have 1 frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in f orgetfulness ? Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. And hushed with buzzing night-flies' to thy slumber • Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody ? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile Tn loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch A watch-case, or a common "larum bell ? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 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 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds, Ihat, with the hurly, death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial Sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude. And in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 2 //enr^7F. Actiii. Sc. 1. FLOWERS. I WOULD I had some flowers o' the spring, that mi^ht Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours ;" Ihat wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing :-0, Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frij^hted thou lett'st fall ttom Dis's wagon ! daflfodils. That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim. But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes 44 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. PI i^: I 1^ I i ii Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, That die tinmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phcfibus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids ; bold oxiips, and The crown-imperial ; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one ! ! these I lack, To make you garlands of : and, my sweet friend, To strew him o'er and o'er. A Wmter's Tale, Act iv. Sc. 3. CLEOPATRA'S BARGE. Ennbarbus. The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne. Burnt on the water : the poop was beaten gold ; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were silver • Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person It beggared all description : she did lie In her pavilion cloth-of-gold, of tissue - O'er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature : on each side her. Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids With divers-colored fans, whose wind did soem' To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid, did. Agrippa. O, rare for Antony ! Enobarbiis. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. And made their bends adornings : at the helm A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands. That yarely frame the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her ; and Antony, Enthroned in the market-place, did sit alone. Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy. WILLIAM SHAKKSI'KAIU:. 45 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And mad3 a gap in nature. Antony and Cleopntrn, Act ii. He. 2. CUPID. Oberon, My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou remember' st Since once I sat upon a promontory. And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song And certain stars shot madly from their sphere To hear the sea-maid's music. Puck. I remember. Oberon. That very time T saw, but thou couldst not, Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed : a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west. And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon. And the im23erial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free. A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc. 1. SONNETS. 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 possessed. 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 lark at break of day arising ''1 I I I ! >li 46 SIXTKENTH CENTURY. I ? From Hiillen enrth, sings hymnK at heav«n's gate ; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. XXX. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe, ' And moan the expense of many a vaiashed sight': Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. t:nt if the while I think on thee, dear friend. All losses are restored and sorrows end. xxxra. Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, ' Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy'; Anon permit i he basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And fro.Ti the forlorn world his visage hide, ' Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all triumphant splendor on my brow ; But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine '; The region cloud hath masked him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; Suns of the world may staia when heaven's sup «taineth. LX. Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end ; Each changing place with that which goes before. In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned. Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 47 And Tiiuo that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth trunslix the flourish set on youth, And delves tlio parallels in beauty's brow ; Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand. Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. LXVI. TiKED with all these, for restful death I cry,— As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity. And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced. And strength by limping sway disabled. And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly doctor-like controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity. And captive good attending captain ill : Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. DIRCJE. Fear no more the heat o' the sun. Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great. Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; Care no more to clothe and eat ; To thee the reed is as the oak : The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, " Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone , Fear not slander, censure rash : Thou hast finished joy and moan : It ' ^ 48 SIXTKKNTH CKNTIKY. All lovorH young, all lovors iiiust Connign to thee, and couie to dust. No exorciHer harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm theo Ghost unlaid forbear thoe ! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet conHnmmation have, And renowned be thy grave ! Oynibdine, Act iv. Sc. 2. MINOR POETS. SIR PHrivIP SIDNEY. Born 1544. Killed at the Battle of Z.itphen, Sept, 22, 1586. SONNETS. Come Sleep ! O Sh-ep, that certain knot of peace. The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release. The indifferent judge between the high and low • With shield of proof shield me from out tlu- prea'se Of those tierce darts Despair at me doth threw. Oh ! make in me those civil wars to cease ; I will good tribute pay, if thou do ,so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of li£,ht, A rosy garland, and a weary head : And if these things, as being thine in right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me. Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. ' Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust ; And thou my mind, aspire to higher things ; Grow rich in that which never taketh rust ; Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.' Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might To that .sweet yokw wh< ve lasting freedoms be ; Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light. That doth both shin«, and give us sight to see. MINOR POETS. 49 O tako fast hold ; lef, that li^ht he my guide In thiH Hmall courHe which l„rth draws cut to death. And think how ill l.eoometh hiiu to Hlide Who Heoketh heaven, and co.nen of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world ; thy ntternioHt I see : Eternal Love, maintain thy life iu mo ! CHKISTOPIIER MARLOWE. Born 1564. Died 1593. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHEllD TO HIS LOVB. Come live with me, and be my love ; And we will all the pleasures prove,' That hills and valleys, dales and fields. Woods or steepy mountains yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Heeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose fa!! ; Melodious birds sing i- igais. And I will make tli. ,. beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies ; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle ; A gown made <.f the finest wool, Which from unr pretty lambs we pull ; Fair-linr,! slippers for the cold. With buckles of the purest gold ; A belt of straw and ivy-buds. With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat, As precious as the gods do eat,' Shall, on an ivory table, be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sine For thy delight each May-morning. If these deli^'hts thy mind may move, Come live with me, and be my love. ' I I I ( i in I 60 SIXTEENTH CENTDRT. SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Born 1652. Executed 1618. REPLY TO MARLOWE'S "THE PASSIONATE SHEPHEED TO HIS LOVE." If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue. These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field and fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; And Philomel becometh dumb ; The rest complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields : A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses. Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten.- In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed ; Had joys no date, nor age no need ; Then those delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love. LINES SUPPOSED TO BE WKITTEN THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION. E'en such is time ; which takes on trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have. And pays us back with earth and dust ;' Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our wa^'s Shuts up the story of our days : ■ ' But from this earth, this grave, this dust. My God shall raise me up, I trust. MINOR POETS. 61 ID SIR EDWARD DYER: Born 1550. Died 1607. MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. My mind to me a kingdom is, Such present joys therein I lind, That it excels all other bliss That earth affords, or gro\\v by kind • Though much I want which most would have Yet still my mind forbids to crave. No princely pomp, no wealthy store, No force to win the victory. No wily wit to salve a sore. No shape to feed a loving eye ; To none of these I yield as thrall : For why ? My mind doth serve for all. I see how plenty surfeits oft. And hasty climbers soon do fall ; I see that those which are aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all ; They get with toil, they keep with fear , Such cares my mind could never bear. Content to live, this is my stay ; I seek no more than may suffice ; I press to bear no haughty sway ; Look, what I lack my mind supplies : Lo, thus I triumph like a king. Content with that my mind doth bring. Some have too much, yet still do crave ; I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store ; They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; They lack, I leave ; they pine. I live. I laugh not at itiiorhor's loss ; I grudge not at another's pain ; No worldly waves my mind can toss ; My state at one doth still remain : '-■■ 1 n ^i 63 SIXTEENTH CENTUP.Y. I fear no foe, I fawn no friend ; I loath not life, nor dread mine end. Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, Their wisdom by their rage of will ; Their treasure is their only trust ; A cloaked craft their store of skill ; But all the treasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind. My wealth is health and perfect ease ; My conscience clear my chief defence'; I neither seek by bribes to please, Nor by deceit to breed offence : Thus do 1 live ; thus will I die ; V/ould all did so as well as I ! . MICHAEL DRAYTON l;i i a i Born 1603. Died 1631. THE BATTLE Faib stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry ; But putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry. And taking many a fort. Furnished in warlike sort. Marched towards Agincourt In happy hour ; Skirmishing day by day With those that stopped his way. Where the French general lay With all his power. Which in his height of pride. King Henry to deride. His ransom to provide To the King sending ; OF AGINCOURT. Which he neglects the while. As from a nation vile, Yet, with an angry smile. Their fall portending. And turning to his men. Quoth our brave Henry then, "Though they to one be ten,' Be not amazed. Yet have we well begun. Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raised. " And for myself," quoth he, " This my full rest shall be ; England ne'er mourn for me. Nor more esteem me. Victor I will remain, Or on this mrth lie slain. Never shall she sustain Loss lo redeem nje. MIKOR POETS. 53 " Poictiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell : No less our skill is, Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat By many a warlike feat Lopped the French lilies." The Duke of York so dread The eager vaward led, With the main Henry sped, Among his henchmen. Exeter had the rear, A braver man not tb'^ro, Lord ! how hot ere On the false Fi^' .. : /^iion ! They now to fight are gone. Armour on armour shone. Drum now to drum did groan. To hear was wonder ; That with the cries they make. The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder. Well it thine age became, noble Erpingham, Which did the signal aim To our hid forces ; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly. The English archery Struck the French horses. With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung. Piercing the weather ; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts. And like true English hearts, SJtuck close together, When down th jir bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew. And on the French they flew ; Not one was tardy ; Arms were from shoulders sent ; Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went. Our men were hardy. This while our noble king, His broad sword brandishing, Down the French host did ding, As to o'erwhelm it ; And many a deep wound lent, His arms with blood besprent. And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet. Gloucester, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood. For famous England stood. With his brave brother ; Clarence, in steel so bright. Though but a maiden knight. Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another. Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made. Still as they ran up ; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont amd Willoughby Bear them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope. Upon Saint Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry. Oh, when shall J^nglishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry 1 hi II i 54 I f SIXTEENTH CENTURY. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Beaumont born 1580 ; died 1616. Fletcher born 1579 ; died 1626. A SAD SONG. Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone : Violets plucked, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again ; Trim thy locks, look clieerfnlly ;' Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see ; Joys as wi' ged dreams fly fast, Why should sadness longer last? Grief is but a woi.nd to woe ; Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no more. Fletcher. FROM -AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE." Mai. (s his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man Commands all light, all influence, all fate • Nothing to him falls early or too late ; Our acts our angels are, or good or ill' Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. Fletcher. LINES ON THE TOMBS OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Mortality, behold and fear ! What a change of flesh is here ! Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones ; Here they lie had realm-j and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands • Where from their pulpits sealed with dust They preach "In greatness is no trust." Here's an acre sown indeed Witli the richest roy-ll'st seed That the earth did e'er suok in. Since the first man died for sin ; Here the bones of birth have cried, " Though gods they were, as men they died. " MINOR POETS. 55 Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings : Here's a world of pomp and state, Buried in dust, once dead by fate. Beaumont. JOSHUA SYLVESTER. Born 1563. Died 1610. A CONTENTED MIND. I WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile ; I joy not much in earthly joys ; I seek not state, I seek not style ; I am not fond of fancy's toys ; I rest so pleased with what I have, I wish no more, no more I crave. I quake not at the thunder's crack ; T tremble not at noise of war ; I swound not at the news of wrack ; I shrink not at a blazing star ; I fear not loss, I hope not gain, I envy none, I none disdain I see ambition never pleased ; I see some Tantals starved in store ; I see gold's dropsy seldom eased ; I see e'en Midas gape for more : I neither want, nor yet abound- Enough's a feast, content is crowned. I feign not friendship wliere I hate : I fawn not on the great in show ; I prize, I praise a mean estate— Neither too lofty nor too low : This, this is all my choice, my cheer— A mind content, a conscience clear. ' i ■ lirl 66 I. McmnttmtU C^tttuvs. JOHN MILTON. Born 1608. Died 1674. SOLILOQUY OF SATAN. Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, Said then the lost archangel, this the seat. That we must change for heaven ? this mourniul gloom For that celestial light ? Be it so, since he, Who now is Sovran, can dispose and bid What shall be right ; farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields. Where joy forever dwells ! Hail horrors, liail Infernal world ! and thou profoundest hell, Receive thy new possessor, one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same. And where I should be ; all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater v Here at leas We shall be free ; the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in hell,— Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and co-partners of our loss. Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool. And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy mansion ; or once more. .TOHN MILTON. 57 With rallied arms to try what may be yet Regained ii 'leaven, or what more lost in hell ? Paradise Lost, Book I. SATAN. He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore : his ponderous shield. Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. His spear— to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some huge ammiral, were but a wand- He walked with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marie, not like those steps On heaven's azure ; and the torrid climo Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. Nathless he so endured, till on the beach Of that enflamed sea he stood, and called His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shade.-., High overarched, embower ; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed Hath vext the Red-Sea coast, whose waves overthrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry. While with perfidious hatred they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcases And broken chariot wheels : so thick bestrewn, Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He called so loud, that all the hollow deep Of hell resounded : - ■ ' Princes, Potentates. Warriors, the flower of heaven, once yours, now lost, If such astonishment as this can seize Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this place After the toil of battle to repose f! t r 58 SEVENTEEKTII CENTURY. I Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in tlie vales of heaven ? Or in this abject posture have ye sworn To adore the Conqueror ? who now beholds Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon His swift pursuers from heaven-gates discern The advantage, and descending, tread us down ihuH drooping, or with linked tliunderbolts Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf.— Awake ! arise ! or be forever fallen !" Paradise Lost, Book I. ADDEESS TO LIGHT. Hail, holy Light, offspring of heaven first born • Or of the Eternal co-feternal beam. May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 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 The rising world of waters dark and deep Won from the void and formless infinite. ' Thee I revisit now with bolder ^\ ig, Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained In that obscure sojourn, while in mv flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne 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 Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou' Revisifst 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 Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill JOHN MILTON. 59 Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief Thee. Sion, and the iiowery brooks beneath That washed 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 Mreonides. And Tiresias, and Phineas, 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 Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal gloom, or summer's rose. ' Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ;' But cloud instead, and ever-during r^ark Surrounds me. from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair. THE ADORATION OP THE ANGELS. No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all The multitude of angels, with a shout. Loud as from numbers without numb'er, sweet As from blest voices, uttering joy, heaven rung With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled The eternal regions. Lowly reverent Towards either throne they bow. and to the ground With solemn adoration down they cast Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold ; Immortal amarant, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life. Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence To heaven removed where first it grew, there grows And flowers aloft shading the fount of life. And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream. With these that never fade the spirits elect Bind their resplendent locks inwreathed with beams Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, Impurpled with celestial roses smiled. !| 1 i I!: I hi 60 Si:VKNTKENTIl CKNTLUY. Then, crowned ftRain. their golden liarps thoy took Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet Of charming symphony they introduce Their sacred song, and waken raptures high : No voice exempt, no voice but well could join Melodious part, such concord is in heavin Paradise Lost, Book III. THE DESCRIPTION OF ADAM AND EVE. Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, (iodlike erect, with native honour clad, In naked majesty seemed lords of all, And worthy seemed ; for in their looks divine The image of their glorious Maker shone, Truth, wisdom, .^anctitude severe and pure (Severe, but in true filial freedom placed), Whence true authority in men ; though both Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed ; For contemplation he and valour formed ; For i. >ftness she, and sweet attractive grace • He for God only, she for God in him : His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule ; and hyacinthine locks Kound from his parted forelock manly hung Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad • She, as a veil down to the slender waist, Her unadorned golden tresses wore Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved. As the vine curls her tendrils, which in- plied Subjection, but required with gentle sway And by her yielded, by him best received,' Yielded with coy submission, modest pride. And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. Paradise Lost, Book IV. THE APPROACH OF EVENING. Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad ; Silence aceompaniod ; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slnnk, aU but the wakeful nightingale • [II. •JOHN MILTON". She all night long her amorous descant sung • ^ ence was pleased : now glowed the Hrn.ament With hving sapphires ; Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon ItiHing in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light And o er the dark her silver mantle threw. ' Paradise Lost, Book IV. ADAM AND EVE'S MOliNING HYMN. Thkse are thy glorious works. Parent of good A "ughty ! Thine this universal frau.e Thus wondrous fair : Thyself how wondrous then Unspeakable ! who sittest above these heavens lo us invisible, or dimly seen ' In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyon, .ought, and power .li vine Speak, ye who best e.a tell, ye sons of light Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs ' And choral symphonies, day without night' Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven ' On earth jom all ye creatures to extol Fa rest of stars, last in the train of night. If better thou belong not to the dawn W pledge of day, that crown'st the 'smiling morn Wa^thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere While day arises, that sweet hour of prime Thou sun of this great world both eye and soul Acknowledge him thy greater : sound' his prle' Ind I, T r"'"'' •^•^^^ ^^'^^° *^«" ^linlb'st. And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st ^^ i.h the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies • And ye fave other wandering fires, that move ' In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light. A r and ye elements, the eldest birth Ut Natnrjj'a w->»v>i^ fKc* -• j. .- a w. ...,.., tnat 111 quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise Gl fia SEVENTEENTH ('ENTUKV. Ye mists ami exhftlfttioriH, that now Froj 1 hill or Hteaining lakti. .liisky riHo I i „, , ... - ., or gray, lill the snn i)aint your lleocy Mkirts with gold. In honour to the world's great Author rise ; Whether to deck with clouds the uncolonre'd sky. Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers. Rising or falling, still advance his praise. His praise, ye winds that from four quarters hlow. Breath soft or loud ; and wave your toi)s, ye pines. With evrey plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls : ye birds, That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep. Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade. Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still To give us only good ; and if the night Have gathered aught of evil or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark ! Paradise Lotit, Book V. ABDIEL. He said : and, as the sound of waters deep. Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause Through the infinite host : nor less for that The flaming seraph, fearless though alone, Encompassed round with foes, thus answered bold: " O alienate from God ! O spirit accursed. Forsaken of all good ! I see thy fall Determined, and thy hapless crew involved In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread Both of thy crime and punishment : henceforth No more be troubled how to quit the yoke Of God's Messiah ; those indulgent laws Will not be now vouchsafed ; other decrees Against thee are gone forth without recall : That golden sceptre which thou didst reject, Is now an iron rod to bruise and break Thy (liHobfldionco. Well thou (li.lst advise ; Yet not for thy ndvice or throatH I fly ThcRo wicked tents d,. voted, lost the" wrath impendent, raging into sudden flame njfitinguish not : for soon expect to feel Hi8 thunder on thy head, devouring fire Then who created thne lamenting loarn When who can uncreate thee thou nh ./' ,-w " So spake the serapi, Abdiel, fait iiul fuuuV Among the faithless, faithful only hf» • Among innumeral)le false, unmov d Unshaken, unseduced. untorrified His loyalty he kept, his love his zeai Nor number, nor example, with him brought To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind Though single. From amidst them forth he pa si Long way through hostile scorn, which he sus^a ned Superior, nor of violence feared aught • And with retorted scorn, his back he turned On those proud towers to swift destruction .loomed. [Return of the Seraph Abdiel.] All night the dreadless angel, unpursued, Ihrough heaven's wide champain held his wav • fill ^f Waked by the circling Hours.^ with ros^ han7 * ^ " """" Unbarred the gates of light. There is a cave Withm the mount of God, fast by his throne. Where Light and Darkness in perpetual round Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through heaven Grateful vicissitude like day and night Light issues forth, undat the other door Obseciuious Darkness enters, till her hour To veil the heaven, though darku.ss there might well Seem twilight here : and now went forth the Lrn Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold Empyreal ; from before her vanished Night Shot through with orient beams ; when all the plain Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright Chariots, and flaming arms, and fiery steeds ' Reflecting blaze on b];:ze, first met his view ■' War he perceived, war in procinct ; and found Abeady known what he for news had thought To have reported ; gladly then he mixed 68 !li 64 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. Among those friendly powers, who him received With joy and acclamations loud, that one, That of so many myriads fallen yet one Returned not lost. On to the sacred hill They led him high applauded, and present Before the seat supreme ; from whence a voice, From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard : "Servant of God, well done ; well hast thou fought. The better fight, who single hast maintained Against revolted multitudes the cause Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms ; And for the testimony of truth hast borne Universal reproach, far, worse to bear Than violence ; for this was all thy care, To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds Judged thee perverse : the easier conquest now Remains thee, aided by this host of friends Back on thy foes more glorious to return. Than scorned thou didst depart, and to subdue By force, who reason for their law refuse." Paradise Lost, Books V., Vi LYCIDAS. Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude ; And, with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year : Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas ? be knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rime. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of ome melodious tear. Begin then. Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring : Begin, and somewhai loudly sweep the string. Hence with deniai vain, and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky wor.::- favour my destined urn •, VI And as he passes turn, And bid fair peace be 'to my sablo shroud For we were nursed upon the self-same hill Fed he same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill iZTtC ' "^ "" "'^^ ^'^^^"^ ^^--^^ I ndei the opening eyelids of the Morn It f r' "'''^'^' ""^ ''"^^ *"g^"^«r hea'rd What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn Tempered to the oaten flute • ?r?f th "*V?""'' '^"^ ^^-« -*h cloven heel 1 °^'^^^^":"«^*'^« l«v«^^ to hear our song ^ ' Not'tht;:;;^::rd:r "°^ ^^"" -^-^ --■ Th«. u " ^,*^' ^'^^ ^^^er must return ! Wi h wl;^.^"'' ""^ ^^« --^« -^^ 'desert caves Tnd an , '7 "'''' "" «"^'^'"8 ^^^« «'-grown And all their echoes mourn • b "wu, The willows, and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Is"k^^ *h-;-,i°y«"« 1-ves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose whenflrstth::^;ti'ttrbio'z™^-'^«-- fe"^^,Lycidas.thylo„stoshepher;rsear Nor on the shaggy ,„p „, ii„„„ y """ ""• rru IT , "trseit, tliat Orpheus bore The Muse herself, for h^r end-antin r ■ Whom universal nature did lament, "" '""" ^Uen. by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent 65 ' I 66 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. « It 4;i 1 ^ V : jf f Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? Alas I what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? Were it not better done, as others use. To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. Or with the tangles of Nesera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days : But the fair guerdon when we hope to find. And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise," Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears ; " Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood. Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds I That strain I heard was of a higher mood : But now my oat proceeds. And listens to the herald of the sea, That came in Neptune's plea : He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds. What hard mishap had doomed this gentle swain? And questioned every gust of rugged wings That blows from off eacb ^)eaked promontory ; They knew not of his story : And sage Hippotades their answer brings. That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed : The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleep Panope with all her sisters played. It was that fatal and perfidious bark. Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark. That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Oamns, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, J0H2Sr MILTOJ^. Inwrought with figures din., and on the edg. Like o that sanguine flower inscribed with Coe -"iltrj^di-d^^^^^^ The pilot of the Galilean lake ■ Two massy keys he bore of metals twain. (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain ) He shook his mitred locks, and stern be pake Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ' Of other care they little reckoning make. ' Than how to scramble at the shearer's feast And shove away the wortLy bidden guest ' A Iheeoh?.' •' *'r' "'^"" '""'^'^'''^^ ^-- l^ow to hold That tT;tt' " rr ''""^' '^"^^^ «^- *^« i«- . Ihat to the faithful herdsman's art belongs ! y^ hat recks it them ? What need thev ? Th And when they lis, their lean^Indfll, ^I"" '''' ' Grate on the.r scrannel pipes o ,,-retched straw Ihe hungry sheep look up. and are not fed Bu swoln with wind, and the rank mist tliey draw Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread • ' Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw »aily devours apace, and nothing said • But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no n.ore " Return. Alpheus. the dread voice is past And call he vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low. where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes. ' That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers And purple all the ground with vernal flowers ' Bnng the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. X e ..urted crow-toe, and p.Ue jessamine. The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet. ihe glowing violet. •• ' The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 07 68 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. II i^ With oowalips wan that hang the pensive liead, And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; Bid amaranthns i U hisi beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lj'cid lies. For so, to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dM,lly with false surmise : Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seaa Wash far away, where' c" thy bones are hurled ; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide. Visit' st the bottom of the monstroxis world ; Or whether thou, to ottr moist voms denied, Sleep* st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount "^ ooks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold. Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. Weei) no jnore, wofnl sheiiherds, weep no more ; For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves ; Where, other groves and other streams along, "v.ith nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song. In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops and sweet societie; That sing, and singing, in their glory move, And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still Morn went out with sandals gray ; He touched the tender stops of various quills, JOHIf MILTOif. With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : Am now the «un had stretched out all tlu- hills And now was dropt into the western ba '' At last he rose, and twitched his mantle' blue • Xo-nxorrow to fresh woods and pastures ne" ' THE MIGHT OF INNOCENCE. K«m,,. .u ^ ™ousAND fantasies Begin to throng into my memory Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire And aery tongues that syUable men's names On sands, and shores, and desert wilderne es T«ese thoughts may startle well, but not aTund The virtuous mind, that ever walks attendir By . strong siding champion. Conscience Oh welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope Thou hovenng angel, girt with golden .vin. ' ^' And thou unblemished form of Chastity ^ I see ye visibly, and now believe A 1 V ;• *\' ^"P'"''"^ ^°°'^- t° ^vhom all things ill Aie but as slavish officers of vengeance ^ Would send a glistering guardian' if nell were lo keep my life and honorr unassailed. THE LIGHT 0. VIRTUE V™ could see to do what Virtue would were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude • Where with her best nurse Contemplation, ^he plumes her feathers, and lets grow he wings Ihat in the various bustle of resort ^ Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impaired He that has light within his own clear breast But h that hide a dark soul, and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun • Himself IS his own dungeon. SONNETS. ON HIS BEINfJ AKRIVED TO tut- »^^ VJ.D TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth ^^tolen on his wing my three and twentieth yet I G9 Coinits. I : ! ' I i Comus, t{;i 70 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. h 't ^' f ; My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or bloss ru shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the trutb, That I to manhood am arrived so ntar ; And inward ripeness doth much less a}>pear, That some more timely-happy spirits euiiu'th. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It 'hall be still in strictest measure even To tJuit, Hiime lot, however meuu or high, Tou ,;d which Tnne 1 <>uds me, and the will of heaven. All this, if I have 'laee to use it so, As ever in my great j^t;k-!,':f filter's eye, ON THE MA.SSA. nX' LA'ri: IN PIEMONT. Avenge, Lord, tLy sbiucjatered saints, whose bones I,ie scatter(3d oji tht Alpine mountains cold : Even them who kept tby truth so pure of old. When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones. Forget not : in thy book record their grcans Who were th> .sheep, and in their ancient fold 8Iain by the bloi-dy Tiemontese that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Leaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learned thy way. Early may fly the Babylonian woe. ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide. Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide ; " Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ? " I fondly ask : but patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need Either man's work, or his ov t. -fts ; who best Bear his mild yoke, they srr\ im best : his state Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed. And post o'er land and ocean without rest : TUey also servo who only stand and wait." JOHN AIILTOiq-. AT A SOLEMN MUSIC To nr M f " "" -pphire-colored irons -lo Him that sits thereon ZZlTl ''r '' '^"^ ^"^'^^^ Jubilee ; The r , ^ '?''' '^'^'^P^""^ ^° burning ow Lc hrr.""'^'"' angel-trumpets blow ; bmging everlastingly • While all the rounds and arches blue Resound and echo Hallelu That we on earth, with uniiscording voice May nghtly answer that melodious noir' As once we did. till disproportioned sin ' And keep in tune with Heaven ti?T n a , To hi, eele,ti„e„neert„r::u;^'"' """"'' To '.ve With ffini, and sing in enaie,„„„,„ „„i,„„ ON TIME. Can'oT^'T ^'?'' "" *^°" ^"'^ °"fc thy race • Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours ' rn*'dli„Tri;'=wi,f;,'---p'"--»p-; TVh.vt • ^h'" "^by womb devours rrntr;Za,rr'^ '•■'-- ™'»^' So little is cur loss, So little IS thy gain I 71 III it : i 1 1 ' n SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. ti -J- For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed, And hist of all thy greedy self consumed, Then long eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss ; And joy shall overtake us as a flood. When everything that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shino About the supreme throne Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb. Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attired with stars, we shall forever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time ! HYMN ON THE NATIVITY. It was the winter wild. While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to him Had doffed her gaudy trim. With her great master so to sympathize : It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. ****** No war or battle's sound Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran "lord was by. But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of light His reign of peace upon the earth began : The winds, with wonder whist. Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave. While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. JOHN MILTON. TS The oracleH are dumb, No voice or hideouH hum Iluus through the arched roof in words deceiving Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale, Edged with poplar pale. The parting genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn, The nymphs in twilight shade of 'tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth. And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint • In urns and altars round, ' A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice battered god of Palestine ; And mooned Astaroth, Heaven's Queen and mother both. Now sits not girt with taper's holy shine ; The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn. In vain the Syrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn And sullen Moloch, fled. Hath left in shadows dread His burnirj. I. lol all of blackest hue ; In vain wir n cymbals' ring They call the grisly king. In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis and ( m, and the dog Anubis, haste. 74 SEVENTEENTJI OENt^'TV Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or jrr jen, Trampling the unshov 'red grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest Within hia sacred chest ; Naught but profoundest hell can be his si. , ,,d ; In vain with fimbroUed anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels froia Tudah's land The dreaded lufant's hand, The rays of .litthlehem blind his dusky eyn ; Nor all tiu' gods beside Longer dare abide, Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damtM crew. So when the sun in bed. Curtained with cloudy red. Pillows liifi chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail. Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave , And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night steeds, leaving their moor loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest ; Time is. our tedious song shonll ^ ere have ending Heaven's .youngest-teemed stav Hath fixed her polished car. Her sleeping Lord, with handmaid lamp attendi;,g. And all about the courtly stable Bright harnessed angels sit in order serv . . bl« JOHN DRYDEN. 76 JOHN DRYDEIV. Born 1631. Died 1700. PRIVATE JUDGMENT. What weight, of ancient witness can prevail If private roftson hold the public scale •' But, gracious Ood, how well dc.st Thou pr .vida For erring judgments an unerring guide ! Th; throne is darkness in th abyss of liL'ht A blaze of glory that forbids the sight O teach me to believe Theo thus conroaled And search no farther than Thyself revealed • But hor alone for my director take Whom Thou hast promised never to forsake ' My thoughtless youth was winged with vain desires • My manhood, long misled by wandering fires Followed false lights ; and when their glimpse was gone My pride struck out new sparkles of her own •M.s,avo8 attaokcl. the Magi strove no more. Thoy saw (io.Vs (1,1^. r. and tJicir fate, deplore • 1 hemHolvos th.y c.uld not cur,, , f th. dishoncHt sore Tims one thus pure, bohold hor JurKoly npread. i.iko the) fair ocean from her niotf.or-hed • From east to west triumphantly sho rides All shores are watered l,y her wealthy tide's The Kospel-souud, diffuse.! from pole t.. pole Where winds can earrj' an.l where waves can roll 1 ho self-sanifi doctrine of the sac^red pa«e, Conveyed to every clime, in every age. The Hind and ihc Pdidher LINEK PRINTED UNDER THE PORTRAIT OF MILTON. ' Three poets, in three distant ages born Greece, Italy, and England did adorn The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, The next in majesty, in both the last. The force of Nature could no farther qo • To make a third she joined the former tic. ELEONORA. These virtues raised her fabric to the sky • For that which is next heaven is charity But, as high turrets, for their airy steep, Require foundations in proportion deep'; And lofty cedars as far upward shoot, As to the nether heavens they drive the root . So low did her secure foundation lie, She was not humble, but humility. Scarcely she knew that she was great, or fair Or wise, beyond what other women are Or, which is better, knew, but never durst compare *or, to be conscious of what all admire And not bo vain, n ' ances virtue higher. But still she founu, or rather thought she found Her own worth wanting, others to abound ; Ascribed above their due to every one, Unjust and scanty to herself alone. «uch her devotion was, as might give rules Of speculation to disputing schools. J^HN DHYDKN. 77 And teach uh c', In order to their stations leap, And music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony, This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran. The diapason closing full in man. What passion cannot music raise and quell ? When Jubal struck the chorded shell, His list'ning brethren stood around, And, wondring, on their faces fell, To worship that celestial sound. Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell. That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot music raise and quell ? The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms. With shrill notes of anger And clonal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum, Cries " Hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge ! 'tis too late to retreat." The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers. Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, JOSEPH ADDISON. Their frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, For the fair disdainful dame. But oh ! what art can teach, What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise ? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly wayg To join the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race. And trees uprooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre ; But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher ; When to her oigan, vocal breath was given ; An Angel heard, and straight appeared. Mistaking earth for heaven. Orand Chorus. As from the power of sacred lays, The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the blessed above ; So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour. The trumpet shall be heard on high. The dead shall live, the living die. And music shall untune the sky. 79 I I 1 JOSEPH ADDISON. Born 1672. Died 1719. THE BLESSINGS OF LIBERTY. O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight ! Etcriial pleasures in thy pveseuce luigu, And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train ; Eased of her load. Subjection grows more light. And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight ; 80 SEVENTKKNTII CENTURY. Thon ixjak'st the gloomy face of natnre gay • Gxv St Beauty to the Sun, and pleasure fo tlie day Thee goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores ' How has she oft exhausted all her stores ' How oft in fields of death thy presence sought Nor thinks the nnghty prize too dearly houglt i On foreign mountains may the Sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine With citron groves adorn a distant soil And the fat oliye swell with fioods of oil • We enyy not the warmer clime, that lies " In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, Nor at the coarseness of our heav'n repine. And in their proud aspiring domes delight • A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give ' Or teach their animated rocks to live • ' Iks Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate And hold in balance each contending stlte' To threaten bold presumptuous Kings with w.r Andanswerherafflictedneighbouvs'Vayo. • The Dane and Swede roused up by fiei-c^ alarms Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms • ArZu!r ""'''" "^^^"'^^' *^^'"- ^'^^"•"rs cease. And all the northern world lies hushed in peace. PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. The Lord my pasture shall prepare And feed me wfth a shepherd 's care • Hi-s presence shall my wants supply ' And guard me with a watchful ey,. • My noon-day walks lie shall attend' And all my midnight hours defend.' When in the sultry glebe I faint Or on the thirsty mountain pant ; I o fertile vales and dewy meads ' My weary wandering steps he leads ; Where peaceful riverg, soft anre, with weakness age, If knowledge serve U.. hoid our thoughts in wars ; If time can close the i>.i:'; Ired mouths of fame. And make, what long since past, like that to be ; If virtue nnly be an idle itarne, If I, when I was born, was born to die ; Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days ? The faired rose in shortest time decays. 84 8EVE:,-TKE2^TH century. I« ■'S-i TEAKS ON THE DEATH OF MCELTADES ■ Rest, blessed soul, rest satiate with the sight Life of ,ul hves. cause of each other cause ; The sphere and centre where the mind doth pause • Rest, happy soul, and wonder in that glass ' Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was. y b le shad be, is, or was. do pass away And nothing be but an eternal day For ever rest ; thy praise fame will enrol In golden annals, while about the pole The slow Bootes turns, or Sun doth rise ;Vith scarlet scarf to cheer the mourning skies The virgms on thy tomb will garlands bear Of flow rs and with each flower let fall a tear MoBhades sweet courtly nymphs deplore. From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly «hore. Of jet, Or porphyry. Or that white stone Paros aifords alone. Or these, in azure dye. Which seem to scorn the sky ; Here Memphis' wonders do not set, Nor Artemisia's huge frame, That keeps so long her lover's name. Make no great marble Atlas stoop with gold To please the vulgar eye shall it behold The muses, PhcBbus, Love, have raised of theiV tears A crystal tomb to him, through which his worth apreLs. FOR THE BAPTIST. The last and greatest herald of heaven's King Girt with rough skins, hies to the desert wild Among that savage brood the woods forth bring Which he than man more harmless found and n.'ild • His food was locusts, and what young doth spring ' With xioney, that from virgin hives distilled ; Parched body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing -Viart-o Hun appear, long since from earth eyi'ed, ^J^Princo Henry, eldest son of James I. The name is an anagrlm of " Miles a MINOR POETS. 85 There burst he forth : " All ye, whose hopes rely On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn ; Repent, repent, and from old errors turn." Who listened to his voice, obeyed his cry ? Only the echoes, which he made relent, Rung from their marble caves, " Repent ! Repent !" MARY MAGDALEN. " These eyes, dear Lord, once brandons of desire, Frail scouts betraying what they had to keep, Which their own heart, then others set on lire, Their traitorous black before Thee here out-weep ; These locks, of blushing deeds the fair attire. Smooth frizzled waves, sad shelves which shadow deep, Soul-stinging serpents in gilt curls which creep, To touch Thy sacred feet do now aspire. In seas of Care behold a sinking bark. By winds of sharp remorse unto Thee driven, O let me not exposed be ruin's mark ! My faults confest,— Lord, say they are forgiven." Thus sighed to Jesus the Bethauian fair. His tear-wet feet still drying with her hair. SIR HENRY WOTTON. Born 1568. Died 16;J9. I, THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE How happy is he born and taught. That serveth not another's will ; Whose armour is his honest thought. And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are. Whose soul is still prepared for death ; Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath ; Who envies ncme that chance doth raise. Or vice ; who nevfr understood H.*«panions, gains. He that loves God's abode. And to combine With saints on earth, shall one day with theni shine. THE QUIP. The merry world did on a day With his train-bands and mate agree To meet together, as I lay, And all in sport to jeer at me. 87 88 W •I !! 'i SEVENTEENTH CEXTItky. First Beauty crept into a rose, Which when I pluckt not. ...Sir," said she, ' lell mo, I pray, whose hands are those ?" But Thou Shalt answer. Lord, for nie. Then Money came, and chinking still, *' What tune is tliis, poor man ?" said' h« : "I heard in music you had skill." But Thou Shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then came bravo Glory puffing by, In silks that whistled, who Imt he! He scarce allowed me half an eye ; But thou Shalt answer. Lord, for me. Then came quick Wit and Conversation. And he would needs a comfort be, And. to be short, made an oration : But thou Shalt answer. Lord, forme. Yet, when tlie hour of Thy design To answer thf, 10 fm^, thin^.s shall come Speak not at 5..;,^,. ; say, I am Thine, And then L5, .;, }i!n'a their answer home. SIN. Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round I Parents first season us : then schoolmasters Deliver us to laws ; they send us bound To rules of reason. Holy messengers • Pulpits and Sundays ; sorrows dogging sin • Afflictions sorted ; anguish of all sizes ; Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in » Bibles laid open ; millions of surprises • Blessings beforehand ; ties of gratefulne'ss ; The sound of glory ringing in our ears ; Without, our shame ; within, our consciences Angels and grace ; eternal hopes and fears ! Yet all these fences and their whole array One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away'. VIRTUE. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky. Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night. For thou must die. MINOR POETS. 8Q Sweot rns(^, whose hiio, angry ftnd brave, Bids tho rush gazer wipe his eye. Thy root is ever in its grave, And thon must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows you have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuf)us soul. Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But when the whole world turns to coal, Then chiefly lives. WILLIAM HABINGTON. Born 1605. Died 1654. Fix me on some bleak precipice. Where I ten thousand years may stand : Made now a statua of ice. Then by the summer scorched and tanned. Place me alone in some frail boat 'Mid th' horrors of an angry sea r Where I, while time shall move, may float, Despairing either land or day : Or under earth my youth confine To th' night and silence of a cell : Where scorpions nuty my limbs entwine, O God ! so thou forgive me Hell. Eternity ! when I think thee, (Which never any end must have. Nor knew'st beginning,) and foresee Hell is designed for sin a grave ; My frighted flesi trembles to dust. My blood ebbs fearfully away : Both guilty that they did to lust And vanity, my youth betray. My eyes, which from such beauteous sight Drew spider-like black venom in : Close like lue marigold at night Oppressed with dew to bathe my sin. I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V- m // {./ ,% /. ,% i/.A ^ ii. fA 1.0 I.I g ^ 11.2.2 11:25 III 1.4 2.0 1.8 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 873-4503 iV c\ \ ^ (/. \ k 90 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. I; My ears Rhut np that easy door Which did proud fallacies admit : And vow to hear no follies more ; Deaf to the charms of sin and wit. My hand (which when they touched some fair Imagined such an excellence, As th' ermine's skin ungentle were) Contract themselves, and lose all sense. But you bold sinners ! still pursue Your valiant wickedness, and brave Th' Almighty justice ; he'll subdue And make you cowards in the grave. Then when he as your judge appears. In vain you'll tremble and lament, And hope to soften him with tears. To no advantage penitent. Then you will scorn those treasures, which So fiercely now you doat upon : Then curse those pleasures did bewitch You to this sad iUusion. The neighb'ring mountains which you shall Woo too oppress you with their weight. Disdainful will deny to fall ; By a sad death to ease your fate. In vain some midnight storm at sea To swallow you, you will desire : In vain upon the wheel you'll pray Broken with torments to expire. Death, at sight of which you start, In a mad fury then you'll court : Yet hate th' expressions of your heart. Which only shall be sighed for sport. No sorrow then shall enter in With pity the great judge's ears. This moment's ours. Once dead, his sin Man cannot expiate with tears. MINOR POETS. 91 !i ANONYMOUS. Probably of the Seventeenth Century. IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. It is not beauty I dtiiuaud, A crystal brow, the moon' despair, Nor tb.j snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair. Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips, that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed, — A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers. These are but gauds : nay, what are lips? Coral beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer slips Full oft he perisheth on them. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood ? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, Do Greece or Ilium any good ? Eyes can with baleful ardour burn ; Poison can breath, that erst perfumed. There's many a white hand holds an urn, With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. For crystal brows, there' s nought within ; They arc but empty cells for pride ; He who tho Siren's hair would win, Is mostly strangled in the tide. Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind. Which with temptation I would trust. Yet never linked with error find, — It 93 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burthened honey-fly, That hides his murmurs in the roae, My earthly comforter ! whose love So indefeasible might be, That when my spirit wonned above, Hers could not stay, for sympathy EDMUND WALLER. Born 1605. Died 1687. THE ROSE'S MESSAGE. Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that; wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee. How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young. And shuns to have her graces spied. That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide. Thou must have uncomm ended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth. Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee : How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! YOUTH AND AGE. The seas are quiet when the winds are o'er. So calm are we when passions are no more ! For then we know how vain it was to boasl Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. MINOR POETS. 93 Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which ago descries ; Thc'soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home ; Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new. ROBERT HERRICK. Born 1594. Died 1674. A THANKSGIVING TO GOD. Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell ; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof ; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry ; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate ; Both void of state ; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by the poor. Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat. Like as my parlour, so my hall And kitchen's small. A little buttery and therein A little bin. Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unliead, Some brittle sticks of thorn or bi^ar Make me a fire, Close by whose living co.al I sit. And glow like it. Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is thine, 94 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. And all those other bits that be There placed by thee ; The worts, the purslain and the mess ' Of water-cress, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent ; And my content Makes these and my beloved beet To be more sweet, "lis thou thatcrown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink. Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one ; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day ; Besides my healthful ewes to bear The twins each year ; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream for wine : All these and better thou dost send Me to this end, — That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart ; Which, fired with inceese, I resign As wholly thine ; —But the acceptance, that must be. My Christ, by thee. TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past. But you may stay yet here awhile. To blush and gentl}- smile ; And go at last. What, were ye born to bo An hour or half's delight ; And so to bid good -night ? MINOR POETS. 96 'T'-as pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne' er so brave : And after they have shown their prid«, Like you, a-while— they glide Into the grave. RICHARD LOVELACE. Born 1618. Died 1658. TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates. And my diviiio Althea brings To whisper at the grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair. And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crowned, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free. Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty And glories of my King ; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty. • i i v i I - i i I ! 96 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. Stone walls do not a prison mak«, Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and qniet take That for an herniitago : If I have freedom in my love. And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that doar above, Enjoy such liberty. GOING TO THE WARS. Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To wars and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase. The first foe in the field. And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore — I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more. JAMES SHIRLEY. Born 1596. Died 1667. li A DIRGE. The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial thingn ; There is no armour agains*^ fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings, Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : MINOR rOETS. 97 Early or lato Thoy stoop to fute, And must give uji their inurinuring breath When they, pale captives, croop to death. The garlands wither on your brow ; ""hen boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. THOMAS DEKKEK. it Born about 1590. Died IHSS. SWEET CONTENT. Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? O, sweet content ! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? O, punishment ! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ? O, sweet content ! O sweet, sweet content I Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; Honest labour bears a lovely face ; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny J Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? O, sweet content ! Swimni'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? O, punishment ! Then he that patiently want's burden bears No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! O sweet content ! sweet, sweet content ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; Honest labor bears a lovely face ; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 1 i ! 1 98 ! SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. PATIENCE. Patience ! why 'tis the soul of pence : Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven • Jt nmkes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer A soft, meek, j itient, humble, tranquil spirit ' The first true gentleman that ever breathed I RICHARD CRASH AW. Born 1600. Died 1660, THE MYSTERIES OF THE INCARNATION. That the great angel-Vlinding light should shrink His blaze, to shine in a poor shepherd's eye ; That the unmeasured God so low should sink. As prisoner in a few poor rags to lie ; That from His mother's breast He milk should drink Who feeds with nectar heaven's fair family ; That a vile manger His low bed should prove Who in a throne of Stars thunders above. That He whom the sun serves, should faintly peep Through clouds of infant flesh ; that He, the old Eternal Word, could be a child, and weep ; That He who made the fire should feel the cold • That heaven's High Majesty His court should keep In a clay cottage, by each blast controlled ; That Glory's Self should serve our griefs and fears. And free Eternity submit to years. And further, that the Law's et-^rnal Giver, Should bleed in His own law's obedience '; And to the circumcising knife deliver Himself, the forfeit of His slave's oflfence ; That the unblemished Lamb, blessed for ever Should take the mark of sin, of pain the sense : These are the knotty riddles, whose dark doubt Entangles our lost thoughts, past finding out. MINOR P0BT3. Cd SAMUEL BUTLER. Born 1812. Died 1680. THE WEAKNESS AND MISERY OF MAN. Our pliins are real things, and all Our pleasures but fantastical. Diseases of their own accord, But cures come difficult and hard. Our noblest piles and stateliest rooms Are but outhouses to our tombs ; Cities though ne'er so great and brave But mere warehouses to the grave. Our bravery's but a vain disguise To hide us from the world's dull eyes, The remedy of a defect With which our nakedness is decked, Yet makes us smile with pride and boast As if we had gained by being lost. ! « i ! HENRY VAUGHAN. Born 1621. Died 1695. BEYOND THE VEIL. They are all gone into the world of light; And I alone sit lingering here ; Their very memory is fair and bright. And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like .stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, After the sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory, Wliose light doth trample on my days : My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays. 100 SEVKNTKENTjr CKNTUKY. O holy Tfope ! nnd IukIi Humility, HikI' iiH tho hcaVfiiH iihovo ! TheHe are your wulks, u,ul ycu hnvo Hliowe.l tlieui ui« To kindle my cold love. Dear. henutoouH Death ! the jewel of tho just, Shiuiiif,' no where, but in the dark ; What uiyHttiries do lie l-eyond thy dust : <-'oul(l man outlook that mark ! * * # # » O Father of eternal life, and all ( 'ri'ated glories under Thee ! Kesume tliy spirit from this world of thrall. Into true liberty. Either disperse these mist.,, which blot and lill My per.si)ective— still— as they pass : Or else remove me hence unto that hill. Where I shall need no glass. THE KETKEAT. Happy those early days, when I Hhined in my angel-infancy I Jiefore I understood this ]jlace Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught 13ut a white celestial thought ; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first Love, And looking back, at that short space. Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; When on some gilded cloud or flower ' My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories .spy Some shadows of eternity ; Before I taught my tongue to wound My conscience with a sinful sound. Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense. But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastitiguess. Oh how I long to travel back. And tread again that ancient track ! I le, MINOU POETS. That r iiiiRht nn(!G more rcicli that phiin Whero first 1 Mt my friorious train ; From wher-se the enlightoued Hpirit se** That Hlmd; City of i)alm.treeH, lint ah ! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and Kta^KerH in tho way ! Home men a forward motion love, Hut I by backward stt^ps would move; And when this dust falls to the uru, In that state I came return. ABKAlfAM COWLKY. Bom IfltH. ;)JL.t| 1667 THE WISH. This only grant me, that my means may laj Too low for envy, for contempt, too high. Some honour I would have Not from great deeds, but good uJone. The unknown are better than ill known ; Rumour can oyn' the grave. Acquaintance I would have, but wher> dejiund, Not on the number, but the choice of triends : Books should, not business, entertain the light. And sleep, as undisturbed as death, thenij^iht. ' My house a cottage, more Than palace, and should fitting be. For all my use, not luxury. My garden painted o'er With nature's hand, not art's ; and pleasurf^ v.,14 Horace might envy in his Sabine field. Thus would I double my life's fading space, For he that runs it well, twice runs his race! And in this true delight. These unbought .sports, this happy state, I would not fear nor wish my fate, But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams di.splay, Or in clouds hide them ; I have liv'd to-day. 101 !} 102 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. EXTRACT FROM "THE ROYAL SOCIETY." Mischief and true dishonour fall on those Who would to laughter or to scorn expose So virtuous and so noble a design, So human for its use, for knowledge so divine The things which these proud men despise, and call Impertinent, and vain, and small, Those smallest things of nature let me know Rather than all their greatest actidns do Whoever would deposed Truth advance Into the throne usurped from it, Must feel at first the blows of Ignorance, And the sharp points of envious Wit. So when, by various turns of the celestial dance. In many thousand years A star, so long unknown, appears, Though heaven itself more beauteous by it grow. It troubles and alarms the world below," Does to the wise a star, to fools a mf;teor, show. ANDREW MARVELL. Born 1020. Died 1678. THE BERMUDAS. Where the remote Bermudas ride, In the ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat, that rowed along. The listening winds received this song. " What should we do but sing His praise. That led us through the watery maze, Unto an isle so long unknown. And yet far kinder than our own ? Where He the huge sea monsters wracks. That lift the deep upon their backs, He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms, and prelates' rage. He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels every thing, And sends the fowls to us in oar'e, On daily visits through the air ; I MINOR POETS. He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And doep in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormns shows ; He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet, But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by His hand From Lebanon, He stores the la ad And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergrease on shore ; He cast (of which we rather boast) The gospel's pearl upon our coast, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound his fame. Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt, Till it arrive at heaven's vault, Which then (perhaps) rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique I?ay." Thus sung they, in the English boat. A holy and a cheerful note, And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. 103 I ^i0Tttecttt1t (^tntxxxxj. ALEXANDER POPE. Born 1088. Died 1744. FEOM "AN ESSAY ON MAN." Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate All but the page prescribed, their present state • ' From brutes what men, from men what spirits know Or who could suffer being here below ? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood O blindness to the future ! kindly given. That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven • Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall. Atoms or systems into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst, and now a world. Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions soar. 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 is, but always lo be blest : The soul uneasy, and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a world to come. ^ Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; His soul proud Science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way : Yet simple nature to his hope has given. Behind the cloud-topt hill an humbler heaven ; ALEXANDER POPE. 106 Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, Some happier island in the watery waste, 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 angels wing, no seraph's fire ; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company. See some strange comfort every state attend, And pride bestowed on all, a common friend : See some fit passion every age supply ; Hope travels through, nor quits us when we die. Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw : Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, A little louder, but as empty quite. Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age. Pleased with this bauble still, as that before ; 'Till tired he sleeps, and Life's poor play is o'er. Meanwhile opinion gilds with varying raj's Those painted clouds that beautify our days : Each want of happiness by Hope supplied, And each vacuity of sense by Pride : These bull I as fast as knowledge can destroy ; In Folly's cup still laughs the bubble, Joy ; One prospect lost, another still we gain ; And not a vanity is given in vain ; Even mean Self-love becomes, by force divine. The scale to measure others' wants by thine. See ! and confess, one comfort still must rise ; 'Tis this. Though man's a fool, yet God is wise. ON THE CHARACTER OF ADDISON. Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires ; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse, and live with ease : Should such a man, too fond to live alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. I 106 EIGHTEENTH OENTURY. li View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hiite for arts that cauHed himself to rise ; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike. Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; Alike reserved to blame or to commend, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; Dreading even fools by flatterers besieged, And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged ; Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and templars every sentence raise. And wonder with a foolish face of praise— Who but must laugh, if such a man there be ! Who would not weep, if Atticus were he ! FKOM "AN ELEGY ON AN UNFORTUNATE LADY.' What can atone (O ever injured shade !) Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid ? No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear. Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier : By foreign hands thy dying eyes wore closed, By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed. By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned. By strangers honoured, nnd by strangers mourned I What though no friends in sable weeds appear ; Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year, And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances, and the public show ? What though no weeping Loves thy ashes grace. Nor polished marble emulate thy face ? What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallowed dirge be muttered o'er thy tomb? Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest, And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast : There shall the Morn her earliest tears bestow. There the first roses of the year shall blow ; While nngels with their p.ilvcr wings o'ershade The ground now sacr \ by thy relics made. So, peaceful rests, v hout a stone, a name, What onc« had beauty, atl; wealth, and fam«. ALEXANDER POPE. 107 How loved, how honoured once, Hvails theo not, To whom related, or by whom begot ; A hcup of (hist alone renmins of thee ; 'Tis all taou art, and all the jiroud shall be ! THE UNIVERSAL PRAYLx:. Father of all ! in every age, In every climo ador'd, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! Thou Great First Cause, least understood. Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good. And that myself am blind : Yet gave mo in this dark estate. To see the good Irom ill ; And, binding nature fast in fate. Left free the human will. What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun. That more than heaven pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away ; For God is paid when man receives : To enjoy is to obey. Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round. Let not this weak unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe. If I am right, thy grace impart Still in the right to stay ; If I am wrong, oh ! teach my heart To find that better way. ( ' • i 108 KIGIITKIONTH CKNTCKY. lij V in Siive nie alike from foolish pride, Or impioTis diHoontcnt, At might thy wisdom has denied, Or alight thy goodness lent. Teach me to feel another's woe. To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Mean though I am, not wholly so, Hince quickened by thy breath ; O lead me, wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death. This day bo bread and peace my lot ; All else beneath the sun Thou know'st if best bestowed or not. And let thy will be done. To thee, whose temple is all space ; Whose altar, earth, sea, skies ; One chorus let all being raise ! All nature's incense rise ! ODE ON SOLITUDE. Happy the man, whose wish and care A te-N paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air. In bis own ground. ^Vhose herds with milk, whose fields with bread. Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away. In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night ; study and ease. Together mixed ; sweet recreation. And innocence, which most does please, With meditation. J JAMKS TIfOMSON. 109 t Thus let mo live, tmHcen, unknown ; Thus unlanientod lot mo die, Stoal from the world, and not a Ktono Ted! whoro T lie. EPITAl'II ON MRS. ELIZAHETH COKIJETT. ' Heuk vosts H Woman, Good without ])roton<',(\ Blest with ])lain Jtouscm, and with Huhor Sonso ; No Oonfunsts slip, but o'er her Self, dcsirM, No Arts ossay'd, but not to bo admir'd : Tassion and J'rido woro to her Soul unknown ; Convino'd that Virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so compos'd a Mind, So firm, yet soft, so strong,', yet so refined, Heaven, as its imrest (xold, by Tortun^s tritd ; The Saint sustain 'd it, but the Woman died. JAMES TlIOxMSON. Born 1700. Died 1748. FROM "THE SEASONS." A 8NOW SCENE. The keener tempests come ; and fuming dun From all the livid east, or piercing north, Thick clouds ascend— in whose capacious womb A vapory deluge lies, to snow congealed. Heavy they roll their fleecy world along ; And the sky saddens with the gathered storm. Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends At first thin wavering ; till at last the tiakts Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the day With a continual flow. The cherished fields Put on their winter-robe of purest white. 'Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts Abng the mazy current. Low the woods Bow their hoar head ; and, ere the languid sun Fain from the west emits his evening ray. Earth's universal face, deep-iud and chill, » In St. Margaret's Church, Westminster. 110 KKJIITEKNTH CKNTURY. P Is one wulo dazzling wanto. that b„rio« wi,l« The works of n.«n. Drooping, tho laborer-nx 1 ho f ru t of all his toil. Tho fowls of hoavon la»no.l by tho cruel season, crow.l aro„„.I ' Wh ,, rovu ence assigns then,. One alor.o. 11.0 o.Ibroast, sacred to the househoM go.ls W,sel.v rcgari''"^' ^^ "^ «"-me;-months jytb hght and heat reftilgent. Then thy sun And o thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks • Ami oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. lb brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined SAMIEIi JOHNSON". Ill And sproiulH iv coniinon foant for all tlmt lives. Ill Winter awful thou ! with cloudH uiid stonuH Around thoo thrown, tompoHt o'er tonipoHt rolled, MiijcHtie diirknoHS ! on the whirlwind' h wing, Hiding Hublime thou bidnt the world udoro. And huiiibleHt niituro with thy northern bluHt. SAMUEL JOHNSON. Born 1709. Died 1784. THE FALL OF GREATNESS. In f nil-blown dignity hoc Wolsey stftnd, Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand : To him the church, the realm, their powers consign. Through him the rays of regal bounty shine : Turned by his nod the stream of honour flows, His smile alone security bestows : Still to new heights his restless wishes tower, Claim leads to claim, and power advances power ; Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, And rights submitted left him none to seize : At length his sovereign frowns— the train of state Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eyt>, His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly ; Now drops at once the pride of awful state, Tlie golden canopy, the glittering plate. The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liveried army, and the menial lord. With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed. He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings, And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. Speak thou whose thoughts at humble peace repine, Shall Wolsey' s wealth with W^olaey's end be thine ? Or liv'st thou now, with safer j)ride content. The wisest justice on the banks of Trent V For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, On weak foundations raise th' enormous weight ? :fl Iti r 118 KrniiTKKVTir centuuy. W ;! ;"* o H,nk honoath misfortnno'H blow. AVlmt guvogreut Villiors to tlf assassin's knifo A hut „„„.aoro.l Wontworth. and ^vhat oxile.l Hy.lc y k;««s protocto.,. ana to kinKs allie.I y ' ' ^Mmt but their wish in.lnlg...! in ..o„rts to shin.. Ami ,..nv..r too g,vat to k.M,.. or to rosi^n. A\ h.n hrst tho oollogo rolls r.-oivos his na.n., rhe young enthusiast .^uits h,s ease for lanu, • I{os:stlos3 burns tho fever of renown uught from tho strong contagion of 'the gown • An.l Bacon s n.ansiou tror bios o'er his laca.l ' AuUhe.o thy views ? Proceed, illustrious youth And y.rtue guard thee to tho throne of Truth ' T 11 captive Science yields her last retreat ; Should lleason guide thoe with her brightest ray. And pour on nnsty doubt resistless day • Should no false kindness lure to loose delight Nor praise relax, nor ditKculty fright ■ ' Should tempting Novelty tliy"cell refrain. And S oth effuse her opiate fumes in vain • Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart', Nor claim the triumphs of a lettered heart Shoukl no disease thy torpid veins invade. Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shide • let hope not life from gx-ief or danger free, ' Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee • Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes And pause awhile from letters to be wise • ' Ihere mark what ills the scholar's life ass'ail. Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,' Jo buried merit raise the tardy bust If -Ire^vms yet flatter, once again attend. tii. Lyd.at's life, and Galileo's end •-.":^^.;r:'r;:.r ;::s"r ^^ni" ""--- "-"— such an aociden, it wan pulled .low: nia" yolZZi. ''" "'" '' ''" "^'■^'"' SAMUKL .TOHNSO.V. 11!5 the ^I'lit On whiit fonndfttion Htftnds tho wfirrinr's ]»ri(l(', How juHt luH hopoH, lot KwediHh Chiirkm diicido ; A friiine of ndaimmt, u Honl of flro, No dimt,'orH fright him, and no labours tiro ; O'er love, o'or four, extondH Iuh wide domain, Uu(ion(iuorod lord of ploaHurc and of pain ; No joys to him pacitie HceptrcH yield. War HoundH tlu! trunii>, Iw rnsheH to tlio field ; IJehold Hurroundint,' kings their powers combine, And one capitulate, and one resign ; Peaeo courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain, " Think nothing gained," he cri(!s, " till nouglit remain, On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards dy, And all be mine beneath the polar sky." The march begins in military state. And nations on his eye susj)ended wait, otern Famine guards tho solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost ; He comes, nor want nor cold his cours*; delay ; — Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pnltowa's day : The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands. And shows his misericis in distant lands ; (!ondemned a needy suppliant to wait. While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. Hut did not Chance at U ^gth her error mend ? 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 destined to o. barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand. ; He left tho name, at whi(!h the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a talc. # # « « » # The bold Bavai-ian, in a luckless hour. Tries tho bold summits of Cicsarian power, With unexpected legions bursts away. And sees defenceless realms receive his sway : Hliovt sway ! fjiir Austria spreads her mournful cluinns, The (pieen, tho beauty, sets the world in arms ; From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blazo Spreads forth the hope of plunder and of praise ; The fierce Croatian, anu the wild Hussar, -s ! Ill :f ; [ 114 A,.,1 of 1 :""'''»*• «"*^ '"« -ubjectH blamo ""■"""'^ """■■'- '«-*».... fro;,, .,„.„, ^'unitj/ 0/ J/uman Wishes, 1)1 .OIll i1. ^VILLIAM COLLINS. Born 1781. Died 17fl!(. ODE ON THE BEATiT^^MK. THOMSON. In von.lor grave a Druid li«„. WhoroHlowly Winds the stealing wave; The yearn best sweets shall duteous rise To deck Its poefs sylvan grave. Ia|,*deep bed of whispering reeds H s airy harp shall now be laid. IJi-. he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds May love through life the soothing shide. Then maids and youths shall linger hero :^:^;"^-^— ^-tdistanee'swell' Shall sadly .seem in pity's ear To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. When Thames m .ummer wreaths is drest And ot suspend f. dashing oar. i'o bid his gentle spirit rest ! And oft. as ease and health retire To bre.x.y lawn, or forest deep, The fnend shall view yon whitening spire • And mid the varie.l landscape weep ^ut thou, who own'str,hac earthy bed Ah what will every di. , avail f ' Or tears, which love and . v s^. ' That mourn beneath the ni;, ,^^1; ^Rleh,..nd Church, in Which Thomson was buried <1 " Ho on the 1 ! ,«a, near WILLIAM COLLINS. 115 Yot livoH thoro nno whnso hoodlosrt oyo Shall Hcorn thy pivin Hhrino RliininorinK nour? With him, Hwoot Imrd, iniij' fimcy dio, And joy desort tho blooming yciir. But thou, lorn stjoat-i, whoso Bullcn tido No Hodnecrowpcd siwtorh now nttond, Now wiift 1110 froiii tho groen hill'K sido, Whos»< cold turf i idoH tho huriod frioad ! Anl r tho f.iiry valloyH fivlo ; Dun night Ims veilod tho soloriiii vit'w ! Yet once afiain, dear parted Hhail(>, Meek naturo's chihl, again adieu ! Tho genial nioadH, asHignod to Mess Thy life, sliall mourn tliy early doom ; Their hinds and sheplienl girls shall dress, With simple hands, thy rural tomb. Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay Shall melt the musing ]{riton's eyes : O vales and wild woods ! shall ho say, In yonder grave your Druid lies I AN ODE. WRITTEN IN THE YEAK 1740. How sleep tho brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, lleturns to dock their hallowi d mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Thar Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a ])ilgrim gray. To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell, a weeping hermit, there ! THE PASSIONS. When Music, heavenly maid, was young. While yet in early Greece she sung. — 116 it, i If ^l EIGHTEENTH CENTUity. The Passions oft, to hear her shdl Thronged around her n.agio cell ' Possest beyond the muse's painting % urns they felt the glowing nunfr i ilic.l w,th fury, rai.t, inspired. From the supporting myrtles rmmd Thoy snatched her instruments oi ound ■ And. as they oft had heard apart "'' ^«eetessons of her forceful art Each (for Madness ruled the hour) J^^-uld prove his own expressive power F<-t Fe,r, his hand, its skill to try Amulthe chords bewildered laid And back recoiled, he knew not why -Hght^;^^-^--, f ""« rude clash he struck the lyre ' And swept with hurried hands the s'trings ^°'V""^^ ««»^ds his grief beguiled • T«as sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild ^-t thou. O Hope, with eyes so fair AMjatM^as thy delighted measure? ' , " ;t whispered promised pleasure And from the rocks, the woods, the vai: ' ering look. The war-denouncing trumpet took, WILLIAM COLLINS. 117 And blew a blast so loud and droad, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woo ! And, ever and auou, ho beat The doubling drum, with furious heat ; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien. While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed ; Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; And now it courted love, now raving called on hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired, And, from her wild sequestered seat. In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soid : And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Kound an holy calm diffusing. Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. Her bow across her shoulder flung. Her buskins gemmed with morning dew. Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung. The hunter's call to faun and dryiid known ! The oak-crownod sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen. Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; And Sport leapt np, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing. ! - 1 1 118 KroiITKKNTII CENTURY. I Firnt to tho lively pipe his h„nd n.ldrcnt • u soon he saw the brisk awakenu:;:;, Anndst the festal sounding sha.l.-s ' lo 8on.o nnwearici n.instrol daricin. Wh. e as h,s flying fi^.^^s kissod tl'", strings And he. amidst his frolic p,','" "" """""'^ ' Shook thousand odours f mn, ),;. 1 . oM,.icisphere.des.;:;:;',::;-^-^-^-»««- Fnend of pleasure, wisdom-said. Why.goddess! why. to us denied Lay St thou thyancient lyre aside? As, m that loved Athenian bower lou learned an all.connnanding power T^.ynn,nicsoul. O nymph ondeaLd' Can well recall what then it heard • J.^ '''7 '^"^yP-^tive simple heart, lievote to virtue, fancy, „rt v Arise, as in that elder time Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime i Thy wonders, in that godlike age. iMllthyrecordingsistcrspago - lis said, and I believe the tale I'Z ^""^^^^«* ^««'^ «""1.1 inore prevail Had more of strength, diviner rigo ^l.m n^l which charms this laggard age - E en all at once together found, Ce^chas mingled world of sound- O bid our vain endeavours cease; Revive the just designs of Oreece : Rettirn in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate I THOMAS GRAY. 119 THOMAS GUAY. Born 1710, Died 1771. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Thk ciirfew tolls tho knell of parting duy, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves tho world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all tho air a solemn stillness holds ; Save wl'( ro the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinkliugs lull the distant folds : Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to tho moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Reneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid. The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or tho echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 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. Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bowed the woods beneath their .sturdy stroke ! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur here with a disdainful smile. The short and aiirple annals of the poor. i i 120 EIGHTEENTH CEKTURY. The boast of heraldry, tho pomp of power And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike the inevitable hour • ' The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor yon, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies rai.; m.e through the long-drawn aish! ZZ^^, ,,,,, Ihe peahng anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust Can Honour s voice provoke the silent dust. Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial lire • Oi Maked to ecstasy the living lyre. Btit knowledge to their eyes her ample page I ich with the spoils of time, did L'er u'n;oll ; Chill penury repressed their noble rage And froze the genial current of the soul. Fiill many a gem of purest ray serene he dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear • Full many a flower is born to blush unseen " And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast. 1 he little tyrant of hi.s fields withstood • Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Tl^ applause of listening senates to command The threats of pain an.l ruin to despise, ' lo soatta- plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade : nor eircumsoribed alone iheir growing virtues, but their crimes confined • i orbade to wade through slaughter to a throne ' And shut the gates of mercy on mankind THOMAS GRAY. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or hcaj) the shrine of luxury and jjride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; Along the cool sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their names, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse. The place of fame and elegy sujjply ; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfixlness a prey, This pleasing anxioTis being e'er resigned. Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. Nor cast one longing ingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead. Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, '* Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn. Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn, " There at the foot of yonder nodding beech. That wreathes its old fantastic roota so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 131 ■M : '' 1 122 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. " ?''! ^^ ^""^ '^'"'^' ""^ «™"i"8 as in scorn. Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove • Now drooping woeful-wan; like one forlorn Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. " One morn I missed him on the customed hill Along the heath, and near his favourite tree • Another came, nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne ; Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay (craved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.'' THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head; upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown • J^ air Science frowned not on his humble birth " And Melancholy marked him for her own. ' Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; Heaven did a recompense as largely semi' • He gave to misery all he had, a tear • He gained from Heaven, 'twas all L wished, a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose or draw his frailties from their dread abode. ( 1 here they alike in trembling hope repose ) Ihe bosom of his Father and his God. HYMN TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove, relentless power. Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge, and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain. The proud are taught to taste of pain. And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, designed, THOMAS GRAY. 123 To thee he gave the heavenly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore With patience many a year sho bore : What sorrow-was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, liy Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe ; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed. Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity, the general friend. With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear. O gently on thy suppliant's head. Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening h.'ind ! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Not circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien. With screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound, my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive. Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. n i!1 L> 124 EIGHTEENTH CENTUllY. 3 if THE JJARD. I. " Rum seize thee, ruthless King ! ('Onfusion on thy banners wait ' Though fanned by Conquest's crimson M'ing I liey mock the air with idle state Helm, nor hauberk's' twisted mail Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears >" Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the hrst Edward scattered wild dismay As down the steep of Snowdon 's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array. Stout Gloster '^ stood aghast in speechless tranJe • lo arms ! cried^ Mortimer.^ and couched his quivering I. 2. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er cold Conway's foaming flood, Kobed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood'; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair ' Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a master's hand, and prophet's lire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre "Hark, hew each giant oak, and desert cave Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath' O er thee, O King ! their hundred arms they wave Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe • ' Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. I. 3. Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. That hushed the stormy main : ' The hauberk wan a texture of "tool HnH^*- .. • law to King Edward. ' ^""^ "^ Gloucester and Hertford, aon-Iu- « Edmund de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. THOMAS (}U\Y, 125 Brave Urien sleeps upon bis craggy bed : Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made bnge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. On dreary Arvon's • shore they lie, Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale : Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famished eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cli.'Ts, a griesly band, I see them sit, they linger yet. Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join. And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy lino. 11. 1. " Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race : Give ami)le room, and verge enough The characters of hell to trace. Mark the year, and mark the night. When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death, through Berkeley's roof that ring,' Shrieks of an agonizing king ! She-wolf of France,^ with unrelenting fangs. That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven. ■• What terrors round him wait ? Amazement in his van, with flight combined, And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. n. 2. " Mighty victor, mighty lord ! Low on his funeral couch he lies !^ ' Tha Hhorps of Oaernarvoi!>-h!re. opposite Angiesea. » Edward II., murdered in Berkeley Castle. » Isabel of Prance, wife of Edward II. ■" Edward III. gained many victorien in France. » Edward III., deserted on liis deatli-bed by his cliildren and robbed in hia laafc moments by his courtiera and mistress, who even drew the rings off his Angers. ^^^ EIGHTEKNTH (JENTUUY. No pitying heart, no eyo, afford A tear to grace his obHequies. Is tho Hablo warrior ' fled ? Thy son is goi^e. He rests among the dead Ihe swann. that in thy noontide beam were bom? done to sahite the rising morn. Fair laughs the morn, and soft'the zephvr blowa While proudly riding o'er the azun. r.ulm Iii gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at tho hohn ' Kegurdless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway That, hushed in grim repose, expects his evening prey. II. 3. *• Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare. Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful suiilo upon their bafHed guest Heard ye the din of battle bray,* Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? Long years of havoc urge their destined course And through the kindre.l squadrons mow their «'av Ye towers of Julius,^ London's lasting shame W ith many a foul and midnight murder fed Kevere his consort's faith,4 his father's fame ' And spare the meek usurper's holy head.6 Above, below, the rose of snow, i Twined with her blushing foe, we spread ! The bristled boar « in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom htamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. » The Black Prince. » Tli€ wars of York and Lancaster and Rlc'hlrTDukl of y"".' ""''""" """■" ^'•' '^'°'^' °"'^« of Clarence, Edward V * Margaret of Anjou. • Henry VI.. who wa. nearly canonized. ' °"''^' '^'• The white and red roses, devices of York and Lancaster ^ilvfrtar! "' ^^"^ "^"^"^ ''^^^'^ '^ ^'^ ^^ ^ ^^^ Bolr, r.on. hisdevice of the TFIOMAS GRAY. 187 III. I. " Edwnrd, lo ! to andden fate (Weftve wo the woof. Tlio thread is . pnn.) Half of thy heart wo consecrate.' (The web in wove. The work is done. ) Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn Leave me unblesHod, nnpitiod, hero to mourn : In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight ! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! No more our long-lo^it Arthur ' we bewail. All hail, ye genuine kings, ^ Britannia's issue, hail I III. 2. " Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine ! Her oye.proclaims her of the Briton-line ; Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face. Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air. What strains of vocal transport round her play. Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,'* hear ; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of heaven her many-coloured wings. in. 3. " The verse adorn again Fierce war, and faithful love. And truth severe, by fairy diction drest. I; n ' Eleanor of Caatlle died a few years after the conquest of Wales. » It was a common belief of the Welsh nation that King Arthur was still alive In Fairyland, and would return to reign over Britain. • Merlin and Taliessin had ])rophesied that the Welsh should regain their sover- eignty over the island, which prophecy t^eemed to be accomplished in the House of Tudor. * T*lle«8ln, chief of the bards, who flourished in the sixth century. 188 ErOIITKKNTir CENTUUY. In biiHkinpfl moftHiuoH ' niovo Talo Kricf, and pl.-nHinj^ puin, With liorror, tyrant of th.. throM.inKbronHt. A voice,'' iiH of tho chonih-choir, GftloH from liloominp Edon Ixur ;' And distant warhlingH ■' losscn ;„y oar, Timt lost in lon^,' fntnrity (>\,,ir(>. Fond impious man, tliinkst (l.ou yun san^nin,, rlond, KaiKod by thy breath, has (inonchcd tiu. orb of day'' To-morrow lio repairs tlio gohlen flood, And warn)s tho nations with redoubled ray. Enough for mo ; with joy I see The different doom our fates asiiign. Bo thine despair, and scei)tred care, To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke, ond headlong from tho mountain's height Deep m tho roaring tide he plunged to endless night. OLIVER GOLDSMFTir. Born 1728. Died 1774. THE TKAVELLEK. Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po'; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian I'.oor Against the houseless strnnger shuts tho door ; Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, A weary waste expanding to the skies ; Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see. My heart, untravellod, fondly turns to thoe : Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a length'ning chain. Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ; Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire ; Blest that abode, where want and pain repair. And every stranger finds a ready chair : ' Shakespeare. , » The euccesgion of poets, after Milton's time. ' '°'*' OLIVKIt GOLDSMITFr. 129 Blest bo thoHo feaHtH. with Hin.plo plenty crowno.l. VVhoro ftll the nuhly fiiniily ftrouiid LfiijKh lit the jostH and priinks that novor fail, Or siyh with pity at mmw nioiirnful talo ; Or proHH tho bashful Htran^,'l.r to his food,' And loarn tho luxury of doiuK Kood. Jiut 1IU3, not dostin.-d such doliKhtH to sliaro, My primo of lifo in wnndring spont and cai^ ; Iinpcllod with stt-ps unceasinK to pursue Homo tlootinK good, that mocks mo with tho view ; Tliat liko tho circlo bounding oarth and skies, Allures from far, yot as I follow. Hies ; My fortune loads to traverse realms alone. And find no spot in all tho world my own! * THE HAPPIEST SPOT. But, where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that hai)picst spot his own ; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease : The naked negro panting at tho lino, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,' And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boa.st, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home. And yet. perhaps, if countries we compare. And estimate tho blessings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; As different good, by art or nature given. To different nations makes their blessings even. From The Traveller. THE VILLAGE CLERGYMAN. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,' The village preacher's modest mansion rose. M - f II 130 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Kemote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doclrines fashioned to the varying hour. Far other aims his heart had learned to prize. More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; The long-remembered beggar was his guest. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed : The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire and talked the night away, '" Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow. And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan. His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty, prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring 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 dismayed. 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 faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace. His looks adorned the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. The service past, around the pioiiR man, With steutly zeal, each honest rustic ran'; E'en children followed, with endearing wile And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ■ To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven As some tall clitf that lifts its awful form Swells from the vale, and midway leave sthe storm Though round its breast the rolling clouds are sprJad Eternal sunshine settles on its head. From Tht Deserted VUlwje. STANZAS ON WOMAN. When lovely woman stoops to foll.v, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is- to die. From The Vicar of Wakefield. RETALIATION. Of old, when Scarron his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united If our landlord ' supplies us with beef 'and with fish Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish • Our dean '^ shall be ven'son, just fresh from the plains • Our Burke •' shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains'- Our Will ^ shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour • And Dick ■'" with his pepper shall heighten the savour • Our Cumberland's « sweetbread its place shall obtain ; h' '!!;'.'""'*':'■ °!'.^\J'»'"'^^^'« coffee-house, where the doctor ancl the fri.p.i- he has cbaracicnzcd in the poem, occnPioiinlly dined '"" Dr. Barnard, Dean of Derry, in Ireland s vr. i? i ., t, , '« «'^'« -»'« 'l-n the » Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of " False Delicacy." • Mr. Woodfall, printerof the Morning Chronicle. I 11 134 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind ; His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our h(^art : To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing ; When they talked of their Raphaels, Coneggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumiMt,' and only took suull. WILLIAM COWPER Born 1731. Died 1800. LINES ON RECEIVING HIS MOTHER'S PICTURE. O THAT those lips had language ! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lipr! are thine—tliy own sweet smile I see, The .snme that oft in childhood solaced me ; Voice only f iU\ else how distinct they say, " Gridvo not, my child, chase all thy fears away !" The meek intelligence of those dear eyes (Blest be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim To quench it) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, welcome guest, though unexpected here ! Who bid'stme honour with an artless song, Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone. But gladly, as the precept were her own : And, while that face renews my filial grief. Fancy shall weave a charn- for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream that thou art she. My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? » S!r Joshua Reynolds wafl sc deaf that he wasoliliged to use an ear-trumpet in company. WILLIAM COWPER. 135 Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ' Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kisB • Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss- ' Ah that maternal smile ! it answers -Yes I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, ' I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ' But was it such?_It was. -Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown • May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Ihy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern. Ott gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wished I long believed And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By expectation every day beguiled. Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot ■ But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er'forgot Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more Children not thine have trod my nursery floor • ' And where the gardener Robin, day by day Drew me to school along the public wav Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped Jn scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped. Tis now become a history little known That once we called the pastoral house 'our own baort-hved possession ! but the record fair That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, btUl outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeplv traced. Ihy nightly visits to my chamber made. That thou might' St know me safe and warmly laid ; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, The biscuit, or confectionery plum ; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed ^. AH this, and, more endearing still than all Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall If 136 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. I.' "f p f Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks, That humour interposed too often makes ; All this still legible on memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile). Could those few pleasant days again appear. Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? I would not trust my heart— the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.— But no— What here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle. Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below. While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore " Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar." ' And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. Always from port withheld, always distressed— Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost. And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prospei'ous course. Yet O the thought that thou art safe, and he ! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 1 Gatth, WILLIAM COWPER. My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth- JJut higher far my proud pretensions rise~ The son of parents passed into the skies. And now, farewell-Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done By contemplation's help, not sought in vain. 1 seem to have lived my childhood o'er again • To have renewed the joys that once were mine. Without the sin of violating thine ; And while the wings of fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, ' Time has but half succeeded in his theft'. Thyself removed, thy power to soothe mo left. AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. Dear Joseph, -five and twenty years ago— Alas, how time escapes !— 'Tis even so-- With frequent intercourse, and always sweet And always friendly, we were wont to cheat ' A tedious hour— and now we never meet 1 As some grave gentleman in Terence says ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days). Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brin.'s— Strange fluctuation of all human things ! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, But distance only cannot change the heart : And, were I called to prove th' assertion true. One proof should serve -a reference to you Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life. Though nothing have occurrod to kindle strife' We find the friends we fancied wo had won. Though numerous once, reduced to few or none V Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch ? No ; gold they seemed, but they were never such. ^ Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overawed Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad. ••Go, fellow! -whither ?"-turning short about -^ •• Nay. Stay at home— you're always going out. ' ' " 'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end " "For whaty--.. An please you, sir, to see a friend." 137 * i II 138 ETGHTEKNTII CENTURY. " A friend !" Horatio cried, and seemed to starts " Yoa marry slialt thou, nud witli all my heart - And fetch my cloak ; for, though the niglit be raw, I'll see him too the first I ever saw." I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his plaything often Avhon a child ; ]5nt something at that moment pinched him caoso, Else he was seldom bitter or morose. Perhaps, his confidence jnst then betrayed, His grief might prompt him with the speech he made : I'erhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth, The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. Howe'er it was, his 1 iiguage in my mind. Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. But not to moralize too much, and strain To prove an evil, of which all complain, (I hate long arguments verbosely spun,) One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, No matter where, in China or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well-known duties of a friend. Convicted once should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. The punishment importing this, do doubt, Tliat all was naught within, and all found out. happy Brittiin ! we have not to fear Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; Else, could a law, like that which I relate. Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old, Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, Jlight traverse England safely to and fro. An honest man, close-buttoned to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within. THE CASTAWAY. Obscuhest night involved the sky. The Atlantic billows roared. When such a destined wretch as I, Washed headlong from on board, "WILLIAM COWI'ER. 130 Of friends, of hope, of all bcroft. His floating homo for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast, Than lie, with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Allnon's coast With warmer wishes sent. He loved them both, but both in vain, Nor him lieheld, nor her aKain. Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay ; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away ; But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. Hg shouted ; nor his friends had failed To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevailed, That, pitiless perforce. They left their outcast mate behind And scudded still before the wind. ' Some s 'ccour yet they could afford ; And such as storms allow, The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delayed not to bestow. But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore Whate'er they gave, should visit more.' Nor, cruel as it seemed, could ho Their haste himself condemn Aware that flight, in such a sea'. Alone could rescue them ; Yet bitter felt it still to die ' Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld ; And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repelled ; And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried " Adieu !" \ i 140 III ' m EIGHTKENTir CENTURY. At length, his triinsient respite jxist, His comrades, who hoforo IIiul heard liis voice in every blast, Conld catch the sound no more : For then, hy toil siibdnod, hn drank The stifling wave, and then lie sank. Nf) poet wept him ; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear : And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore i)nrpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme A more endiiring date : But misery stil! delights to trace Its semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allayed, No light propitious shone. When, snatched from all effectual aid, "We perished, each alone : But I beneath a rougher pea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. PEOVIDENCE. God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perfonn ; He plants His footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up His bright designs. And works His sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ; The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. WILLIAM COVVPKR. 141 JikIro not the Lord by feeblo KnnKo, hni trust Him for His pnvcti ; Bohind II frowuiii},' Providouco He hides a smiliiij,' face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour ; The bud may have a V)itter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain ; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain. THE JOURNEY TO EMMAUS. It happened on a solemn eventic!«>. Soon after He that was our Surety died, Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined. The scene of all those sorrows left behind, Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event : They spake of Him they loved, of Him whose life, Thouf^h blameless, had incurred jierpetual strife. Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore, The farther traced, enriched them still the more ; They thought Him, and they justly thought Him, ono Sent to do more than ho appeared t' have done ; T' exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wondered He should die. Ere yet they brought their joiirney to an end, A stranger joined them, courteous as a friend. And asked them with a kind engaging air What their affliction was, and begged a share. Informed, he gathered up the broken thread, And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explained, illustrated, and searched so well The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell. That reaching home, " The night," they said, "is near. We must not now be parted, sojourn here." i I 14S ElGHTKK^TII CKNTUICY. Tho m.w acquftintanco Hoon becamo a giiont. And, inado .sn welcome at their simple foaHt', Ho blesHed the })read, but vaniNhed at tlie word. And loft thorn both exclaiming, " 'Twas tho Lord 1 Bid not our hearts feel all Ho .leignod to say, Bid ttiey not burn within us by the way ?" "^ ' From ConvrfKoliim. GOD IN CKEATION. There lives and works A sonl in all things, and that soul is God. The beauties of the wilderness are His, That make so gay the solitary place, Where no oye sees them ; and the fairer forms. That cultivation glories in, are His. He sets the bright procession on its way, And marshals all tho order of the year ;' Ho marks the bounds that Winter may not pass. And blunts his pointed fury ; in its caw... Itusset and rude, folds up the tender germ, Uninjured, with inimitable art ; And ore one flowery season fac\cs and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the next. Tho Lord of all. Himself througli all diffused, Sustains, and is the life of all tiiat lives. Nature is but a name for an effect, Whose cause is God . . . One spirit- His, Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, Rules universal nature. Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes. In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth. Hai)py who walks with Him ! whom what he find.s Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, Or what he views of beautiful or grand In nature, from the broad niivi: ,i; • .: -k, To the green blade, that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God. From The Task. WTLMAM COWl'EU. 143 AUTOBIOGKAPHICAL. I WAH a Htrickcn deer, that left the ^ord TiOiif,' Hiime ; with luauy an arrow (Iceji infixed My pantint^ Hide was charged, when I withdrevr To st!( k a tran(iuil death in distant sliades. There was I found Vjy One, who liad Himself Uecn hurt ^>y the an-hcrs. In I[is side he hore, And in His hands and feet, the eruel scars. With f{entlo force solitiitini^ the darts, He drew them forth, and heakid, and bad«^ me live. Kinee then, with few associates, in rtanote And silent woods I wandered, far f lom those My former partners of the jjeopled scene ; With few associates, and not wishinf^ more. Here nuu li I ruminate, as much I may, With other views of men and manners now Than onot>, and others of a life to come. I see that all are wanderers, gone astray Each in his own dehasions ; they are lost In chase of fancied happiness, still wood And never won. Dream after dream ensues, And still they dream that they shall still suceecd And still are disappointed. Rings the worii ' With the vain stir. I sum up half mankintl. And add two thirds of the I'emaining haU", And find the total of their hopes and fc irs Dreams, empty dreams. From The Task. m GRACE AND THI WORLD. "Adieu," Vinoso cries, ere yet he sips The purple bumper trend)ling at his lips, " Adieu to all morality, if Grace Make works a vain ingredient in the case. My Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork - If I mistake not — Blockhead ! with a fork Without good works, whatever some may boast, Mere folly and delusion. — Sir, your toast. My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes, That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and his crimes With nice attention, in a righteous scale. And save or damn as these or those prevail. 144 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. I plant my foot upon ttis ground of trust And silence every fear with— God is just. ' But if perchance on some dull drizzling day A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say If thus the important cause is to be tried Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side • I soon recover from these needless frights And God is merciful-sets all to rights. Thus, between justice, as my prime support And mercy, fled to as the last resort, I glide and steal along with heaven in view And-pardon me, the bottle stands with you " " I never will believe, " the Colonel cries " The sanguinary schemes that some devise Who make the good Creator on their plan A Being of less equity than man. If appetite, or what divines call lust Which men comply with, even because they must Be punished with perdition, who is pure ? Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine, is sure If sentence of eternal pain belong To every sudden slip and transient wrong, Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail' A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail My creed (whateyer some creed-makers mean By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene). My creed is, he is safe that does his best, And death's a doom sufficient for the rest," " Right," says an ensign, " and for aught I see Your faith and mine substantially agree ; The best of every man's performance here Is to discharge the duties of his sphere A lawyer's dealing should be just and fair Honesty shines with great advantage there Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, A decent caution and reserve at least. A soldier's best is courage in the field, With nothing here that wants to be co'ncealed • Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ; A hand as liberal as the light of day. ' The soldier thus endowed, who never shrinks Nor closets up his thought, whate'er he thinks WILLIAM COWPER. 145 "Who scorns to do an injury by stealth, Must go to heaven— and I must drink his health. Sir Smug," he cries (for lowest at the board, Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord, His shoulders witnessing by many a shrug How much his feelings suffered, sat Sir Smug), " Your office is to winnow false from true ; Come, prophet, drink, and tell us, what think you ?" Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass. Which they that woo preferment rarely pass, "Fallible man," the church-bred youth replies, "Is still found fallible, however wise ; And differing judgments serve but to declare That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. Of all it ever was my lot to read. Of critics now alive, or long since dead. The book of all the world that pleased me most Was— well-a-day, the title-page was lost ; The writer well remarks, a heart that knows To take with gratitude what Heaven bestows. With prudence always ready at our call. To guide our use of it, is all in all. Doubtless it is.— To which, of my own store I superadd a few essentials more. But these, excuse the liberty I take, I waive just now, for conversation's sake."— " Spoke like an oracle !" they all txclaim, And add Right lieverend to Smug's honoured name. From ifopfli BOADICEA. AN ODE, 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 Sat the Druid, hoary chief. Every burning word he spoke Full of rage and full of grief : " Princess ! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. " Rome shall pensh - write thai word In the blood that she has spilt ; Perish hopeless and abhorred. Deep in rnin as in guilt. "Rome, for empire far renown- ed. Tramples on a thousand states : t i I'l il I i I' I n ■ 14G EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, — Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates. " Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name. Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. " Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed 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. Rushed to battle, fought and died, Dying, hurled them at the foe. " Ruffians, pitiless as proud. Heaven awards the justice due; Empire is on us bestowed, Shame and ruin wait for you !" KOBERT BURNS. Born 1739. Died 1796. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem : To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonny gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonny lark, companion meet Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet Wi' speckled breaat, When upward-springing, blithe, to great The purpling east, Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm ; Scarce reared above the parent-earth Thy tender form. ROBERT BURNS. 147 The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield. But thou, beneath the random bield O' clod, or stane, Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble gtiise ; But now the share uptears thy bed. And low thou lies ! Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! By love's simplicity betra.v , And gi trust. Till she, like the, all soileu, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless-starred ! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. And whelm him o'er ! Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink. Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, mined, sink ! Even thou who mourn' st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine— no distant date ; Stern Ruin'c ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom ! i . f I m 148 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. TO A MOUSE. ON TURNING HER UP [N HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH. Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'i us beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickerin brattle ' I I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle » ! I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union. An' justifies that ill opinion. Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born ompanion, An' fellow-mortal ! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live f A daimen-icker s in a thrave 'S a sma' request : I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, And never miss't ! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruiu ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ! An- naething, now, tc big ^ a new one, O' fogghge green ! An" bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell 5 and keen . Thou saw the fc Ms laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell. Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! i 4 """^' , * hand-stick for clearing tlie plongh. • An ear of corn now and then ; a thrave is twenty-four sheaves. """''• » bitter. aOBERT BURNS. Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, But ' house or hald,' To thole' the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch * cauld I 149 ijiM li But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,' m proving foresight may be vain : The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men. Gang aft agley,* An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain For promised joy. Still thou art blest, compared wi' me 1 The present only toucheth thee : But, och ! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear I An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear ! t li A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate ' to seek, owre proud to snool * ? Let him draw near ; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. That weekly this arena throng ? O, pass not by ! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here heave a sigh. Is there a man whose judgment clear. Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career Wild as the v/ave ? Here pause —and, thro' the starting tear Survey this grave. 1 ■ I i 1 » without. * thyself alone. * hol(lin<^ • awry. • endure. » bashful. ♦ hoar-fromt. « submit tainti^. 150 Is n I- it.. iJlGUTEENTH CEKTUKY. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know And keenly felt the friendly glow, * And softer flame ; But thoughtless follies laid him low. And stained his name i Reader, attend-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole. Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. In low i)ursuit ; Know prudent, cautious self-control Is wisdom's root. TO MARY IJi HEAVEN. Thou lingering star, with lessening ray That lov'st to g/eet the early morn. * Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O xMary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Scest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? That sacred hour can I forget ? Can I forget the hallowed grove Where by the winding Ayr we me(. To h-^e one day of parting love ?' Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past ; Thy image at our last embrace ; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last I Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green Th6 fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar Twined amorous round tlio raptured 'scene. Ihe flowers sprang wanton to be prest. The birds sang love on every spray,— Till too, too soon, the glowing west ' Proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. And fondly broods with miser care ; ROBERT BURKS. Time but th' impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of bli fill rest? • Beest thou thy lover lowly lid? Hear' at thou the groan« that rend his breast ? 151 M JOHN ANDERSON. MY JO. John Anderson, ray jo, John, Wheix we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven. Your bonnie brow was brent ; ' But now your brow is held, John, Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegether ; And monie a canty day, J.^hn, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go. And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. it I A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty. That hangs his head, and a' that ? The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a" that ; The rank is but the guinea stamp ; The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine. Wear hoddin-grej%- and a' that ; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man, for a" that. H smootb. coarse wuolleii cloth. 153 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 1 Tor a' that, and a' that : Their tinsel show, and a' that • The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor. Is King o' men for a' that. Yeseeyonbirkie," ca'dalord Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Tho hundreds worship at his word He's but a coof » for a' that : i'or a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind. He looks and laughs at a ' that. A king can mak' a Belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that ' But an honest man's aboon his might (iiide faith, he mauna fa' 3 that ! For a' that, and a' that. Their dignities and a' that. The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' 'the earth May bear the gree,'' and a' that ; For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that ; That man to man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. I^ANNOCKBURN. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallape hl«,i « Welcome to your gorv bed n^ "wer- Or to victorie "^^"'"^ '^'^'^ «'^^^"« •' Now's the dav Rn.l « . X,. ^^'^"^ """^ ^^ '^ *'*'*'*o'" ^^nave ? ^jae day. and now H the Wha can fill a coward's grav«? See the fr^nt o' battle lovver • ^^Y*^; b-^^e «« be a slave ? ^^^ ' Let him turn and flee ! conceited fellow. » blockhead. 'try. ' pre-eminence. ROBERT BURNS. 153 Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or free-man fa ' ? Let him on wi' me ! By oppression's woes and pains ! By yoxir sons in servile chains ! Wo will drain our dearest veins, But they shfUl be free ! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow ! Let us do, or die ! THE MUSE OF SCOTLAND TO ROBERT BURNS. Aiii, hail ! my own inspired Bard ? In me thy native Muse regard ! Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, Thus poorly low ! I come to give thee such reward As we bestow. Know, the great Genius of this land Has many a light, aerial band, Who, all beneath his high command, Harmoniously, As arts or arms they understand. Their labours ply. Thy Scotia's race among them share Some fire the soldier on to dare : Some rouse the patriot up to bare Corruption's heart ; Some teach the bard, a darling care, The tuneful art. * * * * * w Some, bounded to a district-space, Explore at large man's infant race. To mark the embryotic trace Of rustic bard ; And careful note each opening grace, A guide and guard. Of these am I — Coila my name ; And this district as mine I claim, Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, Held ruling pow'r : I marked thy embryo tuneful flame, Thy natal hour. ■l! 154 If': KIOHTEENTH CENTURY. With f„t„re hope. I oft would gaze Fond, on thy liHIo early vvayn."' ^hy rndely-carolled chinUng /.hrano, Fired at tho simple, artless lays Of other times. I Buw thPo seek the sounding shore ^ehghted With the dashing toa'.' Or. when the North his fleecy store Drove thro' the sky I «aw grim Nature's visage hoar Struck thy young eye. Wal""'^. *^\^''^ green-mantled Earth Warm.ehe„shed every floweret's birth And joy and music pouring forth In every grove. I. saw thee eye the general mirth With boundless love. ■ (^a?redfr.K''''''^'^"^---kies. Called forth the reaper's rustling noi e I Haw thee leave their evening ,4" To vent thy bosom's swelling rise In pensive walk. When youthful Love warn, w i,- Keen-shivering sho^bf " '"^' '"'"""e. Ti,« ^' * *^y nerves aloncr Those accents, grateful to thy tonguof' T*o V...,. Th- adored Name, I taught thee how to pour in song. To soothe thy flame. I saw thy pulse's maddening play Wild send thee Pleasure's deWol' way Misled by Fancy's meteor ray. ^' Rnf *., ,. ^y ^^«sion driven , • But yet the light that led astray, Was light from Heaven. T^v w*'r'^""^"-P'^^^^-« «*-ins. Thy loves, the ways of simple swains. ROBKRT BURNS. 155 Till now, o'er all uiy wide domains Thy fame extends ; And some, the pride of Coila's plains, Become thy fric'nds. Thon canst not learn, nor can I show, To paint with Thomson' h landscape glow ; Ci- wake the bosom's melting throe, With Shenstone's art ; Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow Warm on the heart. Yet, all beneath th' unrivalled rose, The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; Tho' large the forest's monarch throws His army shade, Yet green tho juicy hawthorn grows Adown the glade. Then never murmur nor repine ; Strive in thy humble sphere to shuie ; And trust me, not Potosi's mine, Nor King's regard, Can give a bliss o'ermatching tliine, A rustic Bard. To give my counsels all in one, - Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; Preserve the dignity of Man, With soul erect ; And trust, the Universal Plan Will all protect. And wear thou this -she solemn said, And bound the Holly round my head: The polished leaves, and berries red, Did rustling play ; And, like a passing thought, she fled In light away. M I f 166 KrOHTK K NTlf (' K ntu It Y. MINOR POETS. THrMAS TK'KKLL. Born 1686. Died 1740. TO THK EAllL OF WARWICK. ON THE DEATH OF ADDISON. Can I forget the disnml night, that Ravo My soul'H l.oHt part for ever to the grnvo » How silent did liis old conipanions tread «V midnight lamps, the mansions of the dea.l Through breathing statues, then unheeded things Through rows of warriors, and througli walks c.t kings - ' What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire • " The pealing organ, and the passing ciioir • The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid • And the last words, that dust to dust conve'ved » ^^ hile speechless o'er thy closing gi-ave we liend Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend Oh, gone for ever, take this lust adieu ; And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague ' To strew fresh laurels let the task be iiiine A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine • Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone ' If e'er from me thy loved memorial part May shame afflict this alienated heart ■ ' Of thee forgetful if I form a song, My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue My griefs be doubled, from thy image free ' And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee' Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, Sad luxury ! to vulgar minds unknown Along the walls where speaking marble's show What worthies form the hallowed mould below • Proud names, who once the reins of empire held • In arms who triumphed., or in arts exeolled ■ Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of^bl'ood : fetern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood ; 'Addison was buried in Westminster Abbey. June. 1719. MINOU POETS. JuHt men, by whom imimrtial laws wcro given ; And saints wlio taught, and led, the way to heaven. Ne'er to thewo ohamborH, where the mighty rest, Since their foundation, came a nobler guent ; Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convoyed A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade, CHARLES WESLEY. Born 1708. Died 1788. 157 WRESTLING JACOH. Come, O thou Traveller unknown. Whom still I hold, but cannot see ; My company before is gone. And I am left alono with Thee ; With Thee all night I mean to stay, Autl wrestle till the break of day. I need not tell Thee who I am. My misery or sin declare ; Thyself hast called me by my name ; Look on Thy hands, and read it there 1 But Who, I ask Thee, Who art Thou V Tell me thy Name, and tell me now. In vain Thou strugglest to get free, I never will unloose my hold ; Art Thou the Man that died for me ? The secret of Thy love unfold. Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, Till I thy Name, thy Nature know. * * * # * Yield to me now, for I am weak, But confident in self-despair ; Spoak to my heart, in blessings speak, lie conquered by my instant prayer ! Speak, or Thou never hence shall move. And tell me, if thy Name is Love ? 'Tis Love ! 'tis Love ! Thou diedst for me ! I hear thy whisper in my heart ! The morning breaks, the shadows flee ; Pure universal Love Thou art ! I- M' I i i Hi 158 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. I ' To me, to all, Thy bowels move • Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love ! My pmyer hath power with God ; the grao8 Unspeakable I now receive • Through faith I see Thee face'to face I see Thee face to face, and live • In vain I have not wept and strove ; Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love. I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou art ; Jesus, the feeble sinner's Friend ' Nor wilt Thou with the night depart But stay, and love me to the end ! Thy mercies never sliall remove. Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love ! The gun of Eighteousness on me Hath rose, with healing in His win-. • ^Vithered my ^ature•s strength, from Thee My soul its life and succour brings • My help is all laid up above ; Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love. Contented now upon my thigh I halt, till life's short journey end ; All helplessness, all weakness, I On Thee alone for strength depend ; Nor have I power from Thee to move • Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love. Lame as I am, I take the prey. Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome 1 leap for joy, pursue my way. And, as a bounrling hart, fly home ! Through all eternity to prove. Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love ! CATHOLIC LOVE. Weary of all this wordy strife •' The^e notions, forms, and modes, and names. To Thee, the Way, the Truth, the Life Whose love my simple heart inflames. ' Divinely taught, at last I fly, With Thee and Thine to live and die. f,i MINOR POETS. 159 Forth from the midst of Babel brought, Parties and sects I cast behind ; Enlarged my heart, and free my thought. Where'er the latent truth I find, The latent truth with joy to own, And bow to Jesu's name alone. Redeemed by Thine almighty grace, I taste my glorious liberty. With open arms the world embrace, But cleave to those who cleave to Thee ; But only in Thy saints delight, Who walk with God in purest white. One with the little flock I rest, The members sound who hold the Head ; The chosen few, with pardon blest, And by the anointing Spirit led Into the mind that was in Thee, Into the depths of Deity. My brethren, friends, and kinsmen these, Who do my heavenly Father's will ; Who aim at perfect holiness, And all Thy counsels to fulfil, Athirst to be whate'er Thoii art, And love their God with all their heart. For these, howe'er in flesh disjoined, Whate'er dispersed o'er earth abroad, Unfeigned, unbounded love I find, And constant as the life of Grod ; Foiintain of life, from thence it sprung. As pure, as even, and as strong. Joined to the hidden church unknown In this sure bond of perfectness, Obscurely safe, I dwell alone. And glory in th' uniting grace. To me, to each believer, given, To all Thy saints in earth and hesven. f ; 1 1 ! ■ I I i ■j 1 i ! k 1 ilk 160 EIGHTEENTH CENTUKY. CHARLES CHURCHILL. Born 1731, Died ir64. Tis not the babbling of an idle world Where praise and censnre are at random hnrlod. That can the meanest of my thoughts control. Or shake one settled purpose of my soul Free and at large might their wild curses roam it all, It all, alas, were well at home. THOMAS CHATTERTON. Bom 1752. Died 1770. MINSTREL'S O 8INO unto my roundelay, ' O drop the briny tear with me, Dance no more at holy-day. Like a running river be. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. as the winter Black his locks night. White his skin as the summer snow, Red his face as the morning light. Cold he lies in the grave below' My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, AH tinder the willow-tree. Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note, Quick in dance as thought can be, Deft his tabor, cudgel stout. O he lies by the willow-tree I My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed. All under the willow-tree. ROUNDELAY. Hark ! the raven flaps his wing. In the briar'd dell below ; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing. To the nightmares as they go. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. See ! the white moon ehines on high : Whiter is my true love's shroud ; Whiter than the morning sky. Whiter than the evening cloud. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed. All under tbo willow-tree. Here upon my true love's grave. Shall the barren flowers be laid ; Not one holy Saint to save An the coldness of a maid ! My love is dead. Gone to his death-bed. All under the willow-tree. MINOU POETS. Ifil With my hands I'll gi,,i thp hriar^ Round his holy corso to grow. Elfin Faery, light your fires ; Here uiy body Ktill shall bow. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. ^ome, with ncorn-cup and thorn, Drain my heartes blood away, Life and all its good I scorn, Dance by night, or feast by day. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the will(jw-troe. JAMES liKATTlK. Born 1735. Died 1803. THE HERMIT. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove • ' ^Vhen nought but the torrent is heard on the hill And nought but the nightingale's song in the gro'vo • Twas thus, by the cave of the mountam afar. ' While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began • No more with himself, or with nature, at war. ' ' Ho thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. •'Ah ! why thus abandoned to darkness and woo ? Why. lone Philomela, that languishing fall v For spring shall return, and a lover bestow " And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. ' ^ut, If pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay • o so"S;r7'''"V'"^^'""" ' "^^^ "^"« *h- 1° ™"-- Fu 11 Ten"/) " °" P^''^""^^ "^^ *'""« p-« --»y ; rmi , ,uckly they pass-but thej never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the skv B iVlTr^" f *^"Suished her crescent displays ; But lately I marked, when majestic on high bho shone and the planets were lost in her blaze. The path that conducts thee to splendour again : But man s faded glory what change shall renew ? Ah. fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! " 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more • I mourn ; but ye woodlands. I mourn not for you'- For morn is approaching, your charms to restore ' Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew ?■ I 162 if If ■ '■ §9 EIOHTKKNTir CEKTUUY. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I njonrn • Kind nature the embryo blossom will suvo • Bnt when shall spring visit the mouldering nrn ? O, when shall day dawn on the night of tlie grave ? -'Twasthns. by the light of fa;.se science betrayed llmt leads to be-vilder and dazzles to blind My thoughts wont to roa.n. from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind ' ^. P'fcy. great Father of light, ' then I cried 'Thy creature, that fain would not wander from Thee • Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my ,ride • From doubt and from darkness Thou ,u,)y eanst free ! ' •^ And darkness and donbt are now flying away ; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending. And Nature all flowing is Eden"^ first bloom ' On the cold choek of Death smiles and roses are blending And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb ! " MRS. BAliBAULD. Born 1743. Died 1825. LIFE. Life ! we've been long together. Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear ; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; Then steal away, give little warning. Choose thine own time ; Say not " Good night," but in some brighter clime Bid me " Good morning." ANONYMOUS. About 1750. THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. My love he built me a bonnie bower. And clad me all with lily flower ; -,-;W_ B. MINOIt I'OET.S. A braver bower yoii ne'er did see, limn my true love he built for me. There camo a man, by middle day He spied his sport, and went his" way And brought the king that very night.' Who broke my bow..,, and slew my kinght. He slew my knight to me so dear- He slew my knight and poined his' gear • My servants all for life did flee, ' And left me in extremitie. I sewed his sheet, making my moan • I watched his corpse, myself alone ; ' I watched his body, night and day ; No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back. And whiles I gaed and whiles I sat • I digged a grave and laid him in And happed him with the sod so' green. But think na ye my heart was sair When I laid the mould on his yellmv hair ? lliink na ye my heart was wae When turned about, away to gaeV No living man I'll love again, Since that my lovely knight i's slain ; With one lock of his yellow hair, I'll bind my heart for evermair. ' WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUli. Bom 1704. Died 1754. THE BRAES OF YARROW. '■ ^^'"^ y^' ^"^J^ ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow • Busk ye. busk ye, my bonnie. bonnie bride, And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow." "Where gat ye that bonnie. bonnie bride? Where gat ye that winsome marrow ?' ' HJ3 i. h M 164 EIGHTEENTH ! NTUllY. V-t M-' % A. "I gat her where I dare na -sveel bo seen, Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. " Weep not, weep not, my boniiie, bonnie bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ; Nor let thj' heart lament to leave Pn'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." B. " Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonuio bride ? Why does she weep, (liy winsome marrow ? And why danr ye n.ie mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on t!i. braes of Yarrow ?" A. " Langmann she wet-p, lang inann f-iin , mann she weep, Lang maun she weep with dule ant'; • ;>itom'. And lang maun I nae mair weel be seofi Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrc>\, " For she has tint her lover, lover dear, Fii;r lover dear, the cawse of s(>rri >w ; And 1 ha'e slain the comeliest sMain That e'l r pu'ed birks on the braes of Yarrow. " Why run-; thy stream, O Ynirow, Yarrow, reid i* Why on thy braes heard the voi ; e of sorrow ? And why yon luelancholeous wecids. Hung on the bou'de birks of Yarrow ! "What's yonder tloulsi on the rueful, rueful Hood V What's yonder floats? Oh dale and sorrow ! Oh ! 'tis the comely swain I slew Upon the duleful braes of Yarrow ! "Wash, oil, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears, with dule and sorrow. And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds. And lay him on the braes of Y'arrow ! " Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad. Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, And weep around in M-aeful wise. His helpless fate on the braes of Yarrow. "Curse ye, curse ye his useless, useless shield. My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow. The fatal spear that pierced his breast, His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow. MINOR POETS. 165 C " Did J r.-ot \rr rn thee not to love Ami wara fro:a Mgbt? but. to my sorrow, ) er-ranhly l.-.'ui, ji stronger arm 'i'f.on )r:.;t'8t, mA fell on the braes of Yarrow. "Sweet smells the birk ; green grows, green grows the grass Yellow on Yarrow's braes the go wan. ' Fair hangs the apijle frae the rock, fiweet tb i-: u a ve of Yarrow flo wan' " Flows Yunow sweet ? as sweet, us sweet flows Tweed Ah gi-pej. Its grass, its go wan yellow, As sweet smells on its brnes the birk, The apple frae the rock as mellow. • ' Fair was thy love ! fair, fair indeed thy love In flowery bands thou him didst fetter ; Though he was fair, and well-beloved again, Than me he never loved thee better. ■■Busk ye, then, busk, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; Busk ye, and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow."' " How can I busk, a bonnie, bonnie bride ? How can I busk, a winsome marrow ? How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed, That slew my Love on the braes of Yarrow ? " O Yarrow fields ! may never, never rain, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my Love, My Love, as he had not been a lover ! " The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewin' : Ah, wretch 1 me ! I little, little knew He was in these to meet his ruin. " The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, TJnheedful of my dule and sorrow ; ^ ut, ere the tooful of the night. He lay a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. •' Much I rejoiced that vaeful, waeful day, I sang, my voice the woods returning ; f ^ :' • I ■ r 166 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. I I" h *• 1 ^ 1 J 1 ( intf KT I But lang ere night the spear was flown That slew my Love, and left me mourning. " What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, Hilt with his cruel rage pursue me ? My lover's blood is on thy spear ; How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me ? •' My happy sisters may be, may be proud ; With cruel and ungentle scoffing May bid me seek on Yarrow's braes My lover nailed in his coffin. " My brother Douglas may upbraid, And strive with threatening words to move me , My lover's blude is on thy spear, How canst thou ever bid me love thee ? "Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love. With bridal-sheets my body cover ; Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected husband-lover !" LADY ANNE LINDSAY. Bom 1750. Died 1825. AULD EOBIN GKAY. When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye come hame, When a' the world to rest are gane, TJie waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride ; But saving a crown, he had naething else beside. To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea ; And the crown and the pound were baith for me. He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa' ; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Grny cnme a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; MINOR POETS. 167 III AuM Rob maintained them baith, and. wi' tears in his e'e, Said, Jennie, for their sakes, oh marry mo ! My heart it said nay ; I looked for Jamie back ; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee ? Or why do I live to cry, Wao's me ? My father iirgit sair : my mother didna spoak ; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break • They gfed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea ; Sae anld Robin Gray lie was giideman to me. I hadna been a wifo a week but only four. When monrnfu- as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he- Till he said, I'm oomo hame to marry thoo. sair, sair did we greet, and mnckle did wo say ; We took but ae kiss, and I bade him gang away :' 1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; And why was I born to say, Wae's me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; I daiirna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be. For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. LADY NAIRNE. ? ?■ H Born 1766. Died 1845. THE LAND O' THE LEAL. I'm wearin' awa', Jean, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, She was baith gude and fair, Jean, 168 ElUHTEENTH CENTURY. And oh ! wo grudged lirr sair To the land o' the leal. fJnt sorrow's hoI' weiirs piisfc, J»vin, And joy'H a-comin' fust, Jean, The joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal, Sae dear that joy was ])onght, Jean, Sae free the battle fon;^'lit, Jean, That sinfti' man e'er brought To the land o' the leal. Oh ! dry your glistening e'e, Jean, My soul langs to he free, Jean, And angels beckon uu^ To the lau(' o the leal. Oh ! hand ye leal and true, Jean, Your day it's wearin' through, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Now fare-y '-weel, my ain Jean, The world's cares are vain, Jean, We'll meet, and we'll be faiu In the land o' the leal. WILLIAM BLAKE. Bora 1757. Died 1827. SONG. How sweet I roamed from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride ; Till I the Prince of Love beheld. Who in the sunny beams did glide. He showed me lilies for my hair, And blushing roses for my brow ; And led me through his gardens fair. Where all his golden plejiHures grow. With sweet Mfiy-dews my wings were wet. And Phoibus hred my vocal rage ; He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. MI NO It POETS. He loves to sit and hear rae sing. Then laughing sports and plays with me. Iher. tretches out my p;olden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty. [From Songs of Innocence.'^ INTRODUCTION. 169 Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant ylee,' On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me :— •Pipe a song about a lamb :" So I piped witJi merry cheer. '' Piper, pipe that song again ; ' So I piped ; he wept to hear. 'Drop thy pipe, thy hai)py pipe, Sing thy songs of happy -^er Little lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know \san made thoo Gave thee life and bade thee f. i By the streiuu and o'er the moad ; Gave thee clothing of delight. Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice, ' Making all the v ,les rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? So I sung the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. "Piper, sit thee down and write Ir a book that all may rea. - So he vanished from my sight ; And I pluckt a hollow reed, And I made n rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs,' Every child may joy to hear. LAMB. Little lamb, I'll tell thee ; Little lamb, I'll tell thee. He i- called by thy name, Foi calls himself a Lamb. He i.s leek ,ind He is jnild, He became a little child. I a child and thou a lamb, We aro culled by His name. Little laipb, God bless thee ! Little lamb, God bless thee ! THE Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, W'-at immortal hand or eye Framed thy fearful symmetry ? In V hat distant deeps or skie.s Burnt tL.t fire within thine eyes ? On what wings dared he a,s.>ire ? What the hand dared seiz. the fire? TIOER. And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy ^'^"^•t''' [beat. And when tliy heart began to ■\Vhut dread hand formed thy dread feet ? What the hammer, what the ^ ''l^ain. [brain? Knit thy strength and forged thy 170 EIOHTEENTU CRNTUBY. What the anvil? What dread Did H.^ smile His vvork to see? grasp Dared thy deadly terrors olasp V Did Hi* who made thelainl., make thee V When the stars threw down their Tiger, tiger, burning bright ^.,^,m.y^ In the forests of the night, 4nd watered heaven with their What immortal hand w: eye teajy_ Framedthy fearful symmetry? IlitictccntTt CcnturiT. WILLIAM W0RT)VVS0I1TH. Born 1770. Died 1850. MIST OPENING IN THE HILLS. So wfis he lifted Rently from the ground, And with their freight homeward the slnjdierds moved Through the dull mist, I following when u step, A single step, that freed me from the skirts Of the blind vapour, opened to my view Glory beyond all glory ever seen By waking sense or by the dreaming soul ! Tlie appearance, instantaneously disolosed. Was of a mighty city ^boldly sny A wilderness of building, sinking far And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth Far sinking into splendour without end ! Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold. With alabaster domes, and silver spires. And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted ; here, serene pavilions bright. In avenues disposed ; there, towers begirt With battlements that on their restless^fronts Bore stars— illumination of all gt-ms ! By earthly nature had the effect been wrought Upon the dark materials of the storm Now pacified : on them, and on the coves And mountain steeps and summits, whereunto The vapours had receded, taking there Their station under a cerulean sky. Oh, 'twas an unimaginable sight ! Clouds, mi,~,ts, streams, watery rocks ard emerald tnrf Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sii|)phire sky Confused, commingled, mutually intlamed, Molten together, and composing thus, Each lost in each, that marvellous array Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge Fantastic pomp of structure without name, In fleecy folds voluminous enwrapped. Eight in the midst, where interspace appeared 173 NIJS^ETEENTH CENTURY. Of open conrfc, an object like a throne Under a shining canopy of state Stood fixed ; and fixed resemblances were seen To implements of ordinary use, But vast in size, in substance glorified ; Such as by Hebrew Prophets were beheld In vision— forms iincouth of mightiest power For admiration and mysterious awe. This little Vale, a dwelling-place of Man, Lay low beneath my feet ; 'twas visible — I saw not, biit I felt that it was there. That which I saw was the revealed abode Of Spirits in beatitude. From The Excursion. '■ AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. J'f- ! (Greek Divinities.) Once more to distant wges of the world Let us revert, and place before our thoughts The face which rur^l solitude might wear To the unenlightened swains of pagan Greece. — In that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretched On the soft grass through half a summer's day, With music lulled his indolent repose : And, in some fit of weariness, if he When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear A distant strain, far sweeter than the soiinds Which his poor skill coiild make, his fancy fetched. Even from the blazing chariot of the sun, A beardless youth, who touched a golden lute, And filled the illumined groves with ravishment. The nightly hunter, lifting a bright eye Up towai'ds the crescent moon, with grateful heart Called on the lovely wanderer who bestowed That timely light, to share his joyous sport : And hence, a beaming Goddess with her Nymphs, Across the lawn and throu{.;h the darksome grove, Not unaccompanied wit'j tunefvil notes By echo multiplied from rock or cave, •< Swept in the storm or chase ; as moon and stars Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven. When winds are blowing strong. The traveller slaked His thirst from rill or gushing fount, and thanked The Naiad. Sunbeams, upon distant h.Us Gliding apace, with shadows in their train, Might, with small heliJ from fancy, be transformed Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly. The Zephyrs fanning, as they passed, their wings. Lacked not, for love, fair objects whom they wooed With gentle whisper. Withered boughs grotesque, Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age, WILLIAM WOUDSVORTH. 173 %. From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth In the low vale, or on steep monntfiin side ; And, sometimes, intermixed with stirring horus Of the live deer, or goat's depending lieurd,— These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood Of gamesome Deities ; or Pan himself. The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring God ! From The Excursion. ODE. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. The earth, and every common sight To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. led The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose ; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heaven is bare ; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair ; The sunshine is a glorious birth ; But yot I know, where'er I go, That there Imth passed away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief : A timely utterance gave that thought rt'lief. And I again am strong : The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; I hear the Echoes through the mountains thron<». The Winds com ' to mo from the fields of sleep. And all the earth is gay ; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth evory beast keep holiday ;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round mo, let mo hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd boy ! 174 NINETEEi^TII CENTUKY. Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make ; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal. The fulness of your bliss, I feel— I feel it all Oh evil day ! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May morning. And the Children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, A 1 J^t^^ flowers ; while the sun shines warm. And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm ; I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! —But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon. Both of them speak of something that is gone : The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar : Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness. But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home. Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Bov, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows ; He sees it in his joy. The Youth who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended ; At length the Man perceives it die away And fade into the light of common day. ' Earth tills her lap with pleasures of her own learnings she hath in her own natural kind And, even with something of a mother s mind, And no unworthy aim. The lidinely JS'urse doth fill she can To make her Foster-nhild, her Innate Man, Forget the glories he hath known. And that imperial palace whence he came. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 175 Behold the Child among his new-born b^ sses, A six-years' Darling of a pigmy size ! See where, 'mid work of his own ^land, he lies. Fretted by sallies of his mother's Kisses, With light upon hini from his father's eyes ! See at his feet some little plan Oi.' chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly learned art ; A wedding or a festivnl, A mourning or a funeral ; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song ; Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife. But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside. And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part. Filling from time to time his " humorous stage" With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That Life brings with her in her equipage, As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, T;f hose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity ; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage ; thou Eye among the blind. That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet, Seer blest ! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grav** ; Thou, over whom thine Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to bo put by ; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Wliy with such earnest jjains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedneiss at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thet^ with a weijjht Heavy as trost, and deej) almost us life ! O joy ! that in •■ embers Is something th;it doth live. That Nature yet remembera What was so fugitive ! The thought of our past yeai-s in me doth brc-ed Perpetual benediction ; not indeed 17G NINETEENTH CENTUIIY. For that which is most worthy to be blest • Delight and liberty, the simple creed Ut Childhood, whether busy or at rest With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast JMot for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things. Fallings from us, vanishings,' Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised ; But for those first affections. Those shadowy recollections Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our dav Are yet a master light of all our seeing'; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Uur noisy years seem moments in the being Ot the eternal Silence : truths that wake . ^*^ perish never ; Which neither listleasness nor mad endeavor, Nor Man, nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmitv with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! " ' Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be. Our souls have sight of that immortal sea. Which brought us hither ; Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then Hing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! And let the young lambs 'bound As to the tabor's sound ! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play. Ye that tJ/rongh yf)ur hearts to-day Feel the giudness of the May ! What though the radiance which was once so bright He now for ever tfl,ken froiK my sight Though nothing can bring ba<-k the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; VVe will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind ; In the primal sympathy. Which having been must ever be ; in the souLhiug thoughts that spring Out of human sufferint^ ; In the faitl! that looks'through death, In years th;it bring the philosopliic mind. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 177 And, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves ! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; The innocent brightness of a new-bom Day Is lovely yet ; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thank: to its tenderne-s, its joys, and fears ; To me Liie meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. ODE TO DUTY. Stern 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 When empty terrors over-awe, From vain temptations dost set free, And calms' t the weary strife of frail humanity ! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them— who, in love and truth. 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 confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around them cast. Serene will be our days and bright. And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light. And joy its own security ; 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 tli- r need. I, loving freedom, and untrieri, No sport of every random guest. Yet, being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust ; And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deterred 178 NtNliTEENTH CK^'TLKV. ill f 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 ; 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. Stern Law-giver ! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face. Flowers ki:gh before thee in their beds, And fragrai) j? in thy footing troads ; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong, And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power ! I call thee. I myself coUiUiend Unto thy guidance from this hour ; Oh, let my weakness have un end ! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self sacntic'e ; The contidence of reason give, And, in the light of triuh, thy Bonduuiu kt me live. CHAKACTEE OF THE HAPPY WARKIOK. Who is the hapi^y warrior ? Who is ho That every man in arms would wish to be? —It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought : Whose high endeavours are an inward light, That make the path before him always bright : Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledg;^ can perform, is diligent to learn ; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there. But makes his n>oraI being his prime care ; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train ! Turns his necessity to glorious gain ; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower ; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad intluence, and their good receives ; By objects!, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate ; WILLIAM WOIiDSWORTH. 170 ay. esh and ve. Is placable— because occasions rise So often tlmt tlemantl snch sacrifice , More skilful in self-knowledge, (sven more pure As tempted more ; more able to endure, As more exposed to suflferinR and distre'ss ; Ihence, also, more alive to tenderness. — 'Tis he whose law is reason ; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends ; AVhence, in a state where men are tempted still lo evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Both seldom on a right foundation rest, He fixes good on good alone, and owi's To virtue every triumph that he knows : _-Who, if ho rise to station of command, Rises by open means ; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire. And in himself poss('ss his own desire • Who comprehends his trust, and to th.' same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim : And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in" wait J* or wealth, or honours, or for worldly state • VVhoui they must follow ; on whose liead must fall I^ike showers of manna, if thev come at all ■ U hose power sheds round hiinin the common strife. Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace ; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, ' Is happy as a lover ; and attired With sudden brightness, like a man inspired ; And, through the heat of conHiet, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw ; Or, if an unexpected call succeed. Come when it will, is equal to the need : —He who, though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence. Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes ; Sweet images ! which, wheresoe'er they be, ' Are at his heart ; and such fidelity It is his darling passion to approve ; More brave for this, that he hath much to love \ — lis, finally, the man, who, lifted high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eve Or left unthought of in obscurity. -- Who, with a toward or untoward lot. Prosperous or iulverse, to his wisli or not,— Plays, in the many games of lif.., that one V^ here what he most doth vahu; must be won ; Whom neither shape of dant'^r can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray ; 180 J^INETEE^TH CENTURY. Who, not content that former worth Htiind fast Looks forwarrl, persevering to the hist, From well to better, daily self surpast.' Who, whether praise of him must Malk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must go to dust without his fame, And leave a dead unprofitable name Finds comfort in himself and in his cause ; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause : This 18 the happy Warrior ; this is ho That every man in arms should wish to bo. LUCY GRAY, OR SOLITUDE. Oft I have heard of Lucy Gray : And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. No mate, no comrade Lucy know ; She dwelt on a wide moor, The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door ! You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green ; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. "To-night will be a stormy night — You to the town must go ; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow." " That, Father ! will I glaaly do : 'Tis scarcely afternoon- The minster-clock has just .struck two. And yonder is the moon !" At this the Fathter raised his hook, And .snapped a faipt^t-band ; He plied his w<>rii — and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe : With many a waa^n stroke Her feet disperw the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm cam*- on beft^re its time, She wandered up and down ; And many a hill did Lncy clmib. Bat never reachtii the town. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 181 The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide ; But there was neither sound nor sight To servo them for a guide. At daybreak on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor ; And thence they saw the bridge of wood A furlong from their door. They wept —and turning homeward, cried, " In heaven we all shall meet !" • -When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small ; And through the broken hawthorn hedge And by the long stone wall ; ' And then an open field they crossed ; The marks were still the same ; They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one. Into the middle of the plank ; And further there were none ! —Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child ; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind ; And .sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. THE FORCE OF PRAYER. " What is good for a bootless bene ? " With these dark words begins my Tale ; And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring When Prayer is of no avail ? " What is good for a bootless bene ?" The Falconer to the Lady said ; And she umite answer •• Endless borrow !" For she knew that her son was dead. She know it by the Falconer's words. And by the look in the Falconer's eye. 182 NINETEENTH CENTURY. iiji I- Aiul by tho lovo that wm in l,or soul I' or hor youthful lloniilly. -Young Romilly througli Ihinhn woods Ih muginjr high and low ; And hf)lds a groyliound in a loash lo let .slip on i)m.k or doc. The pair have reached tliat fearful chasm How tempting to bestride ! For lordly Wharf is then, pent in With rocks on either side. The striding place is called Tho Strid A name it took of yore • ' And sh,m '^ ir'' *"\"' ■'* ''"^■"'^ that name. And shall a thousand more. And thither has young Romilly come, And what may now forbid That he, perhaps for tho hundredtli time snail bound across the Strid ? He sprang in glee,-f„r what cared h,. xnat the river was stroii" niirl c/^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ,\ iV ^