,^/-y / M' bo-k 's DU^ '»n the las^ d t • i-O rO V \)7/ INTRODUCTION The pleasant part of editing a little book like this is the gathering together of many well-loved poems ; the heart-breaking part is the exclusion of quite as X' many more. " There is so much uiviting us," says Mr. Arnold, " what are we to take ? " How, in the ripened orchard, can we bear to fill one small bas- ket, and go away leaving the boughs heavy with "l unplucked fruit ? How, amid friends, can we open "^ the door to a few, and bid the others wait ? The enjoyment which children receive from poetry is far-reaching and of many kinds. Martial strains which fire the blood, fairy music ringing in the ears, half-told tales which set the young heart dreaming, brave deeds, unhappy fates, sombre ballads, keen joyous lyrics, and small jeweled verses where every word shines like a polished gem, — all these good things the children know and love. It is useless to offer them mere rhymes and jingles ; it is ungener- ous to stint their young, vigorous imaginations with obvious prattle, fitted dexterously to their under- standings. In the matter of poetry, a child's ima- Vi INTRODUCTION gination outstrips his understanding ; his emotions carry him far beyond the narrow reach of his intel- ligence. He has but one lesson to learn, — the les- son of enjoyment, — and that it hardly lies in our power to teach. We can but show him the fair fields of song, and let him glean where he will. All the harvest is ripened to his hand, and he knows where his own store lies. In selecting these few poems I have had no other motive than to give pleasure to the children who may read them ; and I have tried to study their tastes, and feelings, and desires. If I succeed, my reward wiU be very great ; for to help a child to the love of poetry is to insure for him one source of happiness in a not too happy world. It is to charm and brighten the gray routine of life, and to lift him for some brief, sweet moments from all the cares, and vexations, and drudgeries of earth up to those shining abodes — " where the Eternal are." A. R. CONTENTS HmrriNG Sons .... The Solitaky Reaper Epitaph on a Hake . Infant Jot .... At Sea Lord Ullin's Daughter A Boy's Song .... The Chambered Nautilus My Playmate .... Young Lochinvar How sleep the Brave . Lucy Gray; or, Solitude The Wreck of the Hesperus . Scott. Wordsworth. Cowper. Blake. Cunningham. Campbell. . Hogg. Holmes. Whittier, Scott. Collins. Wordsworth. . Longfellow. Hymn to Diana Jonson. Song Hood. A Sea Dirge Shakespeare, LxTLLABY Tennyson. Annan Water Unknown. The Sailor's Wipe Mickle. The Blind Boy Cibber. The Nightingale in the Study . . . Lowell. The Fairies . . . . . . Allingham. AuLD Robin Gray .... Lady Lindsay. Jean Burns. To A Waterfowl Bryant. Sailors' Song Beddoes. Carcassonne Nadaud. Choosing a Name .... Mary Lamb. Abraham Davenport .... Whittier. Sir Marmaduke Unknown. The Northern Star .... Unknown. Like Crusoe, walking by the Lonely Strand Aldrich. Song of Marion's Men . „ . . Bryant. FAGB 1 2 3 5 6 7 9 10 11 14 16 17 19 23 24 24 25 25 27 29 30 32 35 37 37 39 39 41 42 45 46 47 47 VIU CONTENTS The Village Blacksmith Robert of Lincoln . The Brook Glenara .... KuBLA Khan . Lucy Lucy .... To Dianbme The True Beauty .... To A Child of Quality, Five Years Old Proud Maisie The Passionate Shepherd to his Love The Destruction of Sennacherib . Sir Patrick Spbns . Song The Mariners op England Old Ironsides Nora's Vow The Skeleton in Armor . The Farewell Adam o' Gordon . Ariel's Songs . Break, Break, Break Shameful Death To A Mountain Daisy The Lamb The Fairies of the Caldon Low Longfellow. . Bryant. Tennyson. . Camx)heU. Coleridge. Wordsworth. Wordsworth. , Herrick. Carew. . Prior. Scott. Marlowe. Byron. Unknown. . Peacock. Campbell. . Holmes. . Scott. Longfellow. Unknown. Unknown. Shakespeare. . Tennyson, . Morris. Burns. . Blake. Mary Howitt. The Phantom Ship .... Longfellow. The Barefoot Boy Whittier. A Cradle Song Watts. The Land of Story Books . . . Stevenson. Aladdin Lowell. The Merry Lark Kingsley. A Spring Lilt Unknown. Jock of Hazeldean Scott. Canadian Boat Song Moore. Rose Aylmer Landor. ROSABELLE Scott. Rime of the Ancient Mariner . . Coleridge. The Lass of Lochroyan . . . Unknown. To Lucasta, on going to the Wars . Lovelace. Bong Shakespeare, 49 51 54 56 57 59 60 62 62 63 64 65 66 67 71 72 73 74 75 81 82 86 87 88 89 91 91 95 97 101 102 103 104 104 105 106 107 107 109 133 138 138 CONTENTS IX To A Skylark Shelley. 139 The Night Piece Herrick, 143 Go, Lovely Rose Waller. 144 Home Thoughts fbom Abroad . . Browning. 145 Robin Redbreast .... Allingham. 146 Elegy written in a Country Church- yard Gray. 147 Bugle Song Tennyson. 152 Allen-a-Dale Scott. 153 Ballad Hood. 154 The Last Leaf Holmes. 155 Jenny kissed Me Leigh Hunt. 157 Dorothy Q Holmes. 158 The Colubbiad Cowper. 160 Marigold Garnett. 162 The Dumb Soldier .... Stevenson. 162 The Kjng of Denmark's Ride . Caroline Norton. 164 Lady Clare Tennyson. 165 Fairy Song Shakespeare. 169 Lullaby for Titania .... Shakespeare. 170 Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke Jonson. 171 Song Beddoes. 171 Annabel Lee Poe. 172 The Shepherd of King Admetus . . Loivell. 173 The Sisters Whittier. 175 The Discoverer of the North Cape Longfellow, 178 Ode on the Morning op Christ's Na- tivity Milton, 182 Alexander's Feast, or the Power of Music Dryden. 191 La Belle Dame Sans Mercy . . . Keats. 196 The Wandering Knight's Song . . Lockhart. 198 To THE Night Shelley, 199 On first looking into Chapman's Ho- aiER Keats, 200 The Tiger Blake. 201 HoHBNLiNDEN ..... Campbell. 202 Song Shakespeare, 203 The Rover Scott. 203 The Burial of Sir John Moore at Co- ■Rvmmrs. T '. ~. ..... Wolfe. 204 Requiem Stevenson. 200 CONTENTS The Voice of the Sea .... Aldrich. The " Old, Old Song " . . . . Kingsley. The Battle of Agincoukt . . Drayton. Telling the Bees Whittier. Daybreak Longfellow, The Humble-Bee Emerson. Indian Summer Twilight .... March .... Alec Yeaton's Son Annie Laurie The Ballad of Oriana . Barthram's Dirge The Young May Moon . On a Favorite Cat, drowned in OF Goldfishes County Guy .... Night Whittier. Longfellow. Wordsworth. Aldrich. Unknown. Tennyson. Surtees. . Moore. a Tub Gray, Scott. Blake. 207 207 207 212 214 215 217 218 219 220 222 223 226 228 229 230 231 Notes Index of Authors Index of Titles . Index of First Lines 233 237 239 241 A BOOK OF FAMOUS YERSE HUNTING SONG <^C^f^ Waken, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day ; All the jolly chase is here With hawk and horse and hunting-spear ; Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily mingle they, " Waken, lords and ladies gay. 'J Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming, And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green ; Now we come to chant our lay, " Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay. To the greenwood haste away ; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot and tall of size ; THE SOLITARY REAPER "We can show the marks he made "When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; You shall see him brought to bay ; Waken, lords and ladies gay. Louder, louder chant the lay, "Waken, lords and ladies gay ! Tell them youth and mirth and glee Run a course as well as we ; Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk, Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; Think of this and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay ! Sir Walter Scott. THE SOLITARY REAPER jO ^ A- Behold her, single in the field. Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself ; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; Oh listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travelers, in some shady haunt Among Arabian sands : No sweeter voice was ever heard in spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, EPITAPH ON A BARE I Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. "Will no one tell me what she sings ? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-o£E things, And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again ? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; I listen'd till I had my fill ; And as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more. William WordswortL EPITAPH ON A HARE i Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard himtsman's halloo. Old TIney, surliest of his kind, "Wlio, nursed with tender car'^ 1 Note 1. EPITAPH ON A HARE And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare. Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw ; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled. On pippins' russet peel, And, when his juicy salads failed. Sliced carrot pleased him well. A Turkey carpet was his lawn. Whereon he loved to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn, And swing his rump around. His frisking was at evening hours, For then he lost his fear. But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near. * Eight years and five round rolUng moons He thus saw steal away. Dozing out all his idle noons. And every night at play. INFANT JOY I kept him for his humor's sake, For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts that made it ache, And force me to a smile. But now beneath his walnut shade He finds his long last home, And waits, in snug concealment laid, Till gentler Puss shall come. He, still more aged, feels the shocks From which no care can save, And, partner once of Tiney's box, Must soon partake his grave. William Cowper, INFANT JOY ** I HAVE no name ; I am but two days old." — " What shall I caU thee ? " — "I happy am ; Joy is my name." — Sweet joy befall thee ! Pretty joy ! Sweet joy, but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee : Thou dost smile : I sing the while, Sweet joy befall thee ! William Blake. 6 AT SEA AT SEA tUitJb^ A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast ; And bends the gallant mast, my boys. While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. Oh, for a soft and gentle wind ! I heard a fair one cry ; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high ; And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free : — The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There 's tempest in yon hornbd moon, And lightning in yon cloud ; But hark the music, mariners ! The wind is piping loud ; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free, — While the hollow oak our palace is. Our heritage the sea. Allan Cunningham,, LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 1 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER TC^^^^^^rm A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands hound Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry ! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry ! " — " Now who he ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water ? " — " Oh, I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this. Lord Ullin's daughter. " And fast before her father's men Three days we 've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. ** His horsemen hard behind us ride, — Should they our steps discover. Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover ? " Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, *' I '11 go, my chief, I 'm ready : It is not for your silver bright. But for your winsome lady : — *' And by my word ! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So though the waves are raging white, I '11 row you o'er the ferry." 8 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But stiU as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. " O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, Though tempests round us gather ; I '11 meet the raging of the skies. But not an angry father ! " The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh, too strong for human hand ! The tempest gather'd o'er her. And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing : Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — His wrath was changed to wailing. For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade His child he did discover : — One lovely hand she stretch 'd for aid, And one was round her lover. " Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief, " Across this stormy water. A BOY'S SONG 9 And 1 11 forgive your Highland chief : — My daughter ! — O my daughter ! " 'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. Thomas CamphelL A BOY'S SONG* Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea, That 's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee. That 's the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Where the hay lies thick and greenest ; There to trace the homeward bee, That 's the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest, Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That 's the way for Billy and me. iNote 2. 10 THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That 's the thing I never could tell. But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the hay ; Up the water and o'er the lea, That 's the way for Billy and me. James Hogg^ THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS Ol4J $* ' This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign. Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare. Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed, — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed f Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, MY PLAYMATE U He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn ! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! While on mine ear it rings. Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free. Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! Oliver Wendell Holmes. MY PLAYMATE The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, Their song was soft and low ; The blossoms in the sweet May wind Were falling like the snow. 12 MY PLAYMATE The blossoms drifted at our feet. The orchard birds sang clear ; The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year. For, more to me than birds or flowere. My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She laid her hand in mine : What more could ask the bashful boy Who fed her father's kine ? She left us in the bloom of May : The constant years told o'er The seasons with as sweet May morns, But she came back no more. I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Of uneventful years ; Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring And reap the autumn ears. She lives where all the golden year Her summer roses blow ; The dusky children of the sun Before her come and go. There haply with her jewelled hands She smooths her silken gown, — MT PLAYMATE 13 No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down. The wild grapes wait us by the brook, The brown nuts on the hill, And still the May-day flowers make sweet The woods of Follymill. The lilies blossom in the pond, The bird builds in the tree. The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill The slow song of the sea. I wonder if she thinks of them. And how the old time seems, — If ever the pines of Ramoth wood Are sounding in her dreams ! I see her face, I hear her voice : Does she remember mine ? And what to her is now the boy Who fed her father's kine ? What cares she that the orioles build For other eyes than ours, — That other hands with nuts are fiUed, And other laps with flowers ? O playmate in the golden time ! Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet. The old trees o'er it lean. 14 YOUNG LOCHINVAR The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow ; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago. And still the pines of Ramoth wood Are moaning like the sea, — The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee ! John Greenleaf Whittier, YOUNG LOCHINVAR Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West ! Through all the wide Border his steed is the best ; A-nd, save his good broadsword, he weapons had none ; He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone ; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate. The bride had consented ; the gallant came late ; For a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all; — YOUNG LOCH INVAR 15 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, For the poor craven bridegi-oom said never a word, " Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " — "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you de- nied ; Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; And now am I come with this lost Love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far That would gladly be bride to the young Lochin- var ! " The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaff 'd off the wine and he threw down the cup ; She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye : — He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar ; " Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face. That never a hall such a galliard did grace : While her mother did fret and her father did fume. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar 1 " 16 HOW SLEEP TEE BRAVE One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near ; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur, They '11 have fleet steeds that follow ! " quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Neth- erby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea ; But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see : — So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Loch' invar ? Sir Walter Scott. HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE Cdf//* How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their Country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE 17 By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay, And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there ! William Collins. LUCY GRAY ; OR, SOLITUDE k/- Uyd^^^^Co Oft I had 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 knew ; 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 gladly do : 'T is scarcely afternoon — 18 LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE The minster-clock has just struck two. And yonder is the moon ! " At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a fagot-band ; He plied his work ; — and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe : With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down, And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide ; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve 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. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 19 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. William Wordsworth. U^-y^ It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken Ills little daughter. To bear him company. 20 THE WRECK OF THE HESPEEUS Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds. That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now west, now south. Then up and spake an old sailbr, Had sailed the Spanish Main, •' I pray thee put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. "Last night the moon- had a golden ring. And to-night no moon we see ! " The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. *' Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, And do not tremble so ; THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 21 For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman 's coat Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. " father ! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be ? " " 'T is a fog-bell, on a rock-bound coast ! " — And he steered for the open sea. " O father ! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be ? " " Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea ! " " O father ! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be ? " But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That savfed she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves On the Lake of Galilee. 22 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS And fast through the midnight dark and drear. Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows. She drifted, a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach A fisherman stood aghast. To see the form of a maiden fair Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast. The salt tears in her eyes ; HYMN TO DIANA 23 And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck o£ the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe ! Henry Wadswortk Longfellow. HYMN TO DIANA C^rv^, QuEEN" and Huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, . Goddess excellently bright, ^--^-eua^^^^c^ Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close : Bless us then with wished sight. Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver ; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright ! Ben Jonson, 34 SONG — A SEA DIRGE SONG A LAKE and a fairy boat To sail in the moonlight clear, — And merrily we would float From the dragons that watch us here ! Thy gown should be snow-white silk, And strings of orient pearls, Like gossamers dipped in milk, Should twine with thy raven curls. Red rubies should deck thy hands, And diamonds should be thy dower — But fairies have broke their wands. And wishing has lost its power ! Thomas Hood* A SEA DIRGE >^uw Merrily swinging on brier and weed. Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his namei Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours. Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest. Wearing a bright black wedding-coat ; White are liis shoulders and white his crest. Hear him caU in his merry note : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 52 ROBERT OF LINCOLN Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, cliee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life. Broods in the grass while her husband sings i Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man ; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay. Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! There, as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might! Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. ROBERT OF LINCOLN 53 Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care ; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; Robert of Lincoln 's a humdrum crone ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. William Cullen Bryant. 54 THE BROOK 1. THE BROOK t^<^*^finr^ I COME from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I chatter over stony ways. In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. THE BROOK 55 I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayUng ; And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel ; And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers ; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses ; I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses : And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, 66 GLENARA For men may come and men may go, }^at I go on forever. Alfred Tennyson, GLENARA Oh, heard ye yon pibrocli sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? 'T is the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear. And her sire and her people are called to her bier. Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud ; His kinsmen they followed but mourned not aloud. Their plaids o'er their bosoms were folded around, They marched all in silence, — they looked on the ground. In silence they went, over mountain and moor. To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar ; " Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn ; Why speak ye no word ? " said Glenara the stern. " And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows ? " So spake the rude chieftain : — no answer is made Till each mantle unfolding a dagger displayed. Cried a voice from the kinsmen all wrathful and loud : " I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud, KUBLA KHAN 57 And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem ; Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " Oh pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen ; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, — 'T was the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn, — *' I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief; I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief ; On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem ! Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert revealed where his lady was found ; From a rock in the ocean that beauty is borne, — Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn ! Thomas Campbell. KUBLA KHANi Cf> And lang, lang may the maidens sit. Wi' the goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves, For them they '11 see na mair. Oh, forty miles off Aberdour, 'T is fifty fathoms deep. And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. Unknown, SONGi For the tender beech and the sapling oak, That grow by the shadowy rill, Yoa may cut down both at a single stroke. You may cut down which you will. But this you must know, that as long as they grow, Whatever change may be, You can never teach either oak or beech To be aught but a greenwood tree. Thomas Love Peacock. 1 Note 9. T2 THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 7^4 • Ye Mariners of England •-•^-^fy'.'wwc.— ». That guard our native seas ! Whose flag has braved, a thousand years. The battle and the breeze ! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe : And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave, For the deck it was their field of fame. And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep ; Her march is o'er the mountain waves. Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below. As they roar on the shore. OLD IRONSIDES 73 When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. The meteor-flag of England Shall yet terrific burn ; Till danger's troubled night depart And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors ! Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name. When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. Thomas Campbell OLD IRONSIDES 1 OO^, ^f-tnL^/o At, tear her tattered ensign down I Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky ; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar ; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe. When winds were hurrying o'er the flood) And waves were white below, 1 Note 10. 74 NOBA'S VOW No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee ; The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave ; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave : Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale ! Oliver Wendell Holme& NORA'S VOW Hear what Highland Nora said, — . ** The Earlie's son I will not wed, Should all the race of nature die, And none be left l)ut he and I. For all the gold, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valor lost or won, I would not wed the Earlie's son." II " A maiden's vows," old Galium spoke, *' Are lightly made, and lightly broke ; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light i THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 76 The frost-wind soon shall sweep away That lustre deep from glen and brae ; Yet Noi^a, ere its bloom be gone, May blithely wed the Earlie's son." ni " The swan," she said, " the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest ; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn ; Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Before their foes may turn and fly ; But I, were all these marvels done, "Would never wed the Earlie's son." IV Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild-swan made ; Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever. Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; To shun the dash of foeman's steel, No HiglUand brogue has turned the heel : But Nora's heart is lost and won, — She 's wedded to the Earlie's son ! Sir Walter Scott. THE SKELETON IN ARMOR ** Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! Who, with thy hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me ! Ln^' 76 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR "Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy flesliless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me ? ** Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December ; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber. " I was a Viking old ! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee ! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man's curse? For this I sought thee. ** Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand. Tamed the gerfalcon ; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor, whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 77 " Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, "While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow ; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark. Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. " But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. "Wild was the life we led ; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled. By our stern orders. *♦ Many a wassail-bout Wore the long winter out ; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing. As we the Berserk's tale Measured in cups of ale. Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o'erflowing. «« Once, as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender ; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, 78 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor. " I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. *' Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory ; "When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story. '^' While the brown ale he quaffed. Loud then the champion laughed; And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn. Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. " She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild. And though she blushed and smiled, TEE SKELETON IN ARMOR 79 I was discarded ! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight, "Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded ? '^^ Scarce had I put to sea. Bearing the maid with me, — Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen ! — When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand. Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. " Then launched they to the blast. Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast. When the wind failed us ; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. " And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death ! was the helmsman's hail. Death without quarter ! Midships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel ; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water I 80 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR " As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane Bore I the maiden. *' Three weeks we westward hore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward ; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. «' There lived we many years ; Time dried the maiden's tears ; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother ; Death closed her mild blue eyes. Under that tower she lies ; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another ! " Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen ! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful ! THE FAREWELL 81 In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, Oh, death was grateful ! " Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended ! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal ! to the Northland ! Skoal ! " Thus the tale ended. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE FAREWELL It was a' for our rightfu' King We left fair Scotland's strand ] It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear ; We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain ; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main. My dear ; For I maun cross the main. 82 ADAM 0' GORDON He turned him right and round about Upon the Irish shore ; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear ; With adieu for evermore. The sodger from the wars returns, The sailor frae the main ; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear ; Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep ; I think on him that 's far awa'. The lee-lang night, and weep. My dear ; The lee-lang night, and weep. Unknown. ADAM O' GORDON It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cold. Said Adam o' Gordon to his men, " We maun draw to a hold. " And whatna hold shall we draw to, My merry men and me ? ADAM 0' GORDON 83 We will go to the house of Rodes, To see that fair ladye." The lady stood on her castle wall ; Beheld both dale and down ; There she was aware of a host of men Came riding towards the town. " Oh, see ye not, my merry men all, Oh, see ye not what I see ? Methinks I see a host of men : I marvel who they be." Slie had no sooner buskit herself, And putten on her gown, Till Adam o' Gordon and his men Were round about the town. The lady ran to her tower-head, As fast as she could hie, To see if by her fair speeches She could with him agree. "' Give o'er your house, ye lady fair, Give o'er your house to me ! Or I shall burn yourself therein, But and your babies three." '' I winna give o'er, ye false Gordon, To no sic traitor as thee ; And if ye burn my ain dear babes, My lord shall mak' ye dree. 84 ADAM 0' GORDON *' Woe worth, woe worth ye, Jock, my man I I paid ye well your fee ; Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, Lets in the reek to me ? " And e'en woe worth ye, Jock, my man ! I paid ye well your hire ; Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, To me lets in the fii-e ? " *' Ye paid me well my hire, ladye, Ye paid me well my fee ; But now I 'm Adam o' Gordon's man, — Must either do or dee." Oh, then bespake her little son, Sat on the nurse's knee ; Says, " O mither dear, give o'er this house ! For the reek it smothers me." " I winna give up my house, my dear, To no sic traitor as he : Come weal, come woe, my jewel fair, Ye maun take share with me." Oh, then bespake her daughter dear, — She was both jimp and small : " Oh, row me in a pair of sheets. And tow me o'er the wall ! " They rowed her in a pair of sheets. And towed her o'er the wall ; ADAM 0' GORDON 85 But on the point of Gordon's spear She gat a deadly fall. Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheeks, And clear, clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the red blood dreeps ! Then with his spear he turned her o'er; Oh, gin her face was wan ! He said, " Ye are the first that e'er I wished alive again. «* Busk and boun, my merry men all. For ill dooms I do guess ; — I cannot look on that bonnie face As it lies on the grass." But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming o'er her head, She wept, and kissed her children twain. Says, " Bairns, we be but dead." Oh, this way looked her own dear lord^ As he came o'er the lea ; He saw his castle all in a lowe, So far as he could see. *' Put on, put on, my mighty men, As fast as ye can dri'e ! For he that 's liindmost of the thrang Shall ne'er get good of me ! " 86 ARIEL'S SONGS Then some they rade, and some they ran, Out o'er the grass and bent ; But ere the foremost could win up, Both lady and babes were brent. And after the Gordon he is gane, Sae fast as he might dri'e ; And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blood He 's wroken his fair ladye. Unknotvn ARIEL'S SONGS ^€t-*/c* • Where the bee sucks, there suck I : In a cowslip's bell I lie ; There I couch when owls do cry : On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough ! Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : Courtsied when you have, and kissed, (The wild waves whist) Foot it featly here and there ; And, sweet Sjirites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark ! Bow-wow. The watchdogs bark : BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 87 Bow-wow. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! Shahespean, BREAK, BREAK, BREAK -r Break, break, break. On thy cold, gray stones, O Sea ! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. Oh, well for the fisherman's boy. That he shouts with his sister at play ! Oh, well for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break. At the foot of thy crags, Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Alfred Tennysoru 88 SHAMEFUL DEATH SHAMEFUL DEATH There were four of us about that bed j The mass-priest knelt at the side, I and his mother stood at the head, Over his feet lay the bride ; We were quite sure that he was dead, Though his eyes were open wide. He did not die in the night, He did not die in the day, But in the morning twilight His spirit passed away ; When neither sun nor moon was bright, And the trees were merely gray. He was not slain with the sword. Knight's axe, or the knightly spear, Yet spoke he never a word After he came in here ; I cut away the cord From the neck of my brother dear. He did not strike one blow, For the recreants came behind, In a place where the hornbeams grow, A path right hard to find, For the hornbeam boughs swing so That the twilight makes it blind. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 89 They lighted a great torch then, When his arms were pinioned fast ; Sir John, the Knight of the Fen, Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, With knights threescore and ten, Hung brave Sir Hugh at last. I am threescore and ten. And my hair is all turned gray, But I met Sir John of the Fen Long ago on a summer day. And am glad to think of the moment when I took his life away. I am threescore and ten, And my strength is mostly passed, But long ago I and my men. When the sky was overcast, And the smoke rolled over the reeds of the fen, Slew Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast. And now, knights, all of you, I pray you, pray for Sir Hugh, A good knight and a true. And for Alice, his wife, pray too. William Morris. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 44«A«M^ Wee, modest, crimson-tippbd flower, Thou 's met me in an evil hour ; 90 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY For I maun crush amang the stour Thy slender stem ; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it 's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet I Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet Wi' spreckled breast, When upward springing, blythe, to greet 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. The flaunting flowers our gardens jaeld 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 snawy bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! Robert Burns, THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW 91 THE LAMB t^^loJ^ ' Little Lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the sti'eam and o'er the mead j Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice Making all the vales rejoice ; Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little Lamb, I '11 tell thee ; Little Lamb, I '11 tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls himself a Lamb : — He is meek and He is mild ; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb. We are called by his name. Little Lamb, God bless thee ; Little Lamb, God bless thee. William Blake, THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW A MroSUJIMER LEGEND. *' And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me ? " 92 THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW " I have been to the top of the Caldon Low, The midsummer night to see." " And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Low ? " " I saw the glad sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow." " And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Hill ? " *' I heard the drops of the water made, And the ears of the green corn fill.'* *' Oh, tell me all, my Mary, — All, all that ever you know ; For you must have seen the fairies Last night, on the Caldon Low." " Then take me on your knee, mother ; And listen, mother of mine : A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine. " And their harpstrings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small ; But oh, the words of their talkinp- "Were merrier far than all." " And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say ? " " I '11 tell you all, my mother : But let me have my way. THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON LOW 93 " Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill ; ' And this,' they said, ' shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill, " * For there has heen no water Ever since the first of May ; And a busy man will the miUer be At dawning of the day. " < Oh, the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the milldam rise ! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh Till the tears fill both his eyes ! ' '* And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill ; And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill. " ' And there,' they said, ' the merry winds go Away from every horn ; And they shall clear the mildew dark From the blind old widow's corn. " ' Oh, the poor, blind widow, Though she has been blind so long, She '11 be blithe enough when the mildew 's gone And the corn stands tall and strong.* " And some they brought the brown lint-seed, And flung it down from the Low ; 94 THE FAIRIES OF THE C ALB ON LOW ' And this,' they said, ' by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow. " ' Oh, the poor, lame weaver, How will he laugh outright When he sees his dwindling flax -field All full of flowers by night ! ' *' And then outspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin : * I have spun up all the tow,' said he, ' And I want some more to spin. *' ' I 've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another ; A little sheet for Mary's bed. And an apron for her mother.' ** With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free ; And then on the top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me. *' And all on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones, That round about me lay. " Bnt coming down from the hilltop I heard afar below How busy the jolly miller was, And how the wheel did go. THE PHANTOM SHIP 95 " And I peeped into the widow's field, And, sure enough, were seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn AU standing stout and green. " And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung ; And I met the weaver at his gate, With the good news on his tongue. " Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see ; So, prythee, make my bed, mother, For I 'm tired as I can be." Mary HowitU THE PHANTOM SHIP In Mather's Magnalia Christi, Of the old colonial time, May be found in prose the legend That is here set down in rhyme. A ship sailed from New Haven, And the keen and frosty airs, That filled her sails at parting. Were heavy with good men's prayers. « O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure " — Thus prayed the old divine — " To bury our friends in the ocean, Take them, for they are thine ! " 96 THE PHANTOM SHIP But Master Lamberton muttered, And under his breath said he, " This ship is so crank and walty I fear our grave she will be ! " And the ships that came from England, When the winter months were gone, Brought no tidings of tliis vessel, Nor of Master Lamberton. This put the people to praying That the Lord would let them hear What in his greater wisdom He had done with friends so dear. And at last their prayers were answered i It was in the month of June, An hour before the sunset Of a windy afternoon, When, steadily steering landward, A ship was seen below. And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, Who sailed so long ago. On she came, with a cloud of canvas, Right against the wind that blew. Until the eye could distinguish The faces of the crew. Then fell her straining topmasts. Hanging tangled in the shrouds, THE BAREFOOT BOY 97 And her sails were loosened and lifted, And blown away like clouds. And the masts, with all their rigging, Fell slowly, one by one. And the hulk dilated and vanished, As a sea-mist in the sun ! And the people who saw this marvel Each said unto his friend, That this was the mould of their vessel, And thus her tragic end. And the pastor of the village Gave thanks to God in prayer, That, to quiet their troubled spirits, He had sent this Ship of Air. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE BAREFOOT BOY i!r(xiA Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace t From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! 98 THE BAREFOOT BOY P/ince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride ! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye, — Outward sunshine, inward joy : Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wild-flower's time and place, Flight of fowl, and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung ; Where the whitest lilies blow. Where the freshest berries grow, Where the groundnut trails its vine. Where the wood-grape's clusters shine j Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay. And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans ! — For, eschewing books and tasksj Nature answers all he asks ; THE BAREFOOT BOY 99 Hand in hand with her he walks. Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, — Blessings on the barefoot boy ! O for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When aU things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for ! I was rich in flowers and trees, Hummmg-birds and honey-bees ; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone ; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall. Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimraed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond. Mine, on bending orchard trees. Apples of Hesperides ! Still as my horizon grew. Larger grew my riches too ; All the world I 'saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! O for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread, — Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude ! too THE BAREFOOT BOY O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; WhUe for music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch : pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy ! Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speai'ed the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod. Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the miUs of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil : Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground ; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy. Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! John Greenleaf WhitUer. A CRADLE SONG 101 A CRADLE SONG Hush, my dear ! lie still and slumber ; Holy angels guard thy bed, Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe ! thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide j All, without thy care or payment. All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou 'rt attended Than the Son of God could be. When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee ! Soft and easy is thy cradle : Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When his birthplace was a stable. And his softest bed was hay. See the kindly shepherds round Him, Telling wonders from the sky ! Where they sought Him, there they found Him, With his Virgin Mother by. See the lovely babe a-dressing : Lovely infant, how He smiled ! When He wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the Holy Child. 102 THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS Lo, He slumbers in his manger, Where the horn fed oxen fed ; Peace, my darling ! here 's no danger ; Here 's no ox a-near thy bed. May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days ; Then go dwell forever near Him : See liis face, and sing his praise ! I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire : Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire. Isaac Watts. THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS At evening, when the lamp is lit. Around the fire my parents sit. They sit at home, and talk and sing. And do not play at anythmg. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall. And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. ALADDIN 103 These are the hills, these are the woods, Tliese are my starry solitudes, And there the river, by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away, As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear Land of Story Books. Bobert Louis Stevenson^ ALADDIN When I was a beggarly boy, And lived in a cellar damp, I had not a friend nor a toy. But I had Aladdin's lamp ; When I could not sleep for cold, I had fire enough in my brain, And builded with roofs of gold My beautiful castles in Spain ! Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But I 'd give all my lamps of silver bright For the one that is mine no more. 104 THE MERRY LARK Take, Fortune, whatever you choose ; You gave, and may snatch again : I have nothing 't would pain me to lose, For I own no more castles in Spain ! James Bussell Lowell. THE MERRY LARK The merry, merry lark was up and singing. And the hare was out and feeding on the lea, And the merry, merry bells below were ruiging, When my child's laugh rang through me. Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snow« yard. And the lark beside the dreary winter sea. And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard Waiteth there until the bells bring me. Charles Kingsley. A SPRING LILT Throuoh the silver mist Of the blossom-spray Trill the orioles : list To their joyous lay ! " "What in all the world, in all the world," they say, ** Is half so sweet, so sweet, is half so sweet aa May ? " " June ! June ! June ! " Low croon JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 105 The brown bees in the clover. " Sweet ! sweet ! sweet ! " Repeat The robins, nested over. Unknown^ JOCK OF HAZELDEAN *' Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? Why weep ye by the tide ? I '11 wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride : And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. II " Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa* For Jock of Hazeldean. Ill *' A chain of gold ye sail not lack. Nor braid to bind your haii' ; 106 CANADIAN BOAT-SONG Nor mettled hound, nor managed hau^k, Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. IV The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there ; They sought her baith by bower and ha' — The ladie was not seen ! She 's o'er the border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. Sir Walter Scott. CANADIAN BOAT-SONG 7X#vv.^/>^*« Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We '11 sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast. The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past. Why should we yet our sails unfurl ? — There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. But when the wind blows off the shore Oh, sweetly we '11 rest our weary oar ! Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past. ROSE AYLMER — ROSABELLE 107 Utawa's tide ! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, — Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs ! Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight 's past. Thomas Moore. ROSE AYLMER Ah ! what avails the sceptred race, Ah ! what the form divine ! What every virtue, every grace ! — Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and sighs I consecrate to thee. Walter Savage Landor, ROSABELLE Oh, listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, And, gentle lady, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 108 ROSABELLE " The blackening wave is edged witli white ; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh, ** Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round lady gay ; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravenshench ; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? " *' 'T is not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball ; But that my lady mother there Sits lonely in her castle hall. " 'T is not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide If 't is not filled by Rosabelle." O'er Roslin all that weary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'T was broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock. It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 'T was seen from Dryden's groves of oak. And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 109 Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seemed all on fire within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmered all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high. Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high Saint Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold, — But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each Saint Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell ; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. Sir Walter Scott. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER i C#XU PART I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. " By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? 1 Note 11. 110 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER " The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin ; The guests are met, the feast is set : May'st hear the merry din ! " He holds him with his skinny hand, "There was a ship," quoth he. " Hold off ! unhand me, gray-beard loon ! " Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye : — The Wedding-Guest stood still. And listens like a three years' child : The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : He cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner : — *' The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared ; Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hiU, Below the light-house top. *' The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he ! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. *' Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon " — RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 111 The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she ; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The "Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner : — " And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong : He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. « With sloping masts and dipping prow. As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head. The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. " And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold : And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. " And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen : 112 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken, — The ice was all between. *' The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around : It cracked and growled, and roared and howled. Like noises in a swound ! *' At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came ; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. " It ate the food it ne'er had ate, And round and round it flew : — The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; The helmsman steered us through ! " And a good south wind sprung up behind ; The Albatross did follow. And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners' hollo ! " In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud. It perched for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white. Glimmered the white moonshine." " God save thee, ancient Mariner ! From the fiends that plague thee thus ! Why look'st thou so ? " " With my cross-bow I shot the Albatross." BJME OF TEE ANCIENT MARINER 13 3 PART II " The sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. « And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo ! « And I had done a heUish thing, And it would work 'em woe : For all averred I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah, wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow ! " Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious sun uprist : Then all averred I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist : — 'T was right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. " The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free ; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. " Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'T was sad as sad could be ; 114 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea ! ** All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, JNo bigger than the moon. " Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion j As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. " Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink ; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. ** The very deep did rot : Christ ! That ever this should be ! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. ** About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night ; The water, like a witch's oils. Burnt green, and blue, and white. *' And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so ; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 113 ** And every tongue, through utter drouth. Was withered at the root ; We could not speak, ilo more than if We had been choked with soot. ^^ Ah ! well-a-day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the Cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART III *' There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time ! a weary time ! How glazed each weary eye ! When, looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. ** At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist ; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist ! A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! And still it neared and neared : As if it dodged a water-sprite. It plunged and tacked and veered. *' With throats unslaked, with black lips baked. We could nor laugh nor wail ; Through utter drouth all dumb we stood ! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail ! a sail ! 116 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER ** With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call : Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. *' See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more ! Hither to work us weal, Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel ! *' The western wave was all aflame. The day was well-nigh done ! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad, bright sun ; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun. *' And straight the sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace !) As if through a dungeon-grate he peered With broad and burning face. " Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears ! Are those her sails that glance in the sun, Like restless gossameres ? ** Are those her ribs through wliich the sun Did peer, as through a grate ? And is that Woman all her crew ? Is that a Death ? and are there two ? Is Death that Woman's mate ? RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 117 *' Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. " The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice ; ' The game is done ! I 've won ! I 've won ! ' Quoth she, and whistles thrice. *' The sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : At one stride comes the dark ; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. Off shot the spectre-bark. " We listened and looked sideways up ! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seemed to sip ! The stars were dim, and thick the night ; The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white ; From the sails the dew did drip. Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. " One after one, by the star-dogg'd moon, Too quick for groan or sigh. Each turned his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. " Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan,) il8 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropt down one by one. " The souls did from their bodies fly, ^ They fled to bliss or woe ! And every soul, it passed me by Like the whizz of my cross-bow." PART IV ** I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! I fear thy skinny hand ! And thou art long, and lank, and brown. As is the ribbed sea-sand. " I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand so brown." " Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! This body dropt not down. " Alone, alone ; all, all alone. Alone on a wide, wide sea ! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. *' The many men, so beautiful ! And they all dead did lie : And a thousand, thousand slimy things Lived on ; and so did L ** I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away ; I looked upon the rotting deck. And there tiie dead men lay. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 119 " I looked to heaven, and tried to pray ; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. " I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat ; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. " The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they : The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. " An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high ; But, oh ! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. " The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide : Softly she was going up. And a star or two beside : ** Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread ; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 120 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. " Beyond the shadow of the ship I watched the water-snakes : They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. " Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire : Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam ; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. " O, happy living things ! no tongue Their beauty might declare : A spring of love gushed from my heart. And I blessed them unaware : Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. ** The selfsame moment I could pray ; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. PART V «^ Oh, sleep ! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole ! To Mary Queen the praise be given ! She sent the gentle sleep from heaven That slid into my soul. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 121 " The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled vdth dew ; And when I awoke it rained. " My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments aU were dank ; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. " I moved and could not feel my limbs ; I was so light ; almost I thought that I had died in sleep And was a blessed ghost. " And soon I heard a roaring wind ; It did not come anear ; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. " The upper air burst into life ! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro, they were hurried about ! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. " And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge ; And the rain poured down from one black cloud ; The moon was at its edge. 122 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER " The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The moon was at its side : Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. " The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on ! Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan. " They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; It had been strange, e'en in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. " The helmsman steered, the ship moved on ; Yet never a breeze up-blew ; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do ; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools, — We were a ghastly crew ! " The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee : The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me." " I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! " " Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ! 'T was not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again. But a troop of spirits blest ; RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 123 " For when it dawned they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast ; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouthsj And from their bodies passed. " Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun : Slowly the sounds came back again. Now mixed, now one by one. " Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the skylark sing ; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargouing ! " And now 't was like all instruments. Now like a lonely flute ; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. « It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. " Till noon we quietly sailed on. Yet never a breeze did breathe : Slowly and smootlily went the shipj Moved onward from beneath. 124 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER *' Under the keel nine f atliom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The sjDirit slid ; and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune. And the ship stood still also. " The sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean ; But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short, uneasy motion — Backwards and forwards half her lengthy With a short, uneasy motion. " Then Hke a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound ; It flung the blood into my head. And I fell down in a swound. ** How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare ; But ere my living life returned, I heard, and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. " ' Is it he ? ' quoth one, ' is this the man ? By Him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid fuU low The harmless Albatross. *' The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 125 He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot hull with his bow.' " The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew : Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done. And penance more will do.' PART VI First Voice « ' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, Thy soft response renewing, What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing ? ' Second Voice " * Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast ! His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast — ** * If he may know which way to go : For she guides him smooth or grim : See, brother, see ! how graciously She looketh down on him ! ' First Voice " * But why drives on that ship so fast. Without or wave or wind ? ' Second Voice *' ' The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. 12fi RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER " * Fly, brotlier, fly ! more high, more high ! Or we shall he belated ; For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated.' " I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather : 'T was night, calm night, the moon was high ; The dead men stood together. " All stood together on the deck, For a charnel dungeon fitter : . All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the moon did glitter. " The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away : I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. " And now this spell was snapt : once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen, — " Like one that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on, And turns no more his head, Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 127 « But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made : Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. « It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring : It mingled strangely with my fears, — Yet it felt like a welcoming. « Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship. Yet she sailed softly, too ; Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — On me alone it blew. « Oh, dream of joy i is this indeed The light-house top I see ? Is this the hill ? is this the kirk ? Is this mine own countree ? « We drifted o'er the harbor-bar, And I with sobs did pray, — * Oh, let me be awake, my God ! Or let me sleep alway.' « The harbor-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn : And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the moon. « The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock : 128 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weather-cock. " And the hay was white with silent light % Till, rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colors came. " A little distance from the prow Those ci'imson shadows were : I tm-ned my eyes upon the deck — Christ ! what saw I there ! *' Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood ! A man all light, a seraph-man. On every corse there stood. ^* This seraph-band, each waved his hand : It was a heavenly sight ! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light. " This seraph-band, each waved his hand^ No voice did they impart, — No voice ; but oh, the silence sank Like music on my heart. '^' But soon I heard the dash of oars ; 1 heard the Pilot's cheer ; My head was turned perforce away, And I saw a boat appear. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 129 « The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coining fast : Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. " I saw a third — I heard his voice : It is the Hermit good ! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He '11 shrieve my soul, he '11 wash away The Albatross's blood. PART VII " This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea : How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. " He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve, — = He hath a cushion plump : It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak stump. " The skiff-boat neared : I heard them talk : ' Why, this is strange, I trow ! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now ? ' <" * Strange, by my faith,' the Hermit said — ' And they answered not our cheer ! The planks look warped ! and see those sails. How thin they are and sere ! 130 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were " ' Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest brook along ; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf beloWj That eats the she-wolf's young.' " ' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look/ The Pilot made reply, * I am a-f eared.' ' Push on, push on ! * Said the Hermit cheerily. " The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred ; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard : — " Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread : It reached the ship, it split the bay ; The ship went down like lead ! " Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote. Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat ; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. " Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round ; RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 131 And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. " I moved my lips — the Pilot shrieked, And fell down in a fit : The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. " I took the oars : the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. ' Ha ! ha ! ' quoth he, ' full plain I see The Devil knows how to row.' " And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land ! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat. And scarcely he could stand. ^* ' O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! * The Hermit crossed his brow : * Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say What manner of man art thou ? ' " Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony. Which forced me to begin my tale ; And then it left me free. " Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns : 132 RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. " I pass, like night, from land to land j I have strange power of speech ; The moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me : To him my tale I teach. *' "What loud uproar bursts from that door* The wedding guests are there ; But in the garden bower the bride And bridemaids singing are : And hark the little vesper beU, Which biddeth me to prayer ! *' O Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea : So lonely 't was, that God himself Scarce seembd there to be. ** Oh, sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'T is sweeter far to me To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company ! ^"^ To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray. While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friendSj, And youths and maidens gay ! THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN 133 " Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest ! He prayetb weU who loveth well Both man, and bird, and beast. " He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all." The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone : and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn : A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. Samuel Taylor Coleridge„ THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN " Oh, who will shoe my bonny foot. And who will glove my hand ? And who will lace my middle jimp Wi' a long, long, linen band ? *' Or who will kaim my yeUow hair Wi' a new-made silver kaim ? Oh, who will father my young son Till Lord Gregory comes hame? 134 THE LASS OF LOCUROYAN " Oh, if I had a bonny ship, And men to sail wi' me, It 's I would gang to my true Lore, Since he winna come to me ! " Then she 's gar'd build a bonny boat; To sail the salt, salt sea : The sails were of the light-green sUk, And the ropes of taffetie. She had not been on the sea sailing About a month or more. Till landed has she her bonny ship Near to her true Love's door. She 's ta'en her young son in her arms. And to the door she 's gane ; And long she knocked, and sair she calledj But answer got she nane. " Oh, open the door, Lord Gregory ! Oh, open, and let me in ! For the wind blows through my yellow hair. And the rain drops o'er my chin." Long stood she at Lord Gregory's door, And long she tirled the pin ; At length up gat his false mother, Says, " Who 's that, would be in ? '* *0h, it's Annie of Lochroyan, Your Love, come o'er the sea. THE LASS OF LOCBROYAN \^^ But and your young son in her arms ; So open the door to me." " Away, away, ye ill woman ! You 're not come here for gude ; You 're but a witch, or a vile warlock. Or a meimaid o' the flood." *' I 'm no a witch, nor vile warlock, Nor mermaiden," said she ; " But I am Annie of Lochroyan, — Oh, open the door to me ! " *' If thou be Annie of LochToyan, (As I trow ye binna she). Now tell me some of tbe love-tokens That passed 'tween me and thee." " Oh, dinna ye mind. Lord Gregory, As we sat at the wine, How we changed the rmgs from our fingerSj And I can show thee thine ? " Oh, yours was good, and good enough, But not so good as mine ; For yours was o' the good red gold, But mine of the diamond fine. " So open the door, Lord Gregory, And open it with speed ; Or your young son that 's in my arms For cold will soon be dead." 138 THE LASS OF LOCUROYAN *' Away, away, ye ill woman ! Go from my door for shame ! For I have gotten another Love, So you may hie you hame." Fair Annie turned her round about ; " Well ! since that it be sae, May never a woman, that has borne a 80% Have a heart so full of wae ! ** Take down, take down, the mast of gold, Set up the mast o' tree ; It ill becomes a forsaken lady To sail so gallantlie." Lord Gregory started from his sleep, And to his mother did say, *' I dreamt a dream, this night, mother, That makes my heart right wae. " I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, The flower of all her kin, E'en now was standing at my door, But none would let her in." ^' Oh, there was a woman stood at the dooPj, With a bairn intill her arm ; But I could not let her come within. For fear she had done you harm." " O wae betide ye, ill woman ' An ill death may ye dee. THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN 137 That wadna open the door to her, Nor yet would waken me ! " Oh, he 's gone down to yon shore side As fast as he could fare ; He saw fair Annie in the boat, But the wind it tossed her sair. And " Hey, Annie ! " and " How, Annie ! O Annie, winna ye bide ? " But aye the mair he cried " Annie," The broader grew the tide. And " Hey, Annie ! " and " How, Annie ! O Annie, speak to me ! " But aye the louder he cried " Annie," The louder roared the sea. The wind blew loud, the sea grew roughj And the ship was rent in twain : And soon he saw his fair Annie Come floating o'er the main. He saw his young son in her arms. Both tossed above the tide ; He wrang his hands, and fast he ran And plunged in the sea sae wide. He catched her by the yellow hair, And drew her up on the sand ; But cold and stiff was every limb Before he reached the land. 138 SONG And then he kissed her on the cheek, And kissed her on the chin ; And sail" he kissed her on the lips : But there was no breath within. " Oh, wae betide my cruel mother ! An ill death may she dee ! She turned fau* Annie from my door, Wha died for love of me ! " Unknown, ^YO LU CASTA. ON GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not (sweet) I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war 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 honor more. Richard Lovelace, SONG ^4/^.^4^ Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, TO A SKYLARK 139 And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Shakespeare^ TO A SKYLARK ftuXi^y Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! — Bird thou never wert — That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart [ 1 profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest : Like a cloud of fire, The blue deep thou wingest. And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of tlie sunken sun, 140 TO A SKYLARK O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight, Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel, that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud. As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over« flowed. What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hynans unbidden, TO A SKYLARK 141 Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-horn maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love which overflows her bower : Like a glow-worm golden Li a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view : Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves. By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, —thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine : 'O 142 TO A SKYLARK I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panked forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal Or triumj)hal chaunt, Matched with thine, would he all But an empty vaunt, — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance o£ pain ? With thy clear, keen joyance Languor cannot he : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? We look before and after. And pine for what is not : THE NIGHT PIECE 143 Our sincerest laughter "With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet, if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear, If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know ; Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then as I am listening now I Percy Bysshe Shelley. a^t C THE NIGHT PIECE Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee ; And the elves also. Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 144 GO, LOVELY ROSE No will-o'-tli'-wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee ; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber ; What though the moon does slumber ? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light. Like tapers clear, without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me ; And when I shall meet Thy silvery feet. My soul I '11 pour into thee. Robert Herrick, GO, LOVELY EOSE {jJ/dUJ^ 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. TeU her that 's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide. Thou must have uncommended died» HOME THOU GUTS FROM ABROAD 145 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 ! Edmund Waller. HOME THOUGHTS FEOM ABROAD ^^^ru/^*-<^ Oh, to be in England, Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware. That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf. While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now ! And after April when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows — Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops, — at the bent spray's edge, — That 's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over, 146 ROBIN REDBREAST Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture. And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, Far brighter than this gaudy melon flower. Bobert Browning, EOBIN REDBREAST GOOD-BY, good-by to summer ! For summer 's nearly done ; The garden smiling faintly. Cool breezes in the sun ; Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away, — But Robin 's here with coat of browHj And ruddy breast-knot gay. Robin, Robm Redbreast, O Robin dear ! Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts ; The trees are Indian princes. But soon they '11 turn to ghosts ; The scanty 2)ears and apples Hang russet on the bough ; It 's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 'T will soon be winter now. ELEGY 14 ■? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! And what will this poor Robin do ? For pinching days are near. The fireside for the cricket, The wheatstack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house. The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow, — Alas ! in winter dead and dark. Where can poor Robin go ? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! And a crumb of bread for Robin, His Uttle heart to cheer ! William Allingham, ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- YARD i ^A^ The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,- And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 1 Note 12. 148 ELEGY Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient, solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell 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 the 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 lisjD 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 hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. ELEGY 149 Await alike the inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honor'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 fire, Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page. Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unf athomed 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 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 150 ELEGY The applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; Along the cool, sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en those 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 name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. ELEGY 15t For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 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 unhonored 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 roots so high. His listless length at noontide would he stretch. And pore upon the brook that babbles by. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove 5 Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless lovGc " One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 152 BUGLE SONG 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 thro' the cliurch-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : Fair science frowned not on his humble birth, And melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to misery (all he had) a tear ; He gained from heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose. Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. Thomas Gray. BUGLE SONG Tj.,^^^^ The splendor falls on castle walls. And snowy summits old in story : The long light shakes across the lakes. And the wild cataract leaps in glory. ALLEN-A-DALE 153 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh hark, oh, hear ! how thin and clear. And thinner, clearer, farther going ! Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh, love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river : Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. Alfred Tennyson, ALLEN-A-DALE Allen-A-Dale has no fagot for burning, Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, AUen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! And tell me the craft of bold AUen-a-Dale. The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side, The mere for his net, and the land for his game, The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale ! 154 BALLAD AUen-a Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright : AIlen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; And the best of our nobles his bonnet will veil Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets AUen-a-Dale, AUen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; The mother, she asked of his household and home : "Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still ; 'T is the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, And with all its bright spangles," said Allen-a-Dale. The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye; And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale. And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! Sir Walter Scott, BALLAD She 's up and gone, the graceless girl ! And robbed my failing years ; My blood before was thin and cold, But now 't is turned to tears. THE LAST LEAF 155 My shadow falls upon my grave, So near the brink I stand : She might have stayed a little yet. And led me by the hand. Ay, call her on the barren moor. And call her on the hill ; 'T is nothing but the heron's cry. And plover's answer shrill. My child is flown on wilder wings Than they have ever spread, And I may even walk a waste That widened when she fled. Full many a thankless child has been, But never one like mine ; Her meat was served on plates of gold, Her drink was rosy wine. But now she '11 share the robin's food, And sup the common rill, Before her feet will turn again To meet her father's will ! Thomas Hood, THE LAST LEAF I SAW him once before, As he passed by the door. And again The pavement stones resound As he totters o'er the ground With his cane. 156 THE LAST LEAF They say that in his prime, Ere the pruning-knife of Time Cut him down, Not a better man was found By the crier on his round Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he looks at all he meets Sad and wan, And he shakes his feeble head, That it seems as if he said, " They are gone." The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has prest In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. My grandmamma has said — Poor old lady, she is dead Long ago — That he had a Roman nose, And his cheek was like a rose In the snow. But now his nose is thin. And it rests upon his chin Like a staff. And a crook is in his back, JENNY KISSED ME 157 And a melancholy crack In his laugh. I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin At him here ; But the old three-cornered hat, And the breeches, and all that. Are so queer ! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling. Oliver Wendell Holmes. JENNY KISSED ME^/^ccf'/^ Aa^^iT^ Jenny kissed me when we met. Jumping from the chair she sat in ; Time, you thief ! who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in ! Say I 'm weary, say I 'm sad. Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I 'm growing old, but add Jenny kissed me ! Leigh Hunt. 1 Note 13. 158 DOROTHY Q DOROTHY Q A Family Portrait ^Ct/^fiUlma Grajstdmother's mother ! her age, I guess, Thirteen summers, or sometliing less ; Girlish bust, but womanly air. Smooth, square forehead with uprolled hair •. Lips that lover has never kissed, Taper fingers and slender wrist ; Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade, — So they painted the little maid. On her hand a parrot green Sits unmoving and broods serene. Hold up the canvas full in view, — Look ! there 's a rent the light shines throughi Dark with a century's fringe of dust ; That was a Redcoat's rapier-thrust ! Such is the tale the lady old, Dorothy's daughter's daughter, told. Who the painter was none may tell, — One whose best was not over well ; Hard and dry, it must be confessed. Flat as a rose that has long been pressed ; Yet in her cheek the hues are bright, Dainty colors of red and white. And in her slender shape are seen Hint and promise of stately mien. DOROTHY Q 159 Look not on her with eyes of scorn, — Dorothy Q. was a lady born ! Ay ! since the galloping Normans came, England's annals have known her name ; And still to the three-hilled rebel town Dear is that ancient name's renown, For many a civic wreath they won, The you9^%g90 Underneath this sable hears e Tiin f'^t fjllbj"'^' "'' "^^ S ylney's sister. Pembroke's mother ; De ath ! ere tho " hast slain another. Learned and fair and good as she, Time shall thro w a dart at thee. Ben Jonson. SONG Who is the baby, that doth lie Beneath the silken canopy Of thy blue eye ? It is young Sorrow, laid asleep In the crystal deep. Let us sing his lullaby, Heigho ! a sob and a sigh. "What sound is that, so soft, so clear, Harmonious as a bubbled tear Bursting, we hear ? It is young Sorrow, slumber breaking, Suddenly waking. Let us sing his lullaby, Heigho ! a sob and a sigh. Thomas Lovell Beddoes 172 ANNABEL LEE ANNABEL LEE (j) It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee ; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea ; But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee ; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago. In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee ; So that her high-born kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me ; Yes ! — that was the reason (as all men know In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS 173 But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, — Of many far wiser than we ; And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darhng — my darling — my Ufe and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea. In her tomb by the sounding sea. Edgar Allan Poe. THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS There came a youth upon the earth. Some thousand years ago. Whose slender hands were nothing worth, Whether to plough, or reap, or sow. Upon an empty tortoise-shell He stretched some chords, and drew Music that made men's bosoms swell Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew. 174 THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS Then King Admetus, one who had Pure taste by right, divine, Decreed his singing not too bad To hear between the cups of wine ; And so, well pleased with being soothed Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothedj And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. His words were simple words enough, And yet he used them so, That what in other mouths was rough In his seemed musical and low. Men called him but a shiftless youth, In whom no good they saw ; And yet, unwittingly, in truth. They made his careless words their law. They knew not how he learned at all, For idly, hour by hour, He sat and watclied the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower. It seemed the loveliness of things Did teach him all their use, For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, He found a healing power profuse. Men granted that his speech was wise. But, when a glance they caught THE SISTERS 175 Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, They laughed, and called him good-for-nought Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. And day by day more holy grew Each spot where he had trod, Till after-poets only knew Their first-born brother as a god. James Russell Lowell. THE SISTERS Annie and Rhoda, sisters twain. Woke in the night to the sound of rain, The rush of wind, the ramp and roar Of great waves climbing a rocky shore. Annie rose up in her bed-gown white, And looked out into the storm and night. «' Hush, and hearken ! " she cried in fear, " Hearest thou nothing, sister dear ? " *' I hear the sea, and the plash of rain. And roar of the northeast hurricane. 176 THE SISTERS " Get thee back to the bed so warm, No good comes of watcliing a storm. " What is it to thee, I fain would know. That waves are roaring and wild winds blow ? " No lover of thine 's afloat to miss The harbor-lights on a uight like this." " But I heard a voice cry out my name ; Up from the sea on the wind it came ! " Twice and thrice have I heard it call. And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall I " On her pillow the sister tossed her head, " Hall of the Heron is safe," she said. " In the tautest schooner that ever swam He rides at anchor in Annisquam. " And if in peril from swamping sea Or lee shore rocks, would he call on thee ? " But the girl heard only the wind and tide. And wringing her small white hands she cried ; " O sister Rhoda, there 's something wrong ; I hear it again, so loud and long. " ' Annie ! Annie ! ' I hear it call, And the voice is the voice of Estwick Hall ! " THE SISTERS 177 Up sprang the elder, with eyes aflame, *' Thou liest ! He never would call thy name ! " If he did, I would pray the wind and sea To keep him forever from thee and me ! " Then out of the sea blew a dreadful blast ; Like the cry of a dying man it passed. The young girl hushed on her lips a groan, But through her tears a strange light shone, -== The solemn joy of her heart's release To own and cherish its love in peace. " Dearest ! " she whispered, under breath, " Life was a lie, but true is death. " The love I hid from myself away Shall crown me now in the light of day. " My ears shall never to wooer list, Never by lover my lips be kissed. " Sacred to thee am I henceforth, Thou in heaven and I on earth ! " She came and stood by her sister's bed : " Hall of the Heron is dead ! " she said. " The wind and the waves their work have done. We shall see him no more beneath the sun. 178 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTE CAFE " Little will reck that heart of thine, It loved liim not with a love Uke mine. *' I, for his sake, were he but here, Could hem and 'broider thy bridal gear, " Though hands should tremble, and eyes be wet, And stitch for stitch in my heart be set. " But now my soul with his soul I wed ; le the dead ! " John Greenleaf Wkittier, Thine the living, and mine the dead ! " THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE A "Leaf from King Alfred^ s Orosius 1 {JAtK Othere, the old sea-captain, Who dwelt in Helgoland, To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, Which he held in his brown right hand. His figure was tall and stately, Like a boy's his eye appeared ; His hair was yellow as hay. But threads of a silvery gray Gleamed in his tawny beard. Hearty and hale was Othere, His cheek had the color of oak ; With a kind of laugh in his speech. THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE 179 Like the sea-tide on a beach, As unto the King he spoke. And Alfred, King of the Saxons, Had a book upon his knees. And wrote down the wondrous tale Of him who was first to sail Into the Arctic seas. '" So far I live to the northward. No man lives north of me ; To the east are wild mountain-chains, And beyond them meres and plains ; To the westward all is sea. " So far I live to the northward. From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, If you only sailed by day, With a fair wind all the way. More than a month would you saiL *' I own six hundred reindeer, With sheep and swine beside ; I have tribute from the Finns, Whalebone, and reindeer skins, And ropes of walrus hide. '^' I ploughed the land with horses, But my heart was ill at ease. For the old seafaring men Came to me now and then. With their sagas of the seas^ — - 180 THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE " Of Iceland and of Greenland, And the stormy Hebrides, And the undiscovered deep ; — Oh, I could not eat nor sleep For thinking of those seas. *' To the northward stretched the desertp How far I fain would know ; So at last I sallied forth, And three days sailed due north, As far as the whale-ships go. "To the west of me was the ocean, To the right the desolate shore. But I did not slacken sail For the walrus or the whale, Till after three days more. " The days grew longer and longer. Till they became as one, And northward through the haze I saw the sullen blaze Of the red midnight sun. " And then uprose before me, Upon the water's edge. The huge and haggard shape Of that unknown North Cape, Whose form is like a wedge. ^ The sea was rough and stormy, The tempest howled and wailed, TEE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAFE loX And the sea-fog, like a ghost, Haunted that dreary coast, But onward still I sailed. ** Four days I steered to eastward. Four days without a night : Round in a fiery ring Went the great sun, King, With red and lurid light." Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, Ceased writing for a while ; And raised his eyes from his book. With a strange and puzzled look, And an incredulous smile. But Othere, the old sea-captain. He neither paused nor stirred. Till the King listened, and then Once more took up his pen. And wrote down every word. **And now the land," said Othere, " Bent southward suddenly. And I followed the curving shore. And ever southward bore Into a nameless sea. *' And there we hunted the walrus, The narwhale, and the seal ; Ha ! 't was a noble game ! And like the lightning's flame Flew our harpoons of steel. 182 ODE ON CHRIST S NATIVITY " There were six of us all together, Norsemen of Helgoland ; In two days and no more We killed of them threescore, And dragged them to the strand !" Here Alfred the Truth-Teller Suddenly closed his book, And lifted his blue eyes, With doubt and strange surmise Depicted in their look. And 0th ere, the old sea-captain, Stared at him wild and weird. Then smiled, till his shining teeth Gleamed white from underneath His tawny, quivering beard. And to the King of the Saxons, In witness of the truth, Raising his noble head, He stretched his brown hand, and said, " Behold this walrus-tooth 1 " Henry Wadsworih Longfellow, ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY 77K.^/fi^ This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's Etei'ual King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring ; For so the holy sages once did sing / ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY 183 That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside ; and, here with us to be Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God ? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome Him to this his new abode. Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod. Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright ? See how from far, upon the eastern road. The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet : Oh, run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. THE HYMN It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 184 ODE ON CUEIST'S NATIVITY 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. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow 5 And on her naked shame. Pollute with sinful blame. The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand. She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war or battle's sound Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; 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. ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY 185 But peaceful was the night Wherein the Pi'ince 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. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze. Bending one way their precious influence ; And will not take their flight For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence ; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room. The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlishtened world no more should need ; He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. The shepherds on the lawn Or ere the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row ; Full little thought they then 186 ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to Uve with them below j Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook, — Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the aery region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done. And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed » The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY 187 Such music (as 't is said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears. If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full concert to the angehc symphony. For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; And speckled vanity Will sicken soon and die. And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould ; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen, 188 ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering v And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest Fate says No, This must not yet be so ; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss ; So both himself and us to glorify : Yet first, to those y chained in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep ; With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang. While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : The aged Earth aghast With terror of that blast Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss FuU and perfect is. But now begins ; for from this happy day The old Dragon, under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail. ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY 189 The oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs 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 moonbd Ashtaroth, 190 ODE ON CHRIST'S NATIVITY Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; The Lybic Hammon shiinks Ixis horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue ; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; The brutish gods of Nile as fast Isis, and Orus, and the dog Aimbis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove, or green, Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrelled anthems dark The sable stolfed sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded Infant's hand ; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne ; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide. For Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. ALEXANDER'S FEAST 191 So, when the sun in hed Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his 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 moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest ; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending : Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attend- ing : And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. John Milton. ALEXANDER'S FEAST: OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC Dl/lMdi^^ 'T WAS at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son : Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne ; His valiant peers were placed around. Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, ;So should desert in arms be crowned ;) 192 ALEXANDER'S FEAST The lovely Thais by his side Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride : Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair ! Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire With flying fingers touched the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above, — Such is the povper of mighty love ! A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; Sublime on radiant spires he rode When he to fair Olympia prest, And while he sought her snowy breast ; Then round her slender waist he curled. And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. — The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ! A present deity ! they shout around ; A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound ! With ravished ears The monarch hears. Assumes the god ; Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. ALEXANDERS FEAST 193 The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : The jolly god in triumph comes ! Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! Flushed with a purple grace, He shows his honest face : Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes ! Bacchus, ever fair and young. Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain : Fought all his battles o'er again. And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain ! The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; And, while he Heaven and Earth defied, Changed his hand and checked his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good. By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate. And weltering in his blood ; Deserted, at his utmost need, 194 ALEXANDER'S FEAST By those his former bounty fed ; On the bare earth exposed he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes. — With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his altered soul The various turns of Chance below ; And now and then a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow. The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; 'T was but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures. Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble, Honor but an empty bubble, Never ending, still beginning ; Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be worth thy winning. Think, O think, it worth enjoying : Lovely Thais sits beside thee. Take the good the gods provide thee ! — The many rend the skies with loud applause : So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause^ The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care. And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, Sighed and looked, and sighed again : At length, with love and wine at once opprest, The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. ALEXANDER'S FEAST 195 Now strike the golden lyre again : A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head : As awaked from the dead And amazed, he stares around. Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear. How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand ! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods. — The princes applaud with a furious joy ; And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to de stroy ; Thais led the way To light him to his prey. And, like another Helen, fired another Troy ! Thus, long ago. Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 196 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCT While organs yet were mute, Timotlieus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, "With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be« fore. — Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down ! John Dryden, LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY f^tfji^ " Ah ! what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering ? The sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing. '* Ah ! what can ail thee, wretched wight. So haggard and so woebegone ? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest 's done. "' I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever-dew ; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast wither eth, too." LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY 197 " I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiftJ, — a fairy's child ; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. " I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long ; For sideways would she lean and sing A fairy's song. *' I made a garland for her head. And bracelets, too, and fragrant zone ; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. " She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna-dew ; And sure in language strange she said, * I love thee true.' " She took me to her elfin grot. And there she gazed and sighed full sore And there I shut her wild, sad eyes With kisses four. ** And there she lulled me asleep. And there I dreamed, ah ! woe betide, The latest dream I ever dreamed. On the cold hillside : " I saw pale kings and princes, too, Pale warriors, — death-pale were they all ; 198 THE WANDERING KNIGHT'S SONG Who cried, ' La Belle Dame Sans Mercy Hath thee in thrall ! ' " I saw their starved lijis in the gloom, With horiid warning gaped wide ; And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hillside. *' And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering ; Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing." John Keats, THE WANDERING KNIGHT'S SONG From the Spanish My ornaments are arms, My pastime is in war. My bed is cold upon the wold, My lamp yon star. My journeyings are long, My slumbers short and broken ; From hiU to hill I wander still. Kissing thy token. I ride from land to land, I sail from sea to sea ; ' Some day more kind I fate may find, Some night, kiss thee. John Gibson Lockhart. TO THE NIGHT 199 TO THE NIGHT ShJUU^ Swiftly walk over the western wavej, Spirit of Night ! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where all the long and lone daylight Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight ! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, Star-inwrought ! Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand, — Come, long-sought ! When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee ; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried. Would st thou me ? Tliy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, 200 LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER Shall I nestle near thy side ? Wouldst thou me ? And I replied, No, not thee ! Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon ; Sleep will come when thou art fled ; Of neither would I ask the hoon I ask of thee, belovfed Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon ! Percy Bysshe Shelley^ ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER f^^<4Jk/ » Much have I traveled in the realms of gold. And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. ^t of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Gr like stout Cortes when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, — and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise, — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. John Keats. THE TIGER 201 THE TIGER Tiger, tiger, biivnlng bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare seize the fire ? And what shoulder and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand, and what dread feet ? What the hammer ? What the chain ? In what furnace was thy brain ? What the anvil ? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile his work to see ? Did He who made the lamb make thee ? Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? William Blake. 202 nOUENLINDEN HOHENLINDEN i Ox Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neighed To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven j Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'T is morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun. Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. ^ Note 15. SONG— THE ROVER 203 The combat deepens. On, ye brave Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few shall part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. Thomas Campbell. SONG JW^ Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise. His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds_begin To ope t heir g olden eyes ; With everything'that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise ; Arise, arise ! Shakespeare, THE ROVER " A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, 204 TEE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE A doublet of the Lincoln green, — • No more of me you knew, My Love ! No more of me you knew. ** The morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again." He turned his charger as he spake Upon the river shore. He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said, " Adieu for evermore. My Love ! And adieu for evermore." Sir Walter Scott, THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA 1 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin inclosed his breast. Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; 1 Note 16. U/0ue^ THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 205 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock tolled the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down. From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory ! Charles Wolfe. 206 THE VOICE OF THE SEA REQUIEM l^l*irtCuuUuf4^ Under the -wide and starry sky Dig the grave, and let me lie. Glad did I live, and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me : Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home fi'om sea, And the hunter home from the hill. Robert Louis Stevensottc THE VOICE OF THE SEA In the hush of the autumn night I hear the voice of the sea, In the hush of the autumn night It seems to say to me : Mine are the winds above, Mine are the caves below, Mine are the dead of yesterday, And the dead of long ago ! And I think of the fleet that sailed From the lovely Gloucester shore, I think of the fleet that sailed And came back nevermore ; My eyes are filled with tears, And my heart is numb with woe : THE BATTLE OF AG IN COURT 207 It seems as if 't were yesterday, And it all was long ago. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. THE "OLD, OLD SONG" When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green ; And every goose a swan, lad. And every lass a queen, — Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away ; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown ; And all the sport is stale, lad. And all the wheels run down, — Creep home, and take your place there. The spent and maimed among : God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young. Charles Kingsley, THE BATTLE OF_AGINCOURT ..^^^ ^^y. Fair stood the wind for France /^C^t-^/^^. When we our sails advance, yr Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry ; 208 THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT But putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Lauded King Harry. And taking many a fort, Furnished in warlike sort, Marcheth towards Agincourt In happy hour ; Skirmishing day hy day With those that stopped his ways Where the French general lay With all his power ; Wliich in his height of pride. King Henry to deride, His ransom to provide To the King sending ; 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 thenj <^* 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. THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT 209 " And for myself," quoth he, *' Tliis my full rest shall be ; England, ne'er mourn for me, Nor more esteem me, Victor I will remain. Or on this earth lie slain ; Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me. *' Poitiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell Under our swords they f eU : No less our skill is Then 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 Amongst his henchmen. Exeter had the rear, A braver man not there ; Oh, Lord ! how hot they were On the false Frenchmen ! They now to fight are gone : Armor on armor shone. Drum now to drum did groan, To hear was wonder : 210 THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT That with the cries they make The very earth did shake ; Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder. Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Which did the signal aim To our hid forces ; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Stuck 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, Stuck close together. When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew. And on the French they flew, Not one was tardy ; Arms were from shoulders sent ; Scalps to the teeth were rent ; Down the French peasants went : Our men were hardy. TEE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT 211 This wliile our noble king, His broadsword 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, StiU as they ran up ; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily, -™ Ferrers and Fanhope. Upon Saint Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To Pvngland to carry. ^ ph. when shall Englishmen l.ty'X.J^ O'^ 212 TELLING THE BEES With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed aguin Such a King Harry ! Michael Drayton, TELLING THE BEES i Here is the place ; right over the hill Runs the path I took ; You can see the gap in the old wall still, And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. There is the house, with the gate red-barred, And the poplars tall ; And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard, And the white horns tossing; above the wall. ^s> There are the beehives ranged in the sun ; And down by the brink Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. A year has gone, as the tortoise goes. Heavy and slow ; And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, And the same brook sings of a year ago. There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze ; And the June sun warm Tangles Ids wings of fire in the trees, Setting, as then, over Fernside Farm. 1 Note 17. TELLING TEE BEES 213 I mind me how with a lover's care From my Sunday coat I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair, And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat Since we parted, a month had passed, — To love, a year ; Down through the beeches I looked at last On the Uttle red gate and the well-sweep near. I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain Of light through the leaves. The sundown's blaze on her window-pane, The bloom of her roses under the eaves. Just the same as a month before, — The house and the trees. The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, — » Nothing changed but the hives of bees. Before them, under the garden wall, Forward and back, Went drearUy singing the chore-girl small. Draping each hive with a shred of black. Trembling, I listened : the summer sun Had the chill of snow ; For I knew she was telling the bees of one Gone on the journey we all must go 1 Then I said to myself, " My Mary weeps For the dead to-day : 214 DAYBREAK Haply her blind old grandslre sleeps The fret and the pain of his age away." But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, With his cane to his chin, The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still Sung to the bees stealing out and in. And the song she was singing ever since In my ear sounds on : — " Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! Mistress Mary is dead and gone ! " John Greenleaf Whittieft DAYBREAK l^^^/U/Zmr A WIND came up out of the sea, And said, " mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, " Awake ! it is the day." it said unto the forest, " Shout ! Hang all your leafy banners out ! " It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And said, " O bird, awake and sing." TEE HUMBLE-BEE 215 And o'er the farms, " O chanticleer, Your clarion blow ; the day is near.'* It whispered to the fields of corn, ** Bow down, and hail the coming morn.'* It shouted through the belfry-tower, "Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, And said, " Not yet ! in quiet he." Henry Wadsworth LangfelloWo THE HUMBLE-BEE Burly, dozing humble-bee. Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek ; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid zone ! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let me chase thy waving lines ; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosjjhere ; Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon ; 216 TUE HUMBLE-BEE Epicurean of June, — Wait, I prithee, till I come "Witliin earshot of thy hum, — All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall. And with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And, infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets, Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods. The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. Hot midsummer's petted crone. Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers 5 Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found ; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure. Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen ; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple-sap and daffodels. Grass with green flag half-mast high, INDIAN SUMMER 217 Succory to match the sky, Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrhnony, Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue And brier-roses, dwelt among ; All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed. "Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher ! Seeing only what is fair. Sipping only what is sweet. Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff and take the wheat ; When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep ; "Woe and want thou canst outsleep : Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous. Balph Waldo Emerson, INDIAN SUMMER From gold to gray Our mild, sweet day Of Indian summer fades too soon ; But tenderly Above the sea Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. 218 TWILIGHT In its pale fire The village spire Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance ; The painted walls Whei'eon it falls Transfigured stand in marble trance. John Greenleaf Whittier, TWILIGHT The twilight is sad and cloudy, The wind blows loud and free, And like the wings of seabirds Flash the white caps of the sea. But in the fisherman's cottage There shines a ruddier light, And a little face at the window Peers out into the night. Close, close it is pressed to the window. As if those childish eyes Were looking into the darkness To see some form arise. And a woman's waving shadow Is passing to and fro, Now rising to the ceiling, Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean And the night-wind, bleak and wild. MARCH 219 As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that Uttle child ? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother. Drive the color from her cheek ? Henry Wadsworth Longfellow^ MARCH The cock is crowing. The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the smi ; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising ; There are foity feeding like one. Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill ; The plough-boy is whooping, anon, anon I There 's joy on the mountains. There 's life in the fountains ; Small clouds are saUiug, Blue sky prevailing, The rain is over and gone. Williain Wordsworth. 220 ALEC YEATON'S SON ALEC YEATON'S SON Gloucester, August, 1720. The wind it wailed, tlie wind it moaned, And the white caps flecked the sea ; " An' I would to God," the skipper gi'oaned, " I had not my boy with me ! " Snug in the stern-sheets, little John Laughed as the scud swept by ; But the skipper's sunburnt cheek grew wan As he watched the wicked sky. ** "Would he were at his mother's side !" And the skipper's eyes were dim. " Good Lord in heaven, if ill betide, What would become of him ! " For me, my muscles are as steel, For me let hap what may ; I might make shift upon the keel Until the break o' day. " But he, he is so weak and small, So young, scarce learned to stand, — O pitying Father of us all, I trust him in thy hand ! " For thou, who markest from on high A sparrow's fall, each one ! Surely, Lord, thou 'It have an eye On Alec Yeaton's son ! " ALEC YEATON'S SON 22\ Then, helm hard-port, right straight he sailed Towards the headland light : The wind it moaned, the wind it wailed, And black, black fell the night. Then burst a storm to make one quail Though housed from winds and waves, — They who could tell about that gale Must rise from watery graves ! Sudden it came, as sudden went ; Ere half the night was sped, The winds were hushed, the waves were spent, And the stars shone overhead. Now, as the morning mist grew thin, The folk on Gloucester shore Saw a little figure floating in. Secure, on a broken oar ! Up rose the cry, " A wreck ! a wreck ! Pull, mates, and waste no breath ! " They knew it, though 't was but a speck Upon the edge of death ! Long did they marvel in the town At God his strange decree. That let the stalwart skipper drown, And the little child go free ! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 222 ANNIE LAURIE ANNIE LAURIE Maxwelton bi'aes are bonnie Where early fa's the dew, And it 's there that Annie Laurie Gie'd me her promise true, — Gie'd me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot will be ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I 'd lay me doune and dee. Her brow is like the snaw-drift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on, — That e'er the sun shone on ; And dark blue is her ee ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I 'd lay me doune and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying Is the fa' o' her fairy feet ; Like the winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet, — Her voice is low and sweet ; And she 's a' the world to me ; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I 'd lay me doune and dee. Unknown, TEE BALLAD OF ORIANA 223 THE BALLAD OF ORIANA My heart is wasted with my woe, Orlana. There is no rest for me below, Oriana. When the long, dun wolds are ribbed with snow. And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow, Oriana, Alone I wander to and fro, Oriana. Ere the light on dark was growing, Oriana, At midnight the cock was crowing, Oriana : "Winds were blowing, waters flowing. We heard the steeds to battle going, Oriana ; Aloud the hollow bugle blowing, Oriana. In the yew-wood black as night, Oriana, Ere I rode into the fight, Oriana, While blissful tears blinded my sight By star-shine and by moonlight, Oriana, I to thee my troth did plight, Oriana. 224 THE BALLAD OF ORIANA She stood upon the castle wall, Oriana : She watched my crest among them all, Oriana : She saw me fight, she heard me call, When forth there stept a foeman tall, Oriana, Atween me and the castle wall, Oriana. The bitter arrow went aside, Oriana : The false, false arrow went aside, Oriana : The damned arrow glanced aside, And pierced thy heart, my love, my bride, Oriana ! Thy heart, my life, my love, my bride, Oriana ! Oh ! narrow, narrow was the space, Oriana. Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays, Oriana. Oh ! deathful stabs were dealt apace, The battle deepened in its place, Oriana ; But I was down upon my face, Oriana ! They should have stabbed me where I lay, Oriana ! THE BALLAD OF ORJANA 225 How could I rise and come away, Oriana ? How could I look upon the day ? They should have stabbed me where I lay, Oriana, — They should have trod me into clay, Oriana. O breaking heart that will not break, Oriana ! pale, pale face so sweet and meek, Oriana ! Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, And then the tears run down my cheek, Oriana : What wantest thou ? whom dost thou seek, Oriana ? 1 cry aloud : none hear my cries, Oriana. Thou comest atween me and the skies, Oriana. I feel the tears of blood arise Up from my heart unto my eyes, Oriana. "Within thy heart my arrow lies, Oriana. O cursed hand ! O cursed blow ! Oriana ! O happy thou that liest low, Oriana ! 226 BARTHRA3VS DIRGE All night the silence seems to flow Beside me in my utter woe, Oriana. A weary, weary way I go, Oriana. When Norland winds pipe down the sea, Oriana, I walk, I dare not think of thee, Oriana. Thou liest beneath the greenwood tree, I dare not die and come to thee, Oriana. I hear the roaring of the sea, Oriana. Alfred Tennyson, BARTHRAM'S DIRGE They shot him dead on the Nine-Stone Rig, Beside the Headless Cross, And they left him lying in his blood, Upon the moor and moss. They made a bier of the broken bough, The sauch and the aspin gray, And they bore him to the Lady Chapel, And waked him there all day. A lady came to that lonely bower, And threw her robes aside ; BARTER ASPS DIRGE 227 She tore her ling (long) yellow hair, And knelt at Barthram's side. She bathed him in the Lady- Well His wounds so deep and sair, And she plaited a garland for his breast, And a garland for his hair. They rowed him in a lily sheet, And bare him to his earth, And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's mass As they passed the Chapel Garth. They buried him at the mirk midnight, When the dew fell cold and still, When the aspin gray forgot to play. And the mist clung to the hill. They dug Iiis grave but a bare foot deep, By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn, And they covered him o'er with the heather-flower The moss and the Lady fern. A Gray Friar stayed upon the grave, And sang till the morning tide, And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, While Headless Cross shall bide. Surtees. 228 rff£ YOUNG MAY MOON THE YOUNG MAY MOON The /oung May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love ; How sweet to rove Through Morna's grove When the drowsy world is dreaming, love ! Then awake ! — the heavens look bright, my dear ; 'T is never too late for delight, my dear ; And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is tc steal a few hours from the night, my dear. No\' all the world is sleeping, love, Bui ,he Sage, his star-watch keeping, love, And I, whose star, More glorious far, Is tki eye from that casement peeping, love. Then awake ! — till rise of sun, my dear, The Sage's glass we '11 shun, my dear, Or, in watching the flight Of bodies of light, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear. Thomas Moore. ON A FAVORITE CAT 229 ON A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES! Oa^.^^ 'T WAS on a lofty vase's side ' ^JLt^ f^// Where China's gayest art had dyed ' / The azure flowers that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima, reclined, Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared : The fair, round face, the snowy beard. The velvet of her paws, Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, — She saw, and purred applause. Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream : Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue, Through richest purple, to the view Betrayed a golden gleam. The hapless Nymph with wonder saw . A whisker first, and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize, — What female heart can gold despise ? What cat 's averse to fish ? 1 Note 18. 230 COUNTY GUY Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent. Again she stretched, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between, — Malignant Fate sat by and smiled, — The slippery verge her feet beguiled ; She tumbled headlong in ! Eight times emerging from the flood. She mewed to every watery god Some speedy aid to send : No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred, Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard, — A favorite has no friend ! Prom hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold : Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts is lawful prize, Nor ail that glisters gold ! Thomas Gray, COUNTY GUY Ah, County Guy ! the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea. The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who trilled all day, Sits hushed his partner nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour. But where is County Guy ? NIGHT 231 The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd's suit to hear ; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky : And high and low the mfluence know — - But where is County Guy ? Sir Walter Scott. NIGHT t\t4UfCt, • The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine ; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy groves. Where flocks have ta'en delight ; Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright ; Unseen, they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom. They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are covered warm. 232 NIGHT They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm : If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed. William Blake NOTES Note 1. Epitaph on a Hare. Cowper has written a charming- prose description of the two wild English hares that he succeeded in partially taming, and that amused and comforted many melancholy hours. Note 2. A Boy^s Song. James Hogg, the " Ettrick Shepherd," is a rare instance of native, untaught genius. He herded sheep from the time he was seven years old imtil he was thirty ; and thoiigh he had learned to read in his few months of schooling, it was not until manhood that he mastered the art of writing. Sir Walter Scott was his true friend, and gave him constant aid and encouragement. His best poems are both simple and spirited, showing a fine sympathy for nature and outdoor life. Note 3. Auld Bohin Gray. Lady Anne Lindsay, when a girl of twenty-one, wrote this famous poem to the music of an old Scotch melody. It is now svmg to a different air. Note 4. Song of Marion'' s Men. Francis Marion, a Eevolutionary officer, bom in South Carolina. He trained a brigade of bold and adventurous frontiersmen, who made the forests and swamps of Carolina their hiding-ground. They knew every inch of these gloomy and treacherous woods, and were able, with little danger to themselves, to continually attack and harass the British forces. His exploits have passed into song and story ; his courage, endurance, and gay defiance of all dangers and hardships, halo his name with romance. While this poem has little of Bryant's customary finish, it is spirited, and con- tains at least one charming line, " Well knows the fair and friendly moon." 234 NOTES Note 5. KublaKhan. A \)earitiful fragment of verse composed by Coleridge on awakening from a sleep in which he had dreamed these won- ders. Note 6. Lucy. The five poems written by Wordsworth to the imknown "Lucy" are among the most beautiful of English lyrics. Though they reveal little beyond her early death, they have made her name a living power in song. Note 7. To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old. Nothing is known of this famous little lady, save that she •was long thought to have belonged to the Dorset family. The poem has been pronounced by critics one of the prettiest of all nursery idyls. Note 8. The Destruction of Sennacherib. It is worth while to notice the strength and simplicity' of Byron's language in this noble poem. Note 9. Song, Supposed to be sung by one of Robin Hood's outlawed band in merry Sherwood Forest. Note 10. Old Ironsides. This was the popular name by which the famous frigate Constitution was known. Note 11. Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The finest of modern baUads. It first appeared in a little volume entitled " Lyrical Ballads," published by Words- worth and Coleridge ; and while many people marveled at its weird extravagance, true critics, like Charles Lamb, rec- ognized it at once as a masterpiece. Note 12. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. Gray's reputation as a poet rests principally on this famous elegy — a strong and sure foundation. It is a poem abso* lutely perfect of its kind. NOTES 235 Note 13, Jenny Kissed Me. " Jenny " is said to have been Jane Welsh Carlyle, wife of the historian, Thomas Carlyle, a very brilliant and charming woman. Note 14. TJie Coluhriad. The Colnbriad means the history or story of a snake, Bolubra being the Latin word for a female adder or viper. Note 15. Hohenlinden. A village in Upper Bavaria, where, on the 3d of December, 1800, the French general Moldeau met and defeated the arch- duke John of Austria. Note 16. The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna, Sir John Moore, a British general, lost his life in Spain, fighting against Napoleon's victorious army. The French built him a tomb at Corunna, with this simple and noble in- ficription : — John Moore, IjSads^ of the English Armies. glain-i tt - - Baili e, 1809. Note 17. Telling the Bees. In old times it was the common custom, when a member of the household died, to inform the bees of the death, and drape their hives with black. Otherwise, it was thought, they would fly away. Note 18. On a Favorite Cat, drowned in a Tub of Gold- fishes. These delightfid verses were sent by Gray in a letter to Horace Walpole, who had written to the poet that his " handsome cat " had been drowned in a bowl of goldfishes. Several copies of the poem, in Gray's handwriting, are in ex istence. INDEX OF AUTHORS lu)EicR, Thomas Bailey. Alec Yeaton's Son, '220. Like Crusoe, walking by the Lonely Strand, 47. The Voice of the Sea, 206. AiiiNGHAM, William. Robin Redbreast, 146. The Fairies, 32. Beddoes, Thomas Lovell. Song, 171. Sailors' Song, 39. Blake, William. Infant Joy, 5. Night, 231. The Lamb, 91. The Tiger, 201. Bbowning, Robert. Home Thoughts from Abroad, 145. Betant, William Cullen. Robert of Liucobi, 51. Song of Marion's Men, 47. To a Waterfowl, 37. BuBKs, Robeet. Jean, 37. To a Mountain Daisy, 89. Byron, Lord. The Destruction of Senna- cherib, GC. Campbell, Thomas. Glenara, 5G. Hohenlinden, 202. Lord Ullin's Daughter, 7. The Mariners of England, 72. Cabew, Thomas. The True Beauty, 62. Cibber, Collet. The Blind Boy, 29. CoLERiDQB, Samuel Tayloe. Kubla Khan, 57. Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 109. Collins, William. How sleep the Brave, 16. CowPBR, William. Epitaph ou a Hare, 3. The Colubriad, IGO. Cunningham, Allan. At Sea, G. Drayton, Michael. The Battle of AginoOUit, Ws. Deyden, John. Alexander's Feast, 191. Emerson, Ralph Waldo. The Humble-Bee, 215. Gaenett, Richard. Marigold, 162. Gray, Thomas. Elegy written m a Country Churchyard, 147. On a Favorite Cat, drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes, 229. Heerick, Robert. The Night Piece, 143. To Dianeme, 62. Hogg, James. A Boy's Song, 9. Holmes, Oliver Wendell. Dorothy Q., 158. Old Ironsides, 73. The Chambered Nautilus, 10. The Last Leaf, 155. Hood, Thomas. Ballad, 154. Song, 24. HowiTT, Mary. The Fairies of the Caldon Low, 91. Hunt, Leigh. Jenny Kissed Me, 157. JoNsoN, Ben. Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke, 171. Hymn to Diana, 23. Keats, John. La Belle Dame Sans Mercy, 190. On first looking into Chap man's Homer, 200. OQ 38 INDEX OF AUTHORS KiNGSLEY, Charles. The Merry Lark, 104. The "Old, Old Song," 207. Lamb, Mary. Choosing a Name, 41. Landor, Walter Savage. Rose Aylmer, 107. Ijndsay, Lady Anne. Auld Robin Gray, 35. Lockhart, John Gibson. The Wandering Knight's Song, 198. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. Daybreak, 214. The Discoverer of the North Cape, 178. The Phantom Ship, 95. The Skeleton in Armor, 75. The Village Blacksmith, 49. The Wreck of the Hesperus, 19. Twilight, 218. IjOVElace, Richard. To Lucasta, on going to the Wars, 138. Lowell, James Russell. Aladdin, 103. The Nightingale in the Study, 30. The Shepherd of King Adme- tus, 173. Mablowe, Christopher. The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, 65. MiCKLE, William JtrLius. The Sailor's Wife, 2T. Milton, John. Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity, 182. Moore, Thomas. Canadisin Boat Song, 106. The Young May Moon, 228. Morris, William. Shameful Death, 88. Nadaud, Gdstave. Carcassonne, 39. Norton, Caroline Elizabeth. The King of Denmark's Ride, 104. Peacock, Thomas Love. Song, 71. PoE, Edgar Allan. Annabel Lee, 172. Prior, Matthew. To a Child of Quality, five years old, 63. BcoTT, Sir Walter. Allen-a-Dale, 153. County Guy, 230. Hunting Song, 1. Jock of Hazeldean, 105. Nora's Vow, 74. Proud Maisie, 64. Rosabelle, 107. The Rover, 203. Young Lochinvar, 14. Shakespeare, William. Ariel's Songs, 80. A Sea Dirge, 24. Fairy Song, 109. Lullaby for Titania, 170. Song, 138. Song, 203. Shelley, Percy Bysshe. To a Skylark, 139. To the Night, 199. Stevenson, Robert Louis. Requiem, 206. The Dumb Soldier, 162. The Laud of Story Books, 102, SuRTEEs, Robert. Barthram's Dirge, 226. Tennyson, Alfred. Ballad of Oriana, 223. Break, Break, Break, 87. Bugle Song, 152. Lady Clare, 165. Lullaby, 25. The Brook, 54. Unknown. Adam o' Gordon, 82. Annan Water, 25. Annie Laurie, 222. A Spring Lilt, 104. Sir Marmaduke, 45. Sir Patrick Spens, 67. The Farewell, 81. The Lass of Lochroyan, 133. The Northern Star, 46. Waller, Edmund. Go, Lovely Rose, 144. Watts, Isaac A Cradle Song, 101. WmTTiER, John Greenlbaj. Abraham Davenport, 42. Indian Summer, 217. My Playmate, 11. TeUiug the Bees, 212. The Barefoot Boy, 97. The Sisters, 175. Wolfe, Charles. The Burial of Sir John Moorew 204. Wordsworth, Willlam. Lucy, 59. Lucy, 00. Lucy Gray ; or, Solitude, 17. March, 219. The Solitary Reaper, 2. INDEX OF TITLES Abraham Davenport, 42. Adam o' Gordon. 82. Aladdin, 103. Alec Yeaton's Sou, 220. Alexander's Feast, 191. Allen-a-Dale, 153. Annabel Lee, 172. Annan Water, 25. Annie Laurie, 222. Ariel's Songs, 8G. At Sea, 6. Auld Robin Gray, 35. Ballad, 154. Ballad of Oriana, 223. Barefoot Boy, The, 97. Barthra'.n's Dirge, 22C. Battle of Agincourt, The, 207. Blind Boy, The, 29. Boy's Song, A, 9. Break, Break, Break, 87. Brook, The, 54. Bugle Song, 152. Burial of Sir John Moore at Co- runna, 204. Canadian Boat Song, 106. Carcassonne, 39. Chambered Nautilus, The, 10. Chapman's Homer, On first look- ing into, 200. Child of Quality, To a, 63. Choosing a Name, 41. Colubriad, The, 100. County Guy, 230. Cradle Song, A, 101. Daybreak, 214. Destruction of Sennacherib, The, 66. Dianeme, To, 62. Discoverer of the North Cape, The, 178. Dorothy Q., 158. Dumb Soldier, The, 162. Elegy written in a Country Church yard, 147. Epitaph on a Hare, 3. Epitaph on the Countess of Pem- broke, 171. Fairies, The, 32. Fairies of the Caldon Low, The, 91. Fairy Song, 169. Farewell, The, 81. Glenara, 56. Go, Lovely Rose, 144. HohenUnden, 202. Home Thoughts from Abroad, 145. How Sleep the Brave, 16. Humble-Bee, The, 215. Hunting Song, 1. Hymn to Diana, 23. Indian Summer, 217. Infant Joy, 5. Jean, 37. Jeimy Kissed Me, 157. Jock of Hazeldean, 105. King of Denmark's Ride, The, 164. Kubla Khan, 57. La Belle Dame Sana Mercy, 196. Lady Clare, 165. Lamb, The, 91. Land of Story Books, The, 102. Lass of Lochroyan, The, 133. Last Leaf, The, 155. Like Crusoe, walking by the LonelJ Strand, 47. Lord Ullin's Daughter, 7. Lucasta, To, 138. Lucy, 59. Lucy, 60. Lucy Gray, 17. 240 INDEX OF TITLES Lullaby, 25. Lullaby for Tltania, 170. March, 219. Marigold, 1G2. Mariners of England, The, 72. Merry Lark, The, 104. Mountain Daisy, To a, 89. My Playmate. 11. Night, 231. Night, To the, 199. Night Piece, Tlie, 143. Nightingale in tlie Study, The, 30. Nora's Vow, 74. Northern Star, The, 46. Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity, 182. Old Ironsides, 73. " Old, Old Song," The, 207. On a Favorite Cat, drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes, 229. On first looking into Chapman's Homer, 200. Passionate Shepherd to his Love, The, 65. Phantom Ship, The, 95. Proud Maisie, C4. Requiem, 206. Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 109. Robert of Lincoln, 51. Robin Redbreast, 146. Rosabelle, 107. Rose Aylmer, 107. Rover, The, 203. Sailor's "Wife, The, 27. Sailors' Song, 39. Sea Dirge, A, 24. Shameful Death, 88. .Shepherd of King Admetus, The, 173. Sir Marmaduke, 45. Sir Patrick Spena, 67. Sisters, The, 175. Skeleton In Armor, The, 75. Skylark, To a, 139. Solitary Reaper, The, 2. Song, " A lake and a fairy boat," 24. Song, " For the tender beech," 71. Song, " Full fathom five," 24. Song, " Hark, hark ! tlie lark, 203. Song, " Under the greenwood tree," 138. Song, " Who is the baby that doth lie," 171. Song of Marion's Men, 47. Spring Lilt, A, 104. Telling the Bees, 212. Tlie Mariners of England, 72. Tiger, The, 201. To a Child of Quality, 63. To a Mountain Daisy, 89. To a Skylark, 139. To a Waterfowl, 37. To Dianeme, 62. To Lucasta, on going to the Wars, 138. True Beauty, The, 62. TwiUght, 218. Village Blacksmith, The, 49. Voice of the Sea, The, 206. Wandering Ejiight's Song, Th^ 198. Waterfowl, To a, 37. Wreck of the Hesperus, The, 19. Young Lochinvar, 14. Young May Moon, The, 228. INDEX OF FIEST LINES A chieftain to the Highlands bound, 7. Ah, County Guy ! the hour is nigh, 230. Ah ! what avails the sceptred race, 107. Ah I what can ail thee, wretched wight, 196. A lake and a fairy boat, 24. Allen-a-dale has no fagot for burning, 153. And are ye sure the news is true, 27. And where have you been, my Mary, 91. Annan water's wading deep, 25. Annie and Rhoda, sisters twain, 175. At evening, when the lamp is lit, 102. A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 203. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 6. A wind came up out of the sea, 214. Ay, tear her tattered ensign down, 73. Behold her, single in the field, 2. Blessings on thee, little man, 97. Break, break, break, 87. Burly, dozing humble-bee, 215. Close by the threshold of a door nailed fast, 160o " Come forth ! " my catbird calls to me, 30. Come live with me and be my love, 65. Come unto these yellow sands, 86. Faintly as tolls the evening chime, 106. Fair stood the wind for France, 207. For the tender beech and the sapling oak, 71. From gold to gray, 217. Full fathom five thy father lies, 24. 242 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Go, lovely rose, 144. Good-by, good-by to summer, 146. Grandmother's mother : her age, I guess, 158. / Hail to thee, blithe spirit, 139. Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 203. Hear what Highland Nora said, 74. Here is the place ; right over the hUl, 212. Here lies whom hound did ne'er pursue, 3. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 143. He that loves a rosy cheek, 62. How sleep the Brave who sink to rest, 16. Hush ! my dear, lie still and slimiber, 101. I come from haunts of coot and hern, 54, I have got a new-born sister, 41. I have no name, 5. I 'm growing old ; I 've sixty years, 39. In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 95, In the hush of the autumn night, 206. In the old days (a custom laid aside), 42. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, 57. I saw him once before, 165. It f eU about the Martinmas, 82. It is an ancient Mariner, 109. It was a' for our rightfu' King, 81. It was many and many a year ago, 172. It was the schooner Hesperus, 19. It was the time when lilies blow, 165. Jenny kissed me when we met, 157. Like Crusoe, walking by the lonely strand, 47, Little lamb, who made thee, 91. Lords, knights, and 'squires, the numerous band, G3, Maxwelton braes are bonnie, 222. Merrily swinging on brier and weed, 51. Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, 200. My heart is wasted with my woe, 223. My ornaments are arms, 198. INDEX OF FIRST LINES 2-13 Not a dmin was heard, not a funeral note, 204. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 37. Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, 17. Oh, heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 56. Oh, listen, listen, ladies gay, 107. Oh, say what is that thing called Light, 29. Oh, to be in England, 145. Oh, who wiU shoe my bonny foot, 133. Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, 14. On Linden, when the sun was low, 202. Othere, the old sea-captain, 178. Our band is few, but true and tried, 47. Over hill, over dale, 169. Proud Maisie is in the wood, 64. Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, 23. She dwelt among the untrodden ways, 59. She moved through the garden in glory, because, 162. She 's up and gone, the graceless girl, 154. Sii- Marmaduke was a hearty knight, 45. Speak, speak ! thou fearfvd guest, 75. Sweet and low, sweet and low, 25. Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, 62. Swiftly walk over the western wave, 199, Tell me not (sweet) I am unkind, 138. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 66. The cock is crowing, 219. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 147. The king sits in Dunfermline toun, 67. The merry, merry lark was up and singing, 104. The Northern Star, 46. The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, 11. There came a youth upon the earth, 173. There were four of us about that bed, 88. The splendor falls on castle walls, 152. The sun descending in the west, 231. The twilight is sad and cloudy, 218. 244 INDEX OF FIRST LINES The wind it wailed, the wind it moaned, 220. The young May moon is beaming, love, 228. They shot him dead on the Nine^Stone Kig, 226. This is the month, and this the happy morn, 182„ This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 10. Three years she grew in sun and shower, 60. Through the silver mist, 104. Tiger, tiger, burning bright, 201. To sea, to sea ! The cahn is o'er, 39. 'T was at the royal feast for Persia won, 191. 'T was on a lofty vase's side, 229. Under a spreading chestnut tree, 49. Underneath this sable hearse, 171. Under the greenwood tree, 138. Under the mde and starry sky, 206. Up the airy mountain, 32. Waken, lords and ladies gay, 1. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 89, When all the world is yovmg, lad, 207. When I was a beggarly boy, 103. When the grass was closely naown, 162. When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 35. Where the bee sucks, there suck I, 86. Where the pools are bright and deep, 9. Wliither, 'midst falling dew, 37. Who is the baby that doth lie, 171. Why weep ye by the tide, ladie, 105. Word was brought to the Danish king, 164. Ye mariners of England, 72. You spotted snakes with double tongue, 170, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped 'below DEC 2 1946 DEC 2 1 19501 orin L-li J»i-12,'31»f33.Mi> PR 1171 R29 '-"^■; !'{ '' V:"^,0" 'v