WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
 
 THE 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE BEST SONGS AND 
 
 LYRICAL POEMS IN THE ENGLISH 
 
 LANGUAGE, AND ARRANGED 
 
 WITH NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE 
 
 LATE PROFESSOR OF POETRY IN THE UNIVERSIT'^ 
 OF OXFORD 
 
 REVISED AND ENLARGED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 PR 
 
 1^ 
 
 '3 
 
 ?n 
 
 TO 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 POET LAUREATE 
 
 This book in its progress has recalled often to my memory 
 a man with whose friendship we were once honoured, to 
 whom no region of English Literature was unfamiliar, and 
 who, whilst rich in all the noble gifts of Nature, was most 
 eminently distinguished by the noblest and the rarest, — 
 just judgment and high-hearted patriotism. It would have 
 been hence a peculiar pleasure and pride to dedicate what 
 I have endeavoured to make a true national Anthology of 
 three centuries to Henry Hallam. But he is beyond the 
 reach of any human tokens of love and reverence ; and 
 1 desire therefore to place before it a name united with 
 his by associations which, while Poetry retains her hold on 
 the minds of Englishmen, are not likely to be forgotten. 
 
 Your encouragement, given while traversing the wild 
 scenery of Treryn Dinas, led me to begin the w^ork ; anc 
 it has been completed under your advice and assistancCo 
 For the favour now asked I have thus a second reason : 
 and to this I may add, the homage which is your right as 
 Poet, and the gratitude due to a Friend, whose regard I 
 rate at no common value. 
 
 Permit me then to inscribe to yourself a book which, 1 
 hope, may be found by many a lifelong fountain of innocent 
 ill
 
 iv DEDICATION 
 
 and exalted pleasure ; a source of animation to friends 
 when they meet ; and able to sweeten solitude itself with 
 best society, — with the companionship of the wise and 
 the good, with the beauty which the eye cannot see, and 
 the music only heard in silence. If this Collection \ oves 
 a storehouse of delight to Labour and to Poverty, — if it 
 teaches those indifferent to the Poets to love them, and 
 those who love them to love them more, the aim and the 
 desire entertained in framing it will be fully accomplished. 
 
 F. T. P. 
 
 May, i86i.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others 
 in the attempt made to include in it all the best original 
 Lyrical pieces and Songs in our language (save a very 
 few regretfully omitted on account of length), by writers 
 not living, — and none beside the best. Many familiar 
 verses will hence be met with ; many also which should 
 be familiar: — the Editor will regard as his fittest readers 
 those who love Poetry so well, that he can offer them 
 nothing not already known and valued. 
 
 The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive 
 definition of Lyrical Poetry; but he has found the task 
 of practical decision increase in clearness and in facility 
 as he advanced with the work, whilst keeping in view a 
 few simple principles. Lyrical has been here held essen- 
 tially to imply that each Poem shall turn on some single 
 thought, feeling, or situation. In accordance with this, 
 narrative, descriptive, and didactic poems — unless accom- 
 panied by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the colour- 
 ing of human passion — have been excluded. Humorous 
 poetry, except in the very unfrequent instances where a 
 truly poetical tone pervades the whole, with what is strictly 
 personal, occasional, and religious, has been considered 
 foreign to the idea of the book. Blank verse and the ten- 
 syllable couplet, with all pieces markedly dramatic, have 
 been rejected as alien from what is commonly understood 
 by Song, and rarely conforming to Lyrical conditions in
 
 Vi PREFACE 
 
 treatment. But it is not anticipated, nor is it possible, 
 that all readers shall think the line accurately drawn. 
 Some poems, as Gray's Elegy, the Allegro and Penseroso, 
 Wordsworth's Ruth or CampbelPs Lord Ullin, might 
 De claimed with perhaps equal justice for a narrative or 
 descriptive selection: whilst with reference esp^'^ially to 
 Ballads and Sonnets, the Editor can only state that he 
 has taken his utmost pains to decide without caprice 
 or partiality. 
 
 This also is all he can plead in regard to a pe'nt even 
 more liable to question ; — what degree of merif should 
 give rank among the Best. That a poem shall be worthy 
 of the writer's genius, — that it shall reach a perfection 
 commensurate with its aim, — that we should requi''e finish 
 in proportion to brevity, — that passion, colour, ani origi- 
 nality cannot atone for serious imperfections in c^^arness, 
 unity, or truth, — that a few good lines do not »nake a 
 good poem, — that popular estimate is serviceaHr as a 
 guidepost more than as a compass, — above all, *\'\\. ex- 
 cellence should be looked for rather in the whole *.hin in 
 the parts, — such and other such canons have been aJ"vays 
 steadily regarded. He may, however, add that th^ p: eces 
 chosen, and a far larger number rejected, have bee»i care- 
 fully and repeatedly considered ; and that he ha« b ^eo 
 aided throughout by two friends of independent anJ eJ'er- 
 cised judgment, besides the distinguished person addressed 
 "n the Dedication. It is hoped that by this procedure t'le 
 volume has been freed from that one-sidedness whic^ must 
 beset individual decisions : — but for the final choice tl**^ 
 Editor is alone responsible. 
 
 Chalmers' vast collection, with the whole works of all 
 accessible poets not contained in it, and the best Ai:.thol(>
 
 PREFACE vii 
 
 gies of different periods, have been twice syslematicall}' 
 read through : and it is hence improbable that any omis- 
 sions which may be regretted are due to oversight. The 
 poems are printed entire, except in a very few instances 
 where a stanza or passage has been omitted. These omis- 
 sions have been risked only when the piece could be thus 
 brought to a closer lyrical unity : and, as essentially op- 
 posed to this unity, extracts, obviously such, are excluded. 
 In regard to the text, the purpose of the book has appeared 
 to justify the choice of the most poetical version, wherevc 
 more than one exists ; and much labour has been given to 
 present each poem, in disposition, spelling, and punctua- 
 tion, to the greatest advantage. 
 
 In the arrangement, the most poetically-effective order 
 has been attempted. The English mind has passed 
 through phases of thought and cultivation so various and 
 so opposed during these three centuries of Poetry, that a 
 rapid passage between old and new, like rapid alteration 
 of the eye's focus in looking at the landscape, will always 
 be wearisome and hurtful to the sense of Beauty The 
 poems have been therefore distributed into Books corre- 
 sponding, I to the ninety years closing about 1616, II thence 
 to 1700, III to 1800, IV to the half century just ended. 
 Or, looking at the Poets who more or less give each por- 
 tion its distinctive character, they might be called the 
 Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray, and Wordsworth. 
 The volume, in this respect, so far as the limitations of 
 its range allow, accurately reflects the natural growth and 
 evolution cf our Poetry. A rigidly chronological sequence, 
 however, rather fits a collection aiming at instruction than 
 at pleasure, and the wisdom which comes through pleas- 
 ure: — within each book the pieces have therefore been
 
 Vlll PREFACE 
 
 arranged in gradations of feeling or subject. And it is 
 hoped tliat the contents of this Anthology will thus be 
 found to present a certain unity, ^as episodes,' in the 
 noble language of Shelley, ' to that great Poem which all 
 poets, like the co-operating thoughts of one great mind, 
 have built up since the beginning of the world.' 
 
 As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may 
 add without egotism, that he has found the vague general 
 verdict of popular Fame more just than those have thought, 
 who, with too severe a criticism, would confine judgments 
 on Poetry to '■ the selected few of many generations/ Not 
 many appear to have gained reputation without some gift 
 or performance that, in due degree, deserved it : and if 
 no verses by certain writers who show less strength than 
 sweetness, or more thought than mastery of expression, 
 are printed in this volume, it should not be imagined 
 that they have been excluded without much hesitation and 
 regret, — far less that they have been slighted. Through- 
 out this vast and pathetic array of Singers now silent, few 
 have been honoured with the name Poet, and have not 
 possessed a skill in words, a sympathy with beauty, a 
 tenderness of feeling, or seriousness in reflection, which 
 render their works, although never perhaps attaining that 
 loftier and finer excellence here required, — better worth 
 reading than much of what fills the scanty hours that 
 most men spare for self-improvement, or for pleasure in 
 any of its more elevated and permanent forms. — And if 
 this be true of even mediocre poetry, for how much more 
 are we indebted to the best \ Like the fabled fountain of 
 the Azores, but with a more various power, the magic 
 of this Art can confer on each period of life its appropriate 
 blessing: on early years Experience, on matuiity Calm,
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 on age Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures 'more golden 
 than gold,' leading us in higher and healthier ways than 
 those of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of 
 Nature. But she speaks best for herself. Her true ac- 
 cents, if the plan has been executed with success, may 
 be heard throughout the following pages: — wherever the 
 Poets of England are honoured, wherever the dominant 
 language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that they will 
 find fit audience. 
 
 1861 
 
 Some poems, especially in Book I, have been added : — 
 either on better acquaintance ; — in deference to critical 
 suggestions ; — or unknown to the Editor when first gath- 
 ering his harvest. For aid in these after-gleanings he is 
 specially indebted to the excellent reprints of rare earlv 
 verse given us by Dr. Hannah, Dr. Grosart, Mr. Arber. 
 Mr. Bullen, and others, — and (in regard to the additions of 
 1883) to the advice of that distinguished Friend, by whom 
 the final choice has been so largely guided. The text has 
 also been carefully revised from authoritative sources. It 
 has still seemed best, for many reasons, to retain the 
 original limit by which the selection was confined to those 
 then no longer living. But the editor hopes that, so far 
 as in him lies, a complete and definitive collection of our 
 best Lyrics, to the central year of this fast-closing century, 
 is now offered. 
 
 1883-1 890-1 891
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication iii 
 
 Preface v 
 
 Book I i 
 
 Book II 56 
 
 Book III 132 
 
 Book IV 195 
 
 Notes 347 
 
 Index of Writers 367 
 
 Index of First Lines 377
 
 E^J rbv "Kei/j-Qfa Kadivat. 
 alp6fX€vos Aypevfx dvdiotp
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 BOOK FIRST 
 
 I 
 
 SPRING 
 
 Sprino^, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant kinii 
 Then blooms each thinoj, then maids dance in a ring 
 Cold dotli not sting, the pretty birds do sing, 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-\ve, to-\vitta-woo ! 
 
 The palm and may make country houses gay. 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay. 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-vvoo. 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies ^iss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, 
 In every street these tunes our ears do greet, 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! 
 Spring ! the sweet Spring ! 
 
 T. Nash 
 
 II 
 
 THE FAIRY LIFE 
 
 I 
 
 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 ! 
 I
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 III 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd 
 
 The wild waves whist, 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear. 
 Hark, hark ! 
 
 Bow-bow. 
 The watch-dogs bark : 
 
 Bow-wow. 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of struttins^ chanticleer 
 Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 
 
 VV. Shakespeare 
 
 IV 
 
 SUMMONS TO LOVE 
 
 Phoebus, arise ! 
 
 And paint the sable skies 
 
 With azure, white, and red : 
 
 Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed 
 
 That she may thy career with roses spread : 
 
 The nightingales thy coming each-where sing : 
 
 Make an eternal Spring ! 
 
 Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 
 
 Spread forth thy golden hair 
 
 In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 
 
 And emperor-like decore 
 
 With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : 
 
 Chase hence the ugly night 
 
 Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light 
 
 — This is that happy morn, 
 
 That day, long-wished day 
 
 Of all my life so dark, 
 
 (If cruel stars have not my ruin swom 
 
 And fates my hopes betray),^
 
 ihE oOLDEA /AEASURY 3 
 
 Which, purely white, deserves 
 
 An everlasting diamond should it mark. 
 
 This is the morn should brini^ unto this grove 
 
 My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 
 
 Fair King, who all preserves, 
 
 But show thy blushing beams, 
 
 And thou two sweeter eyes 
 
 Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 
 
 Did once thy heart surprize. 
 
 Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise: 
 
 If that ye winds would hear 
 
 A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 
 
 Your furious chiding stay; 
 
 Let Zephyr oniy breathe, 
 
 And with her tresses play. 
 
 — The winds all silent are, 
 
 And Phoel)us in his chair 
 
 Ensatfroning sea and air 
 
 Makes vanish every star : 
 
 Night like a drunkard reels 
 
 Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels: 
 
 The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, 
 
 The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue ; 
 
 Here is the pleasant place — 
 
 And nothing wanting is, save She, alas ! 
 
 IV. Drummond of HawtJiornden 
 
 V 
 
 TIME AND LOVE 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
 The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age ; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, 
 And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
 Increav^ store with loss, and loss with store ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay, 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
 That Time will come and take my Love away : 
 
 — This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 W. Shakespear 
 
 VI 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless se 
 But sad mortality o'ersways their power. 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? 
 
 O how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? 
 
 O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid r 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
 
 O ! none, unless this miracle have might. 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 
 
 VV, Shakespea 
 
 VII 
 
 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LC 
 
 Come live with me and be my Love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
 And all the craggy mountains yield. 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks 
 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 There will I make thee beds of roses 
 And a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroidered all with leaves o^ myrtle. 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool, 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
 F'air lined slippers for the cold. 
 With buckles of the purest gold. 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy buds 
 With coral clasps and amber studs : 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Come live with me and be my Lovr, 
 
 Thy silver dishes for thy meat 
 As precious as the gods do eat, 
 Shall on an ivory table be 
 Prepared each day for thee and me. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May-morning : 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me and be my Love. 
 
 C. Marlow^ 
 
 VIII 
 
 OMNIA VINCIT 
 
 Fain would I change that note 
 To which fond Love hath charm'd me 
 Long long to sing by rote. 
 Fancying that that harm'd me : 
 Yet when this thought doth come 
 * Lovi^is the perfect sum 
 Of all delight,'
 
 IhE GOLDEN IREASUKY 
 
 I have no other choice 
 Either for pen or voice 
 To sing or write. 
 
 Love! they wrong thee much 
 That say thy sweet is bitter, 
 When thy rich fruit is such 
 
 As nothing can be sweeter. 
 Fair house of joy and bliss, 
 Where truest pleasure is, 
 I do adore thee : 
 
 1 know thee what thou art, 
 I serve thee with my heart, 
 
 And fall before thee ! 
 
 Anon 
 
 IX 
 
 A MADRIGAL 
 
 Crabbed Age and Youth 
 
 Cannot live together : 
 
 Youth is full of pleasance, 
 
 Age is full of care ; 
 
 Youth like summer morn, 
 
 Age like winter weather, 
 
 Youth like summer brave. 
 
 Age like winter bare : 
 
 Youth is full of sport. 
 
 Age's breath is short. 
 
 Youth is nimble, Age is lame: 
 
 Youth is hot and bold, 
 
 Age is weak and cold. 
 
 Youth is wild, and Age is tame : — 
 
 Age, I do abhor thee. 
 
 Youth, I do adore thee ; 
 
 O ! my Love, my Love is young ! 
 
 Age, I do defy thee — 
 
 O sweet shepherd, hie thee. 
 
 For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
 
 W. Shakespeare
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 Who loves to He with me, 
 And turn his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat — 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 Here shall he 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. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 XI 
 
 It was a lover and his lass 
 
 With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pass 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing hey ding a ding : 
 
 Sweet lovers love the Spring. 
 
 Between the acres of the rye 
 These pretty country folks would lie : 
 This carol they began that hour. 
 How that life was but a flower : 
 
 And therefore take the present time 
 
 With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino! 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time. 
 When birds do sing hey ding a ding : 
 Sweet lovers love the Spring. 
 
 IV. Shakespeare
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 XII 
 PRESENT IN ABSENCE 
 
 Absence, hear thou this protestation 
 
 Against thy strength, 
 
 Distance, and length ; 
 Do what thou canst for alteration : 
 
 For hearts of truest mettle 
 Absence doth join, and Time doth settle. 
 
 Who loves a mistress of such quality, 
 
 His mind hath found 
 
 Affection's ground 
 Beyond time, place, and mortality. 
 
 To hearts that cannot vary 
 Absence is present, Time doth tarry. 
 
 By absence this good means I gain, 
 That 1 can catch her. 
 Where none can match her. 
 In some close corner of my brain : 
 
 There I embrace and kiss her ; 
 And so I both enjoy and miss her. 
 
 J. Donne 
 
 XIII 
 VIA AMORIS 
 
 High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be. 
 And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, 
 Tempers her words to trampling horses' ^eet 
 More oft than to a chamber melody, — 
 
 Now, blessed you bear onward blessdd me 
 To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet ; 
 My Muse and I must you of duty greet 
 With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Be you still fair, honoured by public heed ; 
 By no encroachment wrongM, nor time forgot ; 
 Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
 And that you know I envy you no lot 
 
 Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, — 
 Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss ! 
 
 Sir P. Sidney 
 
 XIV 
 
 ABSENCE 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend 
 Nor services to do, till you require : 
 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you 
 Nor think the bitterness ofabsence sour 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu : 
 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
 i3ut like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
 Save, where you are, how happy you make those ; — 
 
 So true a fool is love, that in your will 
 Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 XV 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
 What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
 
 And yet this time removed was summer's time : 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease :
 
 lo ' THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit ; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
 
 Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, 
 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 
 
 W, Shakespeart 
 
 XVI 
 
 A CONSOLATION 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
 I all alone bevveep my outcast state. 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate ; 
 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possest. 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what 1 most enjoy contented least ; 
 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on Thee — and then my state, 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
 
 For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 W. Shakespeart 
 
 XVII 
 
 THE UNCHANGEABLE 
 
 O never say that I was false of heart, 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify: 
 As easy might I from myself depart 
 As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie f
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY II 
 
 That is my home of love ; if I have ranged, 
 Like him that travels, I return again, 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be stain'd 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: 
 
 For nothing this wide universe I call, 
 Save thou, my rose : in it thou art my all. 
 
 W. Shakespeati 
 
 XVIII 
 
 To me, fair Friend, you never can be old. 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyed 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters^ cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; 
 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
 In process of the seasons have I seen, 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 
 Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 
 
 Steal frorh his figure, and no pace perceived ; 
 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 
 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, — 
 Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 W, Shakespeare 
 
 XIX 
 
 ROSALINE 
 
 Like to the clear in the highest sphere 
 Where all imperial glory shines. 
 Of selfsame colour is her hair 
 Whether unfolded, or in twines : 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline 1
 
 f2 THE GOLDEN- TKEASURy 
 
 Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 
 Resembling heaven by every wink; 
 The Gods do fear whenas they glow, 
 And I do tremble when I think 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine! 
 
 Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
 That beautifies Aurora's face, 
 Or like the silver crimson shroud 
 That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! 
 Her lips are like two budded roses 
 Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, 
 Within which bounds she balm encloses 
 Apt to entice a deity : 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine! 
 
 Her neck is like a stately tower 
 Where Love himself imprisoned lies, 
 To watch for glances every hour 
 From her divine and sacred eyes : 
 
 Heigh ho. for Rosaline ! 
 Her paps are centres of delight. 
 Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame. 
 Where Nature moulds the dew of light 
 To feed perfection with the same : 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 With orient pearl, with ruby red. 
 With marble white, with sapphire blue 
 Her 'body every way is fed, 
 Yet soft in touch and sweet in view : 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline I 
 Nature herself her shape admires ; 
 The Gods are wounded in her sight ; 
 And Love forsakes his heavenly fires 
 And at her eyes his brand doth light: 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 Then muse not, Nymphs, though T bemoan 
 The absence of fair Rosaline,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY I 
 
 Since for a fair there's fairer none, 
 Nor for her virtues so divine : 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosahne ; 
 Heigh ho, my heart 1 would God that she were mine ! 
 
 T. Lodge 
 
 XX 
 
 COLIN 
 
 Beauty sat bathing by a spring 
 
 Where fairest shades did hide her ; 
 The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 
 
 The cool streams ran beside her. 
 My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 
 
 To see what was forbidden : 
 But better memory said, fie ! 
 
 So vain desire w^as chidden : — 
 Hey nonny nonny O ! 
 Hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 Into a slumber then I fell, 
 When fond imagination 
 Seemed to see, but could not tell 
 
 Her feature or her fashion. 
 But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, 
 
 And sometimes fall a-weeping, 
 So I awaked, as wise this while 
 As when I fell a-sleeping : — 
 Hey nonny nonny O ! 
 Hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 The Shepherd Tonit 
 
 XXI 
 
 A PICTURE 
 
 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, 
 Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry 
 Out of thy golden quiver 
 Take thou thy strongest arrow 
 That will through bone and marrow,
 
 14 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And me and thee of grief and fear deliver : — 
 But come behind, for if she look upon thee, 
 Alas ! poor Love ! then thou art woe-begone thee : 
 
 Anon 
 
 XXII 
 
 A SONG FOR MUSIC 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains : — 
 
 What need yau flow so fast ? 
 Look how the snowy mountains 
 
 Heaven''s sun doth gently waste ! 
 But my Sun^s heavenly eyes 
 View not your weeping, 
 That now lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies, 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Sleep is a reconciling, 
 
 A rest that peace begets : — 
 Doth not the sun rise smiling, 
 When fair at even he sets ? 
 
 — Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes \ 
 Melt not in weeping ! 
 While She lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies. 
 Sleeping ! 
 
 Anon 
 
 XXIII 
 
 TO HIS LOVE 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimmM : 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 15 
 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
 When in eternal lines to time thou growest . — 
 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 W. Shakesptan 
 
 XXIV 
 TO HIS LOVE 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time * 
 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
 
 In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; 
 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 1 see their antique pen would have exprest 
 Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. 
 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; 
 And for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
 
 For we, which now behold these present days, 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 W, Shakespean 
 
 XXV 
 BASIA 
 
 Turn back, you wanton flyer, 
 And answer my desire 
 
 With mutual greeting. 
 Yet bend a little nearer, — 
 True beauty still shines clearer 
 
 In closer meeting !
 
 1 5 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Hearts with hearts delighted 
 
 Should strive to be united, 
 Each other's arms with arms ench«.:ning, — 
 
 Hearts with a thought, 
 Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining. 
 
 What harvest half so sweet is 
 As still to reap the kisses 
 
 Grown ripe in sowing ? 
 And straight to be receiver 
 Of that which thou art giver, 
 
 Rich in bestowing ? 
 There is no strict observing 
 Of times' or seasons' swerving, 
 There is ever one fresh spring abiding; 
 Then what we sow with our lips 
 Let us reap, love's gains dividing. 
 
 T. Cainpiop 
 
 XXVI 
 
 ADVICE TO A GIRL 
 
 Never love unless you can 
 
 Bear with all the faults of man ! 
 
 Men sometimes will jealous be 
 
 Though but iittle cause they see, 
 
 And hang the head as discontent. 
 
 And speak what straight they will repent. 
 
 Men, that but one Saint adore, 
 Make a show of love to more ; 
 Beauty must be scorn'd in none, 
 Though but tmly served in one : 
 For what is courtship but disguise ? 
 True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 
 
 Men, when their affairs require, 
 Must awhile themselves retire;
 
 TifE GOLDEN TEEASl/KY i*i 
 
 Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 
 And not ever sit and talk : — 
 If these and such-like you can bear, 
 Then like, and love, and never fear ! 
 
 T, Campion 
 
 XXVII 
 
 LOVERS PERJURIES 
 
 On a day, alack the day ! 
 Love, whose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blossOm passing fair 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find : 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wished himself the heaven's breath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 But, alack, my hand is sworn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet : 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Do not call it sin in me 
 That I am forsworn for thee : 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were, 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 W, JThakespeare 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 A SUPPLICATION 
 
 Forget not yet the tried intent 
 Of such a truth as I have meant ; 
 My great travail so gladly spent, 
 Forget not yet '
 
 1 8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Forget not yet when first began 
 The weary life ye know, since whan 
 The suit, the service none tell can ; 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet the great assays, 
 The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, 
 The painful patience in delays, 
 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not ! O, forget not this, 
 How long ago hath been, and is 
 The mind that never meant amiss — 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not then thine own approved 
 The which so long hath thee so loved. 
 Whose steadfast faith yet never moved — 
 Forget not this ! 
 
 Sir T. Wyat 
 
 XXIX 
 
 TO AURORA 
 
 O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, 
 And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest ; 
 Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast 
 And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 
 
 O if thy pride did not our joys controul. 
 
 What world of loving wonders should'st thou see ! 
 
 For if I saw thee once transformed in me. 
 
 Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul ; 
 
 Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine. 
 And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan 
 Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ; 
 No, I would have my share in what were thine : 
 
 And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, 
 This happy harmony would make them none. 
 
 W. Alexander^ Earl of Sterline
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 19 
 
 XXX 
 
 IN LACRIMAS 
 
 I saw my Lady weep, 
 And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe, 
 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
 Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair, 
 And Passion, wise ; Tears, a delightful thing ; 
 Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare : 
 
 She made her sighs to sing, 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 
 
 O fairer than aught else 
 The world can show, leave off in time to grieve ! 
 Enough, enough : your joyful look excels : 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe. 
 O strive not to be excellent in woe. 
 Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow, 
 
 Anon 
 
 XXXI 
 
 TRUE LOVE \ 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : — 
 
 O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 
 
 That looks on tempest, and is never shaken ; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark. 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken,
 
 20 THR GULDEN TREASURY 
 
 Love\s not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom : — 
 
 If this be error, and upon me proved, 
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 W, Shakespeart 
 
 XXXII 
 A DITTY 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 By just exchange one for another given : 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven : 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 His heart in me keeps him and me in one. 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
 ( cherish his because in me it bides : 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 Sir P. Sidney 
 
 XXXIII 
 LOVE'S INSIGHT 
 
 Though others may Her brow adore 
 
 Yet more must I, that therein see far more 
 
 Than any other's eyes have power to see : 
 
 She is to me 
 More than to any others she can be! 
 I can discern more secret notes 
 That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes, 
 Than any else besides have art to read : 
 
 No looks proceed 
 From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. 
 
 Anon
 
 THE GOLDEI^ TREASURY 21 
 
 XXXIV 
 LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE 
 
 Were I as base as is the lowly plain, 
 And you, my Love, as high as heaven above. 
 Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain 
 Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 
 
 Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 
 And you, my Love, as humble and as low 
 As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
 Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go 
 
 Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies. 
 
 My love should shine on you like to the sun. 
 
 And look upon you with ten thousand eyes 
 
 Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done 
 
 Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 
 Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 
 
 /. Sylvester 
 
 XXXV 
 
 CARPE DIEM 
 
 O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
 O stay and hear! your true-love's coming 
 
 That can sing both high and low ; 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting — 
 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; 
 Present mirth hath present laughter ; 
 
 What's to come is still unsure : 
 In delay there lies no plenty, — 
 Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, 
 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 W. Shakespeare
 
 22 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 XXXVI 
 AN HONEST AUTOLYCUS 
 
 Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave, and nevi 
 Good penny-worths, — but money cannot move : 
 
 I keep a fair but for the f^air to view ; 
 A beggar may be liberal of love. 
 
 I hough all my wares be trash, the heart is true — 
 
 The heart is true. 
 
 Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again ; 
 My trifles come as treasures from my mind ; 
 It is a precious jewel to be plain ; 
 
 Sometimes in shell the orient'st oearls we find : — 
 Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain! 
 
 Of me a grain! 
 
 Anovc 
 
 XXXVII 
 WINTER 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail; 
 
 When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 Tu-whit ! 
 
 To-vvho ! A merry note ! 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all about the w.».^ e^^oi uiuw, 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow. 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; 
 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl — 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 Tu-whit! 
 
 To-who! A merry note! 
 
 While greasy Joan do^h keel the pot. 
 
 W. Shakesteark
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 2^ 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 
 Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang 
 
 In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 Which by and by black night doth take away. 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest : 
 
 In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Consumed with that which it was nourish''d by : 
 
 — This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love mon 
 strong, 
 
 'S' 
 
 t>* 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere Ion 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste , 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
 And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe, 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight, 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before :
 
 24 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — But if tne while I think on thee, dear Friend, 
 All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 XL 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 Come, Sleep: O Sleep! the certain knot of peace, 
 The baiting-place of wit. the balm of woe, 
 The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
 Th' indifterent judge between the high and low ; 
 
 With shield of proof shield me from out the prcase 
 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: 
 
 make in me those civil wars to cease ; 
 
 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 
 
 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed. 
 A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
 A rosy garland and a weary head : 
 And if these things, as being thine in right. 
 
 Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in mc, 
 Livelier than elsew^here, Stella's image see. 
 
 Sir P. Sidney 
 
 XLI 
 
 REVOLUTIONS 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore 
 So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
 Each changing place with that which goes before, 
 In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
 
 Natinty, once in the main of light, 
 
 Crawls' to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 
 
 Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
 
 And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 25 
 
 Time doth transfix the flourish set on youtia, 
 And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 
 Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
 And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : — 
 
 And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand 
 Praising Thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 
 
 W. Shakes peat ? 
 
 XLII 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing. 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing : 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
 And for that riches where is my deserving? 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 
 Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter ; 
 In sleep, a king ; but waking, no such matter. 
 
 VV. Shakespeare 
 
 XLIII 
 
 THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION 
 
 They that have power to hurt, and will do none, 
 That do not do the thing they most do show. 
 Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, —
 
 id THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, 
 And husband nature's riches from expense ; 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
 Others, but stewards of their excellence. 
 
 The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 But if that flower with base infection meet, 
 The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 
 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 W. Shakespean 
 
 XLIV 
 
 THE LOVER'S APPEAL 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! for shame, 
 To save thee from the blame 
 Of all my grief and grame. 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 That hath loved thee so long 
 In wealth and woe among: 
 And is thy heart so strong 
 As for to leave me thus ? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 That hath given thee my heart 
 Never for to depart 
 Neither for pain nor smart : 
 And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay ! say nay !
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 27 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 And have no more pity 
 Of him that loveth thee? 
 Alas ! thy cruelty ! 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 Sir T IVyai 
 
 XLV 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 As it fell upon a day 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 
 
 Trees did grow and plants did spring; 
 
 Every thing did banish moan 
 
 Save the Nightingale alone. 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 
 And there sung the dolefulPst ditty 
 
 That to hear it was great pity. 
 
 Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry ; 
 
 Teru, teru, by and by : 
 
 That to hear her so complain 
 
 Scarce 1 could from tears refrain; 
 
 For her griefs so lively shown 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 — Ah, thought I, thou mourn^st in vain, 
 
 None takes pity on thy pain : 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot heaf thee, 
 
 Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead. 
 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : 
 
 All thy fellow birds do sing 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowing ; 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee 
 
 None alive will pity me. 
 
 E. Barnefield
 
 28 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 XLVI 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
 Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, 
 Relieve my languish, and restore the light ; 
 With dark forgetting of my care return. 
 
 And let the day be time enough to mourn 
 The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
 Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
 Without the torment of the nighf s untruth. 
 
 Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires. 
 To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
 Never let rising Sun approve you liars, 
 To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : 
 
 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, 
 And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 
 
 S. Daniel 
 
 XLVII 
 
 The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 
 Unto her rested sense a perfect waking. 
 While late-bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth. 
 Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making ; 
 And mournfully bewailing, 
 Her throat in tunes expresseth 
 What grief her breast oppresseth 
 For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 
 
 O Philomela fair, O take some gladness, 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth, 
 
 Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish 
 
 But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken,
 
 THE GOLDEN ri^EASURY 29 
 
 Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, 
 Full womanlike complains her will was broken. 
 
 But I, who, daily craving. 
 
 Cannot have to content me, 
 
 Have more cause to lament me. 
 Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 
 
 O Philomela fair, O take some gladness 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Sir P. Sidney 
 
 XLVIII 
 FRUSTRA 
 
 Take, O take those lips away 
 That so sweetly were forsworn, 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 Lights that do mislead the morn : 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Bring again — 
 Seals of love, but seaPd in vain, 
 
 Seal'd in vain ! 
 
 W, Shakespeare 
 
 XLIX 
 LOVE'S FAREWELL 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part> 
 Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 
 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 And when we meet at any time again. 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 That we one jot of former love retain,
 
 30 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 
 When his pulse faiHng, passion speechless lies, 
 When fiith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
 And innocence is closing up his eyes, 
 
 — Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 
 
 M. Drayton 
 
 m IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO 
 
 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 
 
 Though thou be black as night 
 
 And she made all of light, 
 Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 
 
 Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! 
 
 Though here thou liv'st disgraced. 
 
 And she in heaven is placed. 
 Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth ? 
 
 Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, 
 
 That so have scorched thee 
 
 As thou still black must be 
 Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth 
 
 Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! 
 
 There comes a luckless night 
 
 That will dim all her light ; 
 — And this the black unhappy shade divineth* 
 
 Follow still, since so thy fates ordaindd ! 
 
 The sun must have his shade, 
 
 Till l)Oth at once do fade, — 
 The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. 
 
 T- CarupioK
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 31 
 
 LI 
 
 BLIND LOVE 
 
 O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head 
 Which have no correspondence with true sight : 
 Or if they have, where is my judgment fled 
 That censures falsely what they see aright? 
 
 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote. 
 What means the world to say it is not so? 
 If it be not, then love doth well denote 
 Love's eye is not so true as all men's : No, 
 
 How can it ? O how can love's eye be true, 
 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 
 No marvel then though I mistake my view : 
 The sun itself sees not till heaven clears, 
 
 O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find! 
 
 W, Shakespeare 
 
 LII 
 
 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me i 
 For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? 
 
 It shall suffice me here to sit and see 
 
 Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke : 
 
 What sight can more content a lover's mind 
 
 Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind? 
 
 My words have charm'd her, for secure she sleeps, 
 Though guilty much of wrong done to my love ; 
 
 And in her slumber, see ! she close-eyed weeps : 
 Dreams often more than waking passions move. 
 
 Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee . 
 
 That she in peace may wake and pity me. 
 
 7". Cajiipion
 
 12 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 LIII 
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS 
 
 While that the sun with his beams hot 
 Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain^ 
 Philon the shepherd, late forgot, 
 Sitting beside a crystal fountain. 
 In shadow of a green oak tree 
 Upon his pipe this song play'd he : 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love; 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 So long as I was in your sight 
 1 was your heart, your soul, and treasure ; 
 And evermore you sobbed and sigh'd 
 Burning in flames beyond all measure : 
 — Three days endured your love to me, 
 And it was lost in other three! 
 Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, untrue Love, 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Another Shepherd you did see 
 To whom your heart was soon enchained ; 
 Full soon your love was leapt from me, 
 Full soon my place he had obtained. 
 Soon came a third, your love to win. 
 And we were out and he was in. 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Sure you have made me passing glad 
 That you your mind so soon removed, 
 Before that I the leisure had 
 To choose you for my best beloved : 
 For all your love was past and done 
 Two days before it was begun : —
 
 TBE GOLDEN TREASURY 3J 
 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; 
 You mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Ano%. 
 
 LIV 
 
 ADVICE TO A LOVER 
 
 The sea hath many thousand sands, 
 The sun hath motes as many ; 
 The sky is full of stars, and Love 
 As full of woes as any : 
 Believe me, that do know the elf. 
 And make no trial by thyself ! 
 
 It is in truth a pretty toy 
 
 For babes to play withal : — 
 
 But O! the honeys of our youth 
 
 Are oft our age's gall ! 
 
 Self-proof in time will make thee know 
 
 He was a prophet told thee so ; 
 
 A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 
 Tells truth without belief; 
 For headstrong Youth will run his race. 
 Although his goal be grief: — 
 Love's Martyr, when his heat is past, 
 Proves Care's Confessor at the last. 
 
 Anon 
 
 LV 
 
 A RENUNCIATION 
 
 Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, 
 For all those rosy ornaments in thee, — 
 
 Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight, — 
 Nor fair, nor sweet — unless thou pity me! 
 
 I will not soothe thy fancies ; thou shaft prove. 
 
 That beauty is no beauty without love.
 
 34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure 
 
 My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine : 
 Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 
 
 ril not be w-rapp'd up in those arms of thine : 
 
 — Now show it, if thou be a woman right — 
 Embrace and kiss and love me in despite ! 
 
 J". Campion 
 
 LVI 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man^s ingratitude ; 
 
 Thy tooth is not so keen 
 
 Because thou art not seen. 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
 
 Then, heigh ho! the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 
 Thou dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
 
 Then, heigh ho! the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 W, Shakespeare 
 
 LVII 
 
 . A SWEET LULLABY 
 
 Come little babe, come silly soul. 
 Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 35 
 
 Born as I doubt to all our dole. 
 
 And to thy self unhappy chief: 
 Sing Lullaby and lap it warm, 
 Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 
 
 Thou little think'st and less dost know, 
 The cause of this thy mother's moan, 
 Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, 
 And I myself am all alone : 
 
 Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? 
 
 And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 
 
 Come little wretch, ah silly heart. 
 Mine only joy, what can I more? 
 If there be any wrong thy smart 
 That may the destinies imolore : 
 
 Twas I, I say, agamst my will, 
 
 1 wail the time, but be thou still. 
 
 And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face! 
 Would God Himself He might thee see, 
 No doubt thou would'st soon purchase grace, 
 I know right well, for thee and me : 
 
 But come to mother, babe, and play, 
 
 For father false is fled away. 
 
 Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance, 
 
 Thy father home again to send, 
 
 If death do strike me with his lance, 
 
 Yet mayst thou me to him commend : 
 If any ask thy mother's name, 
 Tell how by love she purchased blamCt 
 
 Then will his gentle heart soon yield, 
 
 I know him of a noble mind. 
 
 Although a Lion in the field. 
 
 A Lamb in town thou shalt him find : 
 Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid. 
 His sugar'd words hath me betray'd.
 
 56 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then mayst thou joy and be right glad, 
 Although in woe I seem to moan, 
 Thy father is no rascal lad, 
 A. noble youth of blood and bone : 
 
 His glancing looks, if he once smile. 
 Right honest women may beguile. 
 
 Come, little boy, and rock asleep, 
 Sing lullaby and be thou still, 
 1 that can do nought else but weep ; 
 Will sit by thee and wail my fill : 
 God bless my babe, and lullaby 
 From this thy father's quality! 
 
 LVIII 
 
 Anon 
 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies 
 How silently, and with how wan a face! 
 What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries! 
 
 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case, 
 I read it in thy looks ; thy languished grace, 
 To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
 Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be? 
 Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? 
 Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness? 
 
 Sir P. Sidney 
 
 LIX 
 
 O CRUDELIS AMOR 
 
 When thou must home to shades of underground, 
 And there arrived, a new admired guest,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 l-i 
 
 The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 
 
 White lopd, blithe Helen, and the rest, 
 
 To hear the stories of thy finished love 
 
 From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; 
 
 Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, 
 Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, 
 Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights, 
 And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake : 
 When thou hast told these honours done to thee, 
 Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me ! 
 
 T. Campion 
 
 LX 
 
 SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Mother's wag, pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy ; 
 
 When thy father first did see 
 
 Such a boy by him and me. 
 
 He was glad, I was woe, 
 
 Fortune changed made him so, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy 
 
 Last his sorrow, first his joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 
 When thou art old there's grief enough for thee 
 
 Streaming tears that never stint, 
 
 Like pearl drops from a flint. 
 
 Fell by course from his eyes, 
 
 That one another's place supplies; 
 
 Thus he grieved in every part, 
 
 Tears of blood fell from his heart, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy. 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy.
 
 38 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
 When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee 
 The wanton smiled, father wept, 
 Mother cried, baby leapt ; 
 More he crow'd, more we cried, 
 Nature could not sorrow hide : 
 He must go, he must kiss 
 Child and mother, baby bless, 
 For he left his pretty boy, 
 feather's sorrow, father's joy. 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 
 When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 R. Greeut 
 
 LXI 
 
 A LAMENT 
 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife ; 
 
 I do detest my life. 
 
 And with lamenting cries 
 
 Peace to my soul to bring 
 
 Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize : 
 
 — But he, grim grinning King, 
 
 Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprize, 
 
 Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb. 
 
 Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 
 
 W. Drunwiona 
 
 LXII 
 DIRGE OF LOVE 
 
 Come away, come away, Death, 
 And in sad cypres let me be laid ; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 O prepare it ! 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 Did share it.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 39 
 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet 
 On my black coffin let there be strown ; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown ; 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save, 
 
 Lay me, O where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave, 
 To weep there. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 LXIII 
 
 TO HIS LUTE 
 
 My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 
 With thy green mother in some shady grove, 
 When immelodious winds but made thee move. 
 And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. 
 
 Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, 
 Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, 
 Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, 
 What art thou but a harbinger of woe ? 
 
 Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more. 
 But orphans^ wailings to the fainting ear; 
 Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; 
 For which be silent as in woods before : 
 
 Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 
 Like widow'd turtle, still her loss complain. 
 
 IV, Drummona 
 
 LXIV 
 FIDELE 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 
 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done. 
 
 Home art gone and ta'en thy wages? 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
 
 40 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
 
 Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak : 
 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning-flash 
 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 
 Thou hast finished joy and moan: 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 W. Shakespeari 
 
 LXV 
 
 A SEA DIRGE 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies : 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 Nothing of him that doth fode, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 Hark ! now I hear them, — 
 Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 W. Shakespeari 
 
 LXVI 
 
 A LAND DIRGE 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, 
 Since o'er shady groves they hover 
 And with leaves and flowers to cover 
 The friendless bodies of unburied men. 
 Call unto his funeral dole 
 The antj the field-mouse, and the mole
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 41, 
 
 To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm 
 And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm; 
 But keep the wolf far thence, thafs foe to men, 
 For with his nails heUl dig them up again. 
 
 /. Webster 
 
 LXVII 
 
 POST MORTEM 
 
 If Thou survive my well-contented day 
 
 When that churl Death my bones Wx.;i dust shall cover 
 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover ; 
 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time, 
 And though they be outstripped by every pen. 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 
 O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — 
 < Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
 To march in ranks of better equipage : 
 
 But since he died, and poets better prove, 
 Theirs for their style Til read, his for his love.'' 
 
 W. Shakespeart 
 
 LXVIII 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world, that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwells 
 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe-
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 O if, I say, you look upon this verse 
 When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
 But let your love even with my life decay ; 
 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 LXIX 
 
 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 Tell me where is Fancy bred, 
 Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
 How begot, how nourished ? 
 Reply, reply. 
 
 It is engendered in the eyes ; 
 With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies : 
 Let us all ring Fancy's knell ; 
 I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 — Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 LXX 
 
 A DILEMMA 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 
 
 Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours, 
 And then behold your lips where sweet love har- 
 bours. 
 My eyes present me with a double doul)ting: 
 For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes 
 Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses. 
 
 Anon.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 43 
 
 LXXI 
 
 ROSALYND'S MADRIGAL 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee, 
 
 Doth suck his sweet ; 
 Now with his wings he plays with me. 
 Now with his feet. 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
 His bed amidst my tender breast ; 
 My kisses are his daily feast, 
 And yet he robs me of my rest : 
 Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 
 
 And if I sleep, then percheth he 
 With pretty flight, 
 And makes his pillow of my knee 
 The livelong night. 
 Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; 
 He music plays if so I sing ; 
 He lends me every lovely thing. 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth sting: 
 Whist, wanton, will ye ? 
 
 Else I with roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence, 
 And bind you, when you long to play, 
 For your offence ; 
 I'll shut my eyes to keep you in ; 
 ril make you fast it for your sin ; 
 ril count your power not worth a pin^ 
 — Alas ! what hereby shall I win, 
 If he gainsay me ? 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy 
 
 With many a rod ? 
 He will repay me with annoy, 
 
 Because a gv. d.
 
 44 ^^^ GOLDEN TRi^a^uRY 
 
 Then sit thou safely on my knee, 
 And let thy bower my bosom be ; 
 Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee, 
 O Cupid ! so thou pity me, 
 
 Spare not, but play thee ! 
 
 T. Lodge 
 
 LXXII 
 
 CUPID AND CAMPASPE 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspd play'd 
 
 At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : 
 
 He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows. 
 
 His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 
 
 Loses them too ; then down he throws 
 
 The coral of his lip, the rose 
 
 Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; 
 
 With these, the crystal of his brow, 
 
 And then the dimple on his chin ; 
 
 All these did my Campaspe win : 
 
 And last he set her both his eyes — 
 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 
 
 What shall, alas ! become of me ? 
 
 /• Lylye 
 
 LXXIII 
 
 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, 
 
 With night we banish sorrow ; 
 Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow ! 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind 
 
 Notes from the lark Til borrow ; 
 Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing, 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow ; 
 To give my Love good-morrow 
 Notes from them both Til borrow.
 
 THE GOLDEN 'J REASURY 45 
 
 Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, 
 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
 And from each hill, let music shrill 
 
 Give my fair Love good-morrow ! 
 Blackbird and thrush in every bush. 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! 
 You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
 Sing my fair Love good-morrow ; 
 To give my Love good-morrow 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 
 
 T. Heywood 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 PROTHALAMION 
 
 Calm was the day, and through the trembling ai^ 
 
 Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — 
 
 A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
 
 Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair ; 
 
 When I (whom sullen care, 
 
 Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 
 
 In princes' court, and expectation vain 
 
 Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 
 
 Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain) 
 
 Walk'd forth to ease my pain 
 
 Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames ; 
 
 Whose nitty bank, the which his river hems, 
 
 Was painted all with variable flowers, 
 
 And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems 
 
 Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 
 
 And crown their paramours 
 
 Against the bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end m/ song 
 
 There in a meadow by the river's side 
 A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy. 
 All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, 
 With goodly greenish locks all loose untied 
 As each had been a bride ;
 
 46 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 And each one had a little wicker basket 
 Made of fine twigs, entraildd curiously. 
 In which they gatherM flowers to fill their flasket. 
 And with fine fingers cropt full feateously 
 The tender stalks on high. 
 Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
 They gathered some ; the violet, pallid blue, 
 The little daisy that at evening closes, 
 The virgin lily and the primrose true, 
 With store of vermeil roses, 
 To deck their bridegrooms' posies 
 Against the bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song 
 
 With that I saw two Swans of goodly hue 
 Come softly swimming down along the Lee: 
 Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; 
 The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 
 Did never whiter show, 
 Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 
 For love of Leda, whiter did appear; 
 Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, 
 Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near ; 
 So purely white they were 
 
 That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, 
 Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare 
 To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 
 Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, 
 And mar their beauties bright 
 That shone as Heaven's light 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song 
 
 Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flow^ers theii fiU 
 
 Ran all- in haste to see that silver brood 
 
 As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
 
 Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still 
 
 Their wondering eyes to fill ; 
 
 Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair 
 
 Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem 
 
 Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY ' 47 
 
 Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team ; 
 
 For sure they did not seem 
 To be begot of any earthly seed, 
 But rather Angels, or of Angels' breed ; 
 Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, 
 In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
 The earth did fresh array ; 
 So fresh they seem'd as day, 
 Ev'n as their bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
 Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, 
 That to the sense did fragrant odours yield. 
 All which upon those goodly birds they threw 
 And all the waves did strew, 
 That like old Peneus' waters they did seem 
 When down along by pleasant Tempers shore 
 Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream 
 That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store. 
 Like a bride's chamber-floor. 
 
 Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound 
 Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found. 
 The which presenting all in trim array, 
 Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd ; 
 Whilst one did sing this lay 
 Prepared against that day, 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 * Ye gentle birds ! the world's fair ornament, 
 
 And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 
 
 Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, 
 
 Joy may you have, and gentle heart's content 
 
 Of your love's couplement ; 
 
 And let fair Venus, that is queen of love. 
 
 With her heart-quelhng son upon you smile, 
 
 Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 
 
 All love's dislike, and' friendship's faulty guile 
 
 For ever to assoil. 
 
 Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And blessed plenty wait upon your board ; 
 
 And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 
 
 That fruitful issue may to you afford 
 
 Which may your foes confound, 
 
 And make your joys redound 
 
 Upon your bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.' 
 
 So ended she ; and all the rest around 
 To her redoubled that her undersong. 
 Which said their bridal day should not be long: 
 And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground 
 Their accents did resound. 
 So forth those joyous birds did pass along 
 Adown the Lee that to them murmur'd low, 
 As he would speak but that he lackM a tongue , 
 Yet did by signs his glad affection show, 
 Making his stream nm slow. 
 And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
 'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
 The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend 
 The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, 
 Did on those two attend, 
 And their best service lend 
 
 Against their wedding day, which was not long . 
 Sweet Thames 1 run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 At length they all to merry London came. 
 
 To merry London, my most kindly nurse. 
 
 That to me gave this lifer's first native source, 
 
 Though from another place I take my name, 
 
 An house of ancient fame : 
 
 There when they came whereas those bricky towers 
 
 The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride, 
 
 Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, 
 
 There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, 
 
 Till they decayed through pride ; 
 
 Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 
 
 Where oft I gaindd gifts and goodly grace 
 
 Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell. 
 
 Whose want too well now feels my friendless case
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 49 
 
 But an J here fits not well 
 Old woes, but joys to tell 
 Against the bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 
 
 Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder, 
 
 Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did 
 
 thunder 
 And Hercules' two pillars standing near 
 Did make to quake and fear : 
 Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry! 
 That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame, 
 Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 
 And endless happiness of thine own name 
 That promiseth the same ; 
 That through thy prowess and victorious arms 
 Thy country may be freed from foreign harms, 
 And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 
 Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms, 
 Which some brave Muse may sing 
 To ages following : 
 Upon the bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 From those high towers this noble lord issuing. 
 
 Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair 
 
 In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 
 
 Descended to the river's open viewing 
 
 With a great train ensuing. 
 
 Above the rest were goodly to be seen 
 
 Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 
 
 Beseeming well the bower of any queen. 
 
 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, 
 
 Fit for so goodly stature, 
 
 That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 
 
 Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright; 
 
 They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 
 
 Received those two fair brides, their love's deligh* 
 
 Which, at th' appointed tide, 
 
 Each one did make his« bride
 
 go THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Against their bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 E. Spenser 
 LXXV 
 
 THE HAPPY HEART 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 
 
 O sweet content! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? 
 
 O punishment ! 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd 
 To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 
 O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! 
 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! 
 
 Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 
 
 O sweet content ! 
 Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 
 
 O punishment! 
 Then he that patiently want's burden bears 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king! 
 O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content I 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! 
 
 T. Del her 
 
 LXXVI 
 SIC TRANSIT 
 
 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me ; 
 
 For while thou view'st me with thy fading light 
 Part of my life doth still depart with thee, 
 
 And I still onward haste to my last night: 
 Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly — 
 So every day we live, a day we die. 
 
 But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest, 
 How are my days deprived of life in you
 
 THE GOJlDEN treasury 51 
 
 When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, 
 
 By feigned death life sweetly to renew! 
 Part of my life, in that, you life deny : 
 So every day we live, a day we die. 
 
 T. Campion 
 
 LXXVII 
 
 This Life, which seems so fair. 
 
 Is hke a bubble blown up in the air 
 
 By sporting children's breath, 
 
 Who chase it everywhere 
 
 And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 
 
 And though it sometimes seem of its own might 
 
 Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, 
 
 And firm to hover in that empty height, 
 
 That only is because it is so light. 
 
 — But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 
 
 For when 'tis most admired, in a thought. 
 
 Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. 
 
 IV. Dru7mnond 
 
 LXXVIII 
 
 SOUL AND BODY 
 
 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 [FoiPd by] those rebel powers that thee array, 
 Why doth thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 
 Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? 
 
 Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss^ 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : — 
 
 So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, 
 And death once dead, there's no more dying then. 
 
 l\'\ Shakespeare
 
 52 THE GOLDEN '1 KfLASURlf 
 
 LXXIX 
 
 The man of life upright, 
 
 Whose guiltless heart is freb 
 
 From all dishonest deeds, 
 Or thought of vanity ; 
 
 The man whose silent days 
 
 In harmless joys are spent, 
 Whom hopes cannot delude 
 
 Nor sorrow discontent : 
 
 That man needs neither toweri 
 
 Nor armour for defence, 
 Nor secret vaults to fly 
 
 From thunder's violence : 
 
 He only can behold 
 
 With unaffrighted eyes 
 The horrors of the deep 
 
 And terrors of the skies. 
 
 Thus scorning all the cares 
 
 That fate or fortune brings, 
 He makes the heaven his book, 
 
 His wisdom heavenly things ; 
 
 Good thoughts his only friends, 
 His wealth a well-spent age, 
 
 The earth his sober inn 
 And quiet pilgrimage. 
 
 T. Campion 
 
 LXXX 
 
 THE LESSONS OF NATURE 
 
 Of this fair volume which we World do name 
 If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care. 
 Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame, 
 We clear might read the art and wisdom rare :
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 53 
 
 Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, 
 His providence extending everywhere. 
 His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, 
 In every page, no period of the same. 
 
 But silly we, like foolish children, rest 
 Well pleased with coloured vellum, leaves of gold, 
 Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best. 
 On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold ; 
 
 Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, 
 It is some picture on the margin wrought. 
 
 W, Drummond 
 
 LXXXI 
 
 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move? 
 Is this the justice which on earth we find? 
 Is this that firm decree which all doth bind? 
 Are these your influences, Powers above ? 
 
 Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, 
 Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove ; 
 And they who thee, poor idol Virtue! love, 
 Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. 
 
 Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all 
 
 Why should best minds- groan under most distress? 
 
 Or why should pride humility make thrall, 
 
 And injuries the innocent oppress? 
 
 Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time 
 When good may have, as well as bad, their prime! 
 
 W. Drummond 
 
 LXXXII 
 
 THE WORLD'S WAY 
 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry — 
 As, to behold desert a beggar born. 
 And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
 
 54 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 And right perfection wrongfully disgraced. 
 And strength by limping sway disabled, 
 
 And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
 And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 
 And simple truth miscall'd simpHcity, 
 And captive Good attending captain 111 : — 
 
 — Tired with all these, from these would I be gon% 
 Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. 
 
 W. Shakespean 
 
 LXXXIII 
 
 A WISH 
 
 Happy were he could finish forth his fate 
 In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure 
 From all society, from love and hate 
 Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure ; 
 
 Then wake again, and yield God ever praise ; 
 Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry ; 
 In contemplation passing still his days. 
 And change of holy thoughts to make him merry : 
 
 Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush 
 Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush : 
 — Happy were he \ 
 
 R. Devereiix, Earl of Essex 
 
 LXXXIV 
 
 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 
 
 The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King 
 Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild. 
 Among that savage brood the woods forth bring. 
 Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. 
 
 His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, 
 With honey that from virgin hives distilled ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREAJJRY 55 
 
 Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some unc».uth thing 
 Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 
 
 There burst he forth : All ye whose hopes rely 
 On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, 
 Repent, repent, and from old errors turn! 
 --Who listened to his voice, obey'd his cry? 
 
 Only the echoes, which he made relent, 
 Rung from their flinty caves, Repent! Repent! 
 
 W. Driimmona
 
 BOOK SECOND 
 
 LXXXV 
 
 ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRISTS 
 NATIVITY 
 
 This is the month, and this the happy morn 
 Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King 
 Of wedded maid and virgin mother born. 
 Our great redemption from above did bring ; 
 For so the holy sages once did sing 
 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 
 
 I'o welcome Him to this His new abode. 
 
 x\ow while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod. 
 
 Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
 
 And all the spangled host keep watch m squadrons bright? 
 
 See how from far, upon the eastern road, 
 The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : 
 O run, prevent them with thy humble ode 
 And lay it lowly at His blessed feet ; 
 Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, 
 And join thy voice unto the Angel quire 
 From out His secret ^Itar touch'd ^vith hallow^^ fire- 
 i6
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 57 
 
 THE HYMN 
 
 It was the winter wild 
 
 While the heaven-born Child 
 
 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 
 
 Nature in awe to Him 
 
 Had doff'd 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; 
 
 And on her naked shame, 
 
 Pollute with sinful blame, 
 
 The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; 
 
 Confounded, that her Makers eyes 
 
 Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 
 
 But He, her fears to cease, 
 
 Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; 
 
 She, crown'd 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 uphung; 
 
 The hooked chariot stood 
 
 Unstain'd with hostile blood ; 
 
 The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; 
 
 And kings sat still with awful eye. 
 
 As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by 
 
 But peaceful was the night 
 
 Wherein the Prince of Light 
 
 His reign of peace upon the earth began: 
 
 The winds, with wonder whist.
 
 ^6 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Smoothly the waters kist 
 
 Whispering new joys to the mild ocedn — 
 
 Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 
 
 While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 
 
 The stars, with deep amaze, 
 
 Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 
 
 Bending one way their precious influence; 
 
 And will not take their flight 
 
 For all the morning light, 
 
 Or Lucifer that often warnM 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-enlightenM 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 than 
 
 That the mighty Pan 
 
 Was kindly come to live with them below, 
 
 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 bHssful rapture took: 
 
 The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 
 
 With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 59 
 
 Nature, that heard such sound 
 
 Beneath the hollow round 
 
 Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 
 
 Now was almost won 
 
 To tliink 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 ^nsmefaced night array'd; 
 
 The helmed Cherubim 
 
 And sworded Seraphim 
 
 Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display"d, 
 
 Harping in loud and solemn quire 
 
 With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir 
 
 Such music (as 'tis said) 
 
 Before was never made 
 
 But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 
 
 While the Creator great 
 
 His constellations set 
 
 And the w^ell-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 consort to the angelic 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 ;
 
 6o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 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, 
 
 Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 
 
 Mercy will sit between 
 
 Throned in celestial sheen, 
 
 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; 
 
 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 ychain'd 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 
 
 vShall 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 
 
 Full 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. 
 
 Swinges the scaly horror of his folded talL 
 
 The Oracles are dumb ; 
 No voice or hideous hum
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 6l 
 
 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 ; 
 
 vVith 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-batter'd god of Palestine ; 
 
 And mooned Ashtaroth 
 
 Heaven's queen and mother both. 
 
 Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
 
 The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn : 
 
 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz moutn 
 
 And sullen Moloch, fled. 
 
 Hath left in shadows dread 
 
 His burning idol all of blackest hue; 
 
 In vain with symbols' ring 
 
 I'hey call the grisly king, 
 
 In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 
 
 The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 
 
 Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
 
 62 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Nor is Osiris seen 
 
 \w Memphian grove, or green. 
 
 Trampling the unshowerd grass with lowings loud ; 
 
 Nor can he be at rest 
 
 Within his sacred chest ; 
 
 Nought but profoundest Hell can l)e his shroud ; 
 
 In vain with timbrelPd anthems dark 
 
 The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 
 
 He feels from Juda's land 
 
 The dreaded Infant's hand ; r 
 
 The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 
 
 Nor all the gods beside 
 
 Longer dare abide, 
 
 Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
 
 Our Babe, to show His Godhead true. 
 
 Can in His swaddling bands control die damned crew 
 
 So, when the sun in bed 
 
 CurtainM with cloudy red 
 
 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
 
 The flocking shadows pale 
 
 Troop to the infernal jail, 
 
 Each fetter' d 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 fix'd her polishM car. 
 
 Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending: 
 
 And all about the courtly stable 
 
 Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable. 
 
 /, Milton 
 
 LXXXVI 
 
 SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 
 
 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 
 Thi» universal frame began :
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 63 
 
 When Nature underneath a heap 
 
 Of jarring atoms lay 
 And could not heave her head, 
 The tuneful voice was heard from high. 
 
 Arise, ye more than dead! 
 Then cold and hot and moist and dry 
 In order to their stations leap. 
 
 And Music^s power obey. 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony 
 
 This universal frame began : 
 
 From harmony to harmony 
 Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
 The diapason closing full in Man. 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
 When Jubal struck the chorded shell 
 His listening brethren stood around. 
 And, wondering, on their faces fell 
 To worship that celestial sound. 
 Less than a god they thought there could not dweli 
 Within the hollow of that shell 
 That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
 
 The trumpet's loud clangor 
 
 Excites us to arms, 
 With shrill notes of anger 
 
 And mortal alarms. 
 The double double double beat 
 
 Of the thundering drum 
 
 Cries ' Hark ! the foes come ; 
 Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat I* 
 
 The soft complaining flute 
 
 In dying notes discovers 
 
 The woes of hopeless lovers, 
 Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute 
 
 Sharp violins proclaim 
 Their jealous pangs and desoeration, 
 Fury, frantic indignation, 
 Depth of pains, and height of passion 
 
 For the fair disdainful dame.
 
 fj4 TI/E GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 But oh ! what art can teach, 
 What human voice can reach 
 
 The sacred organ's praise? 
 Notes inspiring holy love, 
 Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
 
 To mend the choirs above. 
 
 Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
 And trees unrooted left their place 
 
 Sequacious of the lyre : 
 But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher t 
 When to her Organ vocal breath was given 
 An Angel heard, and straight appearM — 
 
 Mistaking Earth for Heaven. 
 
 Grand Chorus 
 
 As from the power of sacred laj's 
 
 The spheres began to move, 
 And sung the great Creator's praise 
 
 To all the blest above ; 
 So when the last and dreadful hour 
 This crumbling pageant shall devour. 
 The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
 The dead shall live, the living die, 
 And Music shall untune the sky. 
 
 y. Dry den 
 
 LXXXVII 
 
 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 
 
 Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 
 Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; 
 Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old 
 When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, 
 
 Forget not : In Thy book record their groans 
 Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
 Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rollM 
 Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
 
 TTHE GOLDEN TREASURY 65 
 
 The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
 
 To Heaven. Their martyrd blood and ashes sow 
 
 O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
 
 The triple Tvrant : that from these may grow 
 A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 
 Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 
 
 /. Milton 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 
 HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN 
 FROM IRELAND 
 
 The forward youth that would appear, 
 Must now forsake his Muses dear, 
 
 Nor in the shadows sing 
 
 His numbers languishing. 
 
 Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
 And oil the unused armour's rust, 
 
 Removing from the wall 
 
 The corslet of the hall. 
 
 So restless Cromwell could not cease 
 In the inglorious arts of peace. 
 
 But through adventurous war 
 
 Urged his active star: 
 
 And like the three-fork'd lightning, first 
 Breaking the clouds where it was nurst. 
 
 Did thorough his own Side 
 
 His fiery way divide : 
 
 For 'tis all one to courage high, 
 The emulous, or enemy ; 
 
 And with such, to enclose 
 
 Is more than to oppose ; 
 
 Then burning through the air he went 
 And palaces and temples rent ; 
 
 And Caesar's head at last 
 
 JJid through his laiirels blast.
 
 66 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 
 
 'Tis madness to resist or blame 
 The face of angry heaven's flame ; 
 And if we would speak true, 
 Much to the Man is due 
 
 Who, from his private gardens, where 
 He lived reserved and austere, 
 (As if his highest plot 
 To plant the bergamot,) 
 
 Could by industrious valour climb 
 To ruin the great work of time, 
 
 And cast the Kingdoms old 
 
 Into another mould ; 
 
 Though Justice against Fate complain. 
 And plead the ancient Rights in vain « 
 But those do hold or break 
 As men are strong or weak ; 
 
 Nature, that hateth emptiness, 
 
 Allows of penetration less. 
 
 And therefore must make room 
 Where greater spirits come. 
 
 What field of all the civil war 
 Where his were not the deepest scar? 
 
 And Hampton shows what part 
 
 He had of wiser art, 
 
 Where, twining subtle fears with hope 
 He wove a net of such a scope 
 
 That Charles himself might chase 
 To Carisbrook's narrow case. 
 
 That thence the Royal actor borne 
 The tragic scaffold might adorn : 
 While round the armed bands 
 Did clap their bloody hands. 
 
 He nothing common did or mean 
 Upon that memorable scene, 
 But with his keener eye 
 The axe's edge did try ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 6"^ 
 
 Noi caii'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, 
 To vindicate his helpless right ; 
 
 But bow'd his comely head 
 
 Down, as upon a bed. 
 
 — This was that memorable hour 
 Which first assured the forced power; 
 
 So when they did design 
 
 The Capitol's first line, 
 
 A Bleeding Head, where they begun, 
 Did fright the architects to run ; 
 
 And yet in that the State 
 
 Foresaw its happy fate ! 
 
 And now the Irish are ashamed 
 
 To see themselves in one year tamed: 
 
 So much one man can do 
 
 That does both act and know. 
 
 They can affirm his praises best. 
 And have, though overcome, confest 
 
 How good he is, how just 
 
 And fit for highest trust. 
 
 Nor yet grown stifFer Arith command^ 
 But still in the Republic's hand — 
 
 How fit he is to sway 
 
 That can so well obey ! 
 
 He to the Commons" feet presents 
 i\ Kingdom for his first year's rents, 
 
 And (what he may) forbears 
 
 His fame, to make it theirs : 
 
 And has his sword and spoils ungirt 
 To lay them at the PubHc's skirt. 
 
 So when the falcon high 
 
 Falls heavy from the sky, 
 
 She, having kilPd. no more doth search 
 But on the next green bough to perch. 
 
 Where, when he first does lure, 
 
 "^^^ falconer has her sure.
 
 68 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — What may not then our Isle presume 
 While victory his crest does plume ? 
 
 What may not others fear 
 
 If thus he crowns each year? 
 
 As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 
 To Italy an Hannibal, 
 
 And to all States not free 
 
 Shall climacteric be. 
 
 The Pict no shelter now shall find 
 
 Within his parti-colour'd mind, 
 But from this valour sad 
 Shrink underneath the plaid — * 
 
 Happy, if in the tufted brake 
 The English hunter him mistake, 
 
 Nor lay his hounds in near 
 
 The Caledonian deer. 
 
 But Thou, the War's and Fortune's so\% 
 March indefatigably on ; 
 
 And for the last effect 
 
 Still keep the sword erect : 
 
 Besides the force it has to fright 
 The spirits of the shady night, 
 
 The same arts that did gain 
 
 A power, must it maintain. 
 
 A. Mai veil 
 
 LXXXIX 
 
 LYCIDAS 
 
 Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel 
 1637 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 
 Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
 I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
 And with forced fingers rude
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 69 
 
 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
 Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
 Compels me to disturb your season due : 
 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
 Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
 Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 
 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
 He must not float upon iiis watery bier 
 Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
 Without the meed of some melodious tear. 
 
 Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well 
 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring: 
 Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
 Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
 So may some gentle Muse 
 With lucky words favour my destined urn ; 
 And as he passes, turn 
 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 
 
 For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, 
 Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill : 
 Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
 Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, 
 We drove a-field, and both together heard 
 What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn. 
 Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 
 Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
 Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel 
 Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, • 
 Tempered to the oaten flute, 
 
 Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
 From the glad sound would not be absent long ; 
 And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 
 
 But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone, 
 Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
 Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine overgrown, 
 And all their echoes, mourn : 
 The willows and the hazel copses green
 
 7b THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Shall now no more be seen 
 
 Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays : — 
 
 As killing as the canker to the rose, 
 
 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 
 
 Or frost to flowers, that their gay \vardrobe wear 
 
 When first the white-thorn blows ; 
 
 Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
 
 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
 Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? 
 For neither were ye playing on the steep 
 Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 
 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. 
 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : 
 Ay me ! I fondly dream — 
 
 Had ye been there . . . For what could that have done 
 What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
 The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 
 Whom universal nature did lament. 
 When by the rout that made the hideous roar 
 His gory visage down the stream w-as sent, 
 Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 
 
 Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care 
 To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade 
 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
 Were it not better done, as others use. 
 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
 Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? 
 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
 But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
 And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears 
 And slits the thin-spun life. ' But not the praise* 
 Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears: 
 * Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
 Nor in the glistering foil
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 7J 
 
 oei off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies ; 
 But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
 And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
 Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed»' 
 
 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood 
 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds. 
 That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
 But now my oat proceeds. 
 And listens to the herald of the sea 
 That came in Neptune's plea ; 
 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon wi:ids, 
 What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? 
 And questioned every gust of rugged wings 
 That blows from off each beaked promontory : 
 They knew not of his story ; 
 And sage Hippotadds their answer brings, 
 That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd; 
 The air was calm, and on the level brine 
 Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. 
 It was that fatal and perfidious bark 
 Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, 
 That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
 
 Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
 His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge 
 Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
 Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe : 
 ' Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, ' my dearest pledge! ' 
 Last came, and last did go 
 The Pilot of the Galilean lake ; 
 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; 
 He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : 
 ' How well could I have spared for thee, young swain 
 Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake 
 Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! 
 Of other care they little reckoning make 
 Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 
 And shove away the worthy bidden guest
 
 72 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know liow to hold 
 
 a\ sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least 
 
 That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 
 
 What recks it them? What need they? They are sped: 
 
 And when tliey list, their lean and Hashy songs 
 
 Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; 
 
 The hungry sheep look up, and are not ioiiX, 
 
 Ikit swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw 
 
 Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : 
 
 iJesides wliat the grim wolf with privy paw 
 
 Daily devours apace, and nothing said: 
 
 — But that two-handed engine at the door 
 
 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.' 
 
 Return, Alpheus ; the dread voice is past 
 That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, 
 And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
 Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
 Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks 
 On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks ; 
 Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd CyCS 
 That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers 
 And purple all the ground with \ernal flowers. 
 Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 
 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. 
 The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, 
 The glowing violet. 
 
 The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 
 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears : 
 Bid amarantus all his beauty shed, 
 x-Xnd daffadillies fill their cups with tears 
 To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. 
 For so to interpose a little ease, 
 Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise : — 
 Ay me! whilst thee the shores and pounding seas 
 Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are hurl'd, 
 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides 
 Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
 Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 73 
 
 Oi whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
 Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old. 
 Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
 Looks toward Nam.ancos and Bayona's hold, 
 
 — Look homeward. Angel, now, and melt with ruth: 
 
 — And, O ye dolphins, \*att the hapless youth! 
 
 Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more. 
 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 
 Sunk though he be Ijeneath the watery floor : 
 So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed. 
 And yet anon repairs his drooping head 
 And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
 Flames in the forehead of the morning sk\ ; 
 So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high 
 Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves, 
 Wliere, other groves and other streams along, 
 With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. 
 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song 
 in the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
 Tliere entertain him all the Saints above 
 In solemn troops, and sweet societies. 
 That sing, and singing, in their glory move, 
 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 
 Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
 Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore 
 \\\ thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
 To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
 
 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills. 
 While the still morn went out with sandals gray ; 
 He touched the tender stops of various quills, 
 With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
 A.nd now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills, 
 And now was dropt into the western bay: 
 At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
 To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 
 
 J. Milton
 
 74 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 xc 
 
 ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBE\ 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear 
 
 What a change of flesh is here ! 
 
 Think how many royal bones 
 
 Sleep within these heaps of stones ; 
 
 Here they lie, had realms and lands, 
 
 Who now want strength to stir their hands, 
 
 Where from their pulpits sealed with dust 
 
 They preach, ' In greatness is no trust.' 
 
 Here's an acre sown indeed 
 
 With the richest royallest seed 
 
 That the earth did e'er suck in 
 
 Since the first man died for sin : 
 
 Here the bones of birth have cried 
 
 * Though gods they were, as men they died!" 
 
 Here are sands, ignoble things, 
 
 Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings : 
 
 Here's a world of pomp and state 
 
 Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 
 
 F. Beaumont 
 
 XCI 
 THE LAST CONQUEROR 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 
 
 Proclaim how wide your empires are ; 
 
 Though you bind-in every shore 
 And your triumphs reach as far 
 
 As night or day, 
 Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey 
 
 And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
 
 Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. 
 
 Devouring Famine, Plague, and War 
 
 Each able to undo mankind, 
 Death's servile emissaries are ; 
 
 Nor to these alone confined, 
 He hath at will 
 
 More quaint and subtle ways to kill;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
 
 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 
 
 J. Shirley 
 
 XCII 
 DEATH THE LEVELLER 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things; 
 There is no armour against fote : 
 
 Death lavs his icy hand on kings: 
 Sceptre and Crown 
 Must tumble down. 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field. 
 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill : 
 But their strong nerves at last must yjeld ; 
 They tame but one another still : 
 Early or late 
 They stoop to fate, 
 And must give up their murmuring breath 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow ; 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds; 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 
 See where the victor-victim bleeds : 
 Your heads must come 
 To the cold tomb ; 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 
 
 J. Shirley 
 
 xcni 
 
 WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTEiNDED TO 
 THE CITY 
 
 Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, 
 
 Whose chance on thest^ defenceless doors may seize, 
 
 75
 
 76 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 If deed of honour did thee ever please, 
 
 Guard them, and him within protect from harms, 
 
 He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 
 That call fame on such gentle acts as these, 
 And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas. 
 Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 
 
 Lift not thy spear against the Muses'' bower: 
 
 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 
 
 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
 
 Went to the ground : and the repeated air 
 
 Of sad Electra\s poet had the power 
 
 To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 
 
 J. Milton 
 
 XCIV 
 
 ON HIS BLINDNESS 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 
 Ere half my days, in this darl^: world and wide, 
 And that one talent which is death to hide 
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
 
 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
 My true account, lest He returning chide, — 
 Doth God exact day-labour, light denied? 
 I fondly ask : — But Patience, to prevent 
 
 That murmur, soon replies ; God doth not need 
 Either man's work, or His own gifts : who best 
 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : His state 
 
 Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed 
 And post o'er land and ocean without rest : — 
 They also serve who only stand and wait. 
 
 J Milton 
 
 xcv 
 
 CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 
 That serveth not another's will ;
 
 FHE GOLDEN TREASURY 73 
 
 Whose armour is his honest thought 
 And simple truth his utmost skill! 
 
 Whose passions not his masters are, 
 Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
 Untied unto the world by care 
 Of public fame, or private breath ; 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise 
 Nor vice; Who never understood 
 How deepest wounds are given by praise ; 
 Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 
 
 Who hath his life from rumours freed, 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
 Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend ; 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a religious book or friend ; 
 
 — This man is freed from servile bands 
 Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
 Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
 And having nothing, yet hath all. 
 
 Sir H. iVoitoH 
 XCVI 
 
 THE NOBLE NATURE 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make Man better be ; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 
 A lily of a day 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fall and die that night — 
 It was the plant and flower of Light. 
 In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
 And in short measures life may perfect be. 
 
 B. Jonson
 
 jS THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 XCVII 
 THE GIFTS OF GOD 
 
 When God at first made Man, 
 Having a glass of blessings standing by; 
 Let us (said He) pour on him all we can : 
 Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 
 
 Contract into a span. 
 
 So strength first made a way ; 
 Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure 
 When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
 Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure, 
 
 Rest in the bottom lay. 
 
 For if I should (said He) 
 Bestow this jewel also on My creature, 
 He would adore My gifts instead of Me, 
 And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature, 
 
 So both should losers be. 
 
 Yet let him keep the rest, 
 But keep them with repining restlessness : 
 Let him be rich and weary, that at least, 
 If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 
 
 May toss him to My breast. 
 
 G. Herbert 
 
 xcvni 
 
 THE RETREAT 
 
 Happy those early days, when I 
 Shined in my Angel-infancy! 
 Before I understood this place 
 Appointed for my second race, 
 Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
 But a white, celestial thought ; 
 When yet I had not walk'd above 
 A mile or two from my first Love,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 79 
 
 And looking back, at that short space 
 Could see a glimpse of His bright face : 
 When on some gilded cloud or flower 
 My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 
 And in those weaker glories spy 
 Some shadows of eternity ; 
 Before I taught my tongue to wound 
 My conscience with a sinful sound, 
 Or had the black art to dispense 
 A several sin to every sense, 
 But felt through all this fleshly dress 
 Bright shoots of everlastingness. 
 
 O how I long to travel back, 
 And tread again that ancient track ! 
 That I might once more reach that plain 
 Where first I left my glorious train; 
 From whence th' enlightened spirit sees 
 That shady City of palm trees! 
 But ah! my soul with too much stay 
 Is drunk, and staggers in the way : — 
 Some men a forward motion love, 
 But I by backward steps would move ; 
 And when this dust falls to the urn, 
 In that state I came, return. 
 
 H. Vaughan 
 
 XCIX 
 
 TO MR. LAWRENCE 
 
 Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son. 
 Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire. 
 Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
 Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 
 
 From the hard season gaining ? Time will run 
 On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire 
 The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
 The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun
 
 8o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, 
 Ot Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
 To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice 
 
 Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? 
 
 He who of those delights can judge, and spare 
 
 To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 
 
 J. Milton 
 
 TO CYRIACK SKINNER 
 
 Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 
 Of British Themis, with no mean applause 
 Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, 
 Which others at their bar so often wrench ; 
 
 To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 
 
 In mirth, that after no repenting draws ; 
 
 Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause. 
 
 And what the Swede intend, and what the French. 
 
 To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
 Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; 
 For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 
 
 And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
 That with superfluous burden loads the day, 
 And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 
 
 /. Milton 
 
 CI 
 
 A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE 
 
 Of Neptune^'s empire let us sing. 
 At whose command the waves obey; 
 To whom the rivers tribute pay, 
 Down the high mountains sliding; 
 To whom the scaly nation yields 
 Homage for the crystal fields 
 W^herein they dwell;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY %x 
 
 And every sea -god pays a gem 
 Yearly out of his watery cell, 
 To deck great Neptune's diadem. 
 
 The Tritons dancing in a ring, 
 Before his palace gates do make 
 The water with their echoes quake, 
 Like the great thunder sounding : 
 The sea-nymphs chaunt their accents shrilij 
 And the Syrens taught to kill 
 With their sweet voice, 
 Make every echoing rock reply, 
 Unto their gentle murmuring noise, 
 The praise of Neptune's empery. 
 
 T. Campion 
 
 CII 
 HYMN TO DIANA 
 
 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 tJiy light, 
 Goddess excellently brig-ht. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shaae 
 
 Dare itself to interpose; 
 Cynthias shining orb was made 
 
 Heaven to clear when day did close: 
 Bless us then with w'ishe'd sight, 
 Goddess exxellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart 
 
 And thy crystal-shining quiver; 
 Give unto the liying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever: 
 l^hou that mak'st a day of night. 
 Goddess excellently bright ! 
 
 B.JonsoH
 
 82 THE GOLDEN JivEASURV 
 
 cm 
 
 WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS 
 
 Whoe'er she be, 
 
 That not impossible She 
 
 That shall command my heart and me ; 
 
 Where'er she lie, 
 
 Lock'd up from mortal eye 
 
 In shady leaves of destiny : 
 
 Till that ripe birth 
 
 Of studied Fate stand forth, 
 
 And teach her fair steps tread our earth ; 
 
 Till that divine 
 
 Idea take a shrine 
 
 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 
 
 — Meet you her, my Wishes, 
 
 Bespeak her to my blisses, 
 
 And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 
 
 I wish her beauty 
 That owes not all its duty 
 To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie : 
 
 Something more than 
 
 Tafifata or tissue can, 
 
 Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 
 
 A face that's best 
 
 By its own beauty drest. 
 
 And can alone commend the rest : 
 
 A face made up 
 
 Out of no other shop 
 
 Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 
 
 Sidneian showers 
 
 Of sweet discourse, whose powers 
 
 Can crown old Winter's head with flowers
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 83 
 
 Whate'er delight 
 
 Can make day's forehead bright 
 
 Or give down to the wings of night. 
 
 Soft silken hours, 
 
 Open suns, shady bowers ; 
 
 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. 
 
 Days, that need borrow 
 
 No part of their good morrow 
 
 From a fore-spent night of sorrow: 
 
 Days, that in spite 
 
 Of darkness, by the light 
 
 Of a clear mind are day all night. 
 
 Life, that dares send 
 
 A challenge to his end, 
 
 And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend. 
 
 I wish her store 
 
 Of worth may leave her poor 
 
 Of wishes ; and I wish no more. 
 
 Now, if Time knows 
 That Her, whose radiant brows 
 Weave them a garland of my vows ; 
 
 Her that dares be 
 
 What these lines wish to see : 
 
 I seek no further, it is She. 
 
 'Tis She, and here 
 
 Lo! I unclothe and clear 
 
 My wishes' cloudy character. 
 
 Such worth as this is 
 Shall fix my flying wishes, 
 And determine them to kisses. 
 
 Let her full glory. 
 
 My fancies, fly before ye ; 
 
 Be ye my fictions ; — but her story. 
 
 R, Crashaw
 
 84 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CIV 
 
 THE GREAT ADVENTURER 
 
 Over the mountains 
 And over the waves, 
 Under the fountains 
 And under the graves ; 
 Under floods that are deepest, 
 Which Neptune obey ; 
 Over rocks that are steepest 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 Where there is no place 
 
 For the glow-worm to lie ; 
 
 Where there is no space 
 
 For receipt of a fly ; 
 
 Where the midge dares not venture 
 
 Lest herself fast she lay ; 
 
 If love come, he will enter 
 
 And soon find out his way. 
 
 You may esteem him 
 
 A child for his might ; 
 
 Or you may deem him 
 
 A coward from his flight ; 
 
 But if she whom love doth honour 
 
 Be conceaPd from the day, 
 
 Set a thousand guards upon her, 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 Some think to lose him 
 By having him confined ; 
 And some do suppose him, 
 Poor thing, to be blind ; 
 But if ne'er so close ye wall hirn^ 
 Do the best that you may. 
 Blind love, if so ye call him, 
 Will find out his way. 
 
 You may train the eagle 
 To stoop to your fist \
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 85 
 
 Or you may inveigle 
 
 The phoenix of the east ; 
 
 The lioness, ye may move her 
 
 To give o'er her prey ; 
 
 But you'll ne'er stop a lover: 
 
 He will find out his way. 
 
 Anon 
 
 CV 
 
 THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. C. IN A PROS 
 PECT OF FLOWERS 
 
 See with what simplicity 
 
 This nymph begins her golden days! 
 
 In the green grass she loves to lie, 
 
 And there with her fair aspect tames 
 
 The wilder flowers, and gives them names ; 
 
 But only with the roses plays. 
 
 And them does tell 
 What colours best become them, and what smeii 
 
 Who can foretell for what high cause 
 This darling of the Gods was born? 
 Yet this is she whose chaster laws 
 The wanton Love shall one day fear, 
 And, under her command severe, 
 See his bow broke, and ensigns torn. 
 Happy who can 
 Appease this virtuous enemy of man! 
 
 O then let me in time compound 
 And parley with those conquering eyes. 
 Ere they have tried their force to wound ; 
 Ere with their glancing wheels they drive 
 In triumph over hearts that strive. 
 And them that yield but more despise : 
 Let me be laid, 
 Where I may see the glories from some shade 
 
 Mean time, whilst every verdant thing 
 Itself does at thy beauty charm, 
 Reform the errors of the Spring ;
 
 86 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Make that the tulips may have share 
 Of sweetness, seeing they are fair, 
 And roses of their thorns disarm ; 
 But most procure 
 That violets may a longer age endure. 
 
 But O young beauty of the woods, 
 Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowerSj 
 Gather the flowers, but spare the buds ; 
 Lest Flora, angry at thy crime 
 To kill her infants in their prime, 
 Should quickly make th' example yours ; 
 And ere we see — 
 Nip in the blossom — all our hopes and thee. 
 
 A. Marvel 
 
 CVI 
 CHILD AND MAIDEN 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 
 
 As unconcerned as when 
 Your infant beauty could beget 
 
 No happiness or pain! 
 When I the dawn used to admire, 
 
 And praised the coming day, 
 I little thought the rising fire 
 
 Would take my rest away. 
 
 Your charms in harmless childhood lay 
 
 Like metals in a mine ; 
 Age from no face takes more away 
 
 Than youth conceaPd in thine. 
 But as your charms insensibly 
 
 To their perfection prest, 
 So love as unperceived did fly, 
 
 And centered in my breast. 
 
 My passion with your beauty grew, 
 
 While Cupid at my heart. 
 Still as his mother favoured yoUc 
 
 Threw a new flaminu' dart •
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 87 
 
 Each gloried in their wanton part ; 
 
 To make a lover, he 
 Employ'd the utmost of his art — 
 
 To make a beauty, she. 
 
 Sir C. Sedley 
 
 CVII 
 CONSTANCY 
 
 I cannot change, as others do, 
 
 Though you unjustly scorn, 
 Since that poor swain that sighs for you. 
 
 For you alone was born ; 
 No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move 
 
 A surer way Til try, — 
 And to revenge my slighted love, 
 
 Will still love on, and die. 
 
 When, kiird with grief, Amintas lies, 
 
 And you to mind shall call 
 The sighs that now unpitied rise, 
 
 The tears that vainly fall, 
 That welcome hour that ends his smart 
 
 Will then begin your pain. 
 For such a faithful tender heart 
 
 Can never break in vain. 
 
 /. Wilmol, Earl of Rochester 
 
 CVIII 
 COUNSEL TO GIRLS 
 
 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 
 
 Old Time is still a-flying : 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day, 
 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 
 
 The higher he's a-getting 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he's to setting.
 
 58 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 That age is best which is the first. 
 When youth and blood are warmer; 
 
 But being spent, the worse, and worst 
 Times, still succeed the former. 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time, 
 
 And while ye may, go marry : 
 For having lost but once your prime, 
 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 R. Her rick 
 
 CIX 
 rO LUCASTA, 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 1 chase, 
 
 The first foe in the field ; 
 And with a stronger faith embrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this iconstancy is such 
 
 As you too shall adore ; 
 I could noi love thee. Dear, so much, 
 
 Loved I not Honour more. 
 
 Colonel Lovelace 
 
 CX 
 
 ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA 
 
 You meaner beauties of the wight, 
 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes 
 More by your number than your light. 
 
 You common people of the skies. 
 What are you, when the Moon shall rise? 
 
 You curious chanters of the wood 
 That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 89 
 
 Thinking your passions understood 
 
 By your weal< accents ; what's your praise 
 When Philomel her voice doth raise? 
 
 You violets that first appear, 
 
 By your pure purple mantles known 
 Like the proud virgins of the year, 
 
 As if the spring were all your own, — 
 What are you, when the Rose is blown? 
 
 So when my Mistress shall be seen 
 
 In form and beauty of her mind. 
 By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
 
 Tell me, if she were not designed 
 Th' eclipse and glory of her kind? 
 
 Sir H. Wotton 
 
 CXI 
 
 TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY 
 
 Daughter to that good Earl, once President 
 Of England's Council and her Treasury, 
 Who lived in both, unstained with gold or fee. 
 And left them both, more in himself content, 
 
 Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 
 
 Broke him, as that dishonest victory 
 
 At Chaeroneia, fatal to liberty, 
 
 Kiird with report that old man eloquent ; — 
 
 Though later born than to have known the days 
 Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you, 
 Madam, methinks I see him living yet ; 
 
 So well your words his noble virtues praise, 
 That all both judge you to relate them true, 
 And to possess them, honoured Margaret. 
 
 y. Milton
 
 f).* THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CXII 
 THE TRUE BEAUTY 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek 
 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 
 Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
 As old Time makes these decay> 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
 Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, 
 
 Hear'-s with equal love combined, 
 Kindle never-dying fires : — 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 
 
 T. Careii 
 
 CXIII 
 
 TO DIANEME 
 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 
 Which starlike sparkle in their skies ; 
 Nor be you proud, that you can see 
 All hearts your captives ; yours yet free : 
 Be you not proud of that rich hair 
 Which wantons with the lovesick air ; 
 Whenas that ruby which you wear. 
 Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
 Will last to be a precious stone 
 When all your world of beauty's gone. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 CXIV 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise ; 
 
 Old Time will make thee colder, 
 And though each morning new arise 
 
 Yet we each day grow older. 
 Thou as Heaven art fair and young, 
 
 Thine eyes like *win stars shining;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY ( 
 
 But ere another day be sprung 
 
 All these will be declining^ 
 Then winter comes with all his fears, 
 
 And all thy sweets shall borrow ; 
 Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, — 
 
 And I too late shall sorrow! 
 
 Anon 
 
 cxv 
 
 Go, lovely Rose ! 
 Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 
 
 That now she knows, 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her that's young 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 In deserts, where no men abide, 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired: 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die! that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 
 May read in thee : 
 How small a part of time they share 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair! 
 
 E, Walle? 
 
 CXVI 
 
 TO CELIA 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, - 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup 
 And ril not look for wine.
 
 92 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine; 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not withered be ; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe 
 
 And sent'st it back to me ; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself but thee! 
 
 B. Jov^'on 
 
 CXVII 
 CHERRY-RIPE 
 
 There is a garden in her face 
 
 Where roses and white lilies blow; 
 
 A heavenly paradise is that place, 
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; 
 
 There cherries grow that none may buy, 
 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Those cherries fairly do enclose 
 
 Of orient pearl, a double row, 
 Which when her lovely laughter shows, 
 
 They look like rose-buds filPd with snow* 
 Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Her eyes like angels watch them still , 
 
 Her brows like bended bows do stand. 
 Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 
 • All that approach with eye or hand 
 These sacred cherries to come nigh. 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry! 
 
 Anon.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 93 
 
 CXVIII 
 
 CORINNA'S MAYING 
 
 Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn 
 Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
 
 See how Aurora throws her fair 
 
 Fresh-quilted colours through the air : 
 
 Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see 
 
 The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
 Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, 
 Above an hour since ; yet you not drest, 
 
 Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? 
 
 When all the birds have matins said, 
 
 And sung their thankful hymns : His sin, 
 
 Nay, profanation, to keep in, — 
 Whenas a thousand virgins on this day, 
 Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch-in May. 
 
 Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen 
 
 To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green 
 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 
 For jewels for your gown, or hair : 
 
 Fear not ; the leaves will strew 
 
 Gems in abundance upon you : 
 Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 
 Against you come, some orient pearls unwept: 
 
 Come, and receive them while the light 
 
 Hangs on the dew-locks of the night : 
 
 And Titan on the eastern hill 
 
 Retires himself, or else stands still 
 Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying 
 Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark 
 How each field turns a street ; each street a park 
 
 Made green, and trimm'd with trees : see how 
 
 Devotion gives each house a bough 
 
 Or branch : Each porch, each door, ere this, 
 
 An ark, a tabernacle is,
 
 94 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ; 
 As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
 
 Can such delights be in the street, 
 
 And open fields, and we not see't? 
 
 Come we'll abroad : and let's obey 
 
 The proclamation made for May : 
 And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
 But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying. 
 
 There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
 
 A deal of youth, ere this, is come 
 
 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
 
 Some have despatched their cakes and cream, 
 
 Before that we have left to dream : 
 And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
 And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth : 
 
 Many a green-gown has been given ; 
 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even : 
 
 Many a glance too has been sent 
 
 From out the eye. Love's firmament : 
 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
 This night, and locks pick'd: — Yet we're not a Maying 
 
 — Come, let us go, while we are in our prime ; 
 And take the harmless folly of the time! 
 
 We shall grow old apace, and die 
 
 Before we know our liberty. 
 
 Our life is short ; and our days run 
 
 As fast away as does the sun : — 
 And as a vapour, or a drop of rain 
 Once lost, can ne'er be found again: 
 
 So when or you or I are made 
 
 A fable, song, or fleeting shade ; 
 
 All love, all liking, all delight 
 
 Lies drown'd with us in endless night. 
 Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
 Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a Maying. 
 
 R. Herrick
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 95 
 
 CXIX 
 
 THE POETRY OF DRESS 
 
 A sweet disorder in the dress 
 Kindles in clothes a wantonness : — 
 A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
 Into a fine distraction, — 
 An erring lace, which here and there 
 Enthrals the crimson stomacher, — 
 A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
 Ribbands to flow confusedly, — 
 A winning wave, deserving note, 
 In the tempestuous petticoat, — 
 A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
 I see a wild civility, — 
 Do more bewitch me, than when art 
 Is too precise in every part. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 CXX 
 
 Whenas in silks my Julia goes 
 
 Then, then (methinks) how Sweetly flows 
 
 That liquefaction of her clothes. 
 
 Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
 That brave vibration each way free 
 O how that glittering taketh me I 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 CXXI 
 
 3 
 
 My Love in her attire doth shew her wil> 
 
 It doth so well become her: 
 r'or every season she hath dressings fit, 
 
 For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
 
 96 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 No beauty she doth miss 
 V/hen all her robes are on : 
 But Beauty's self she is 
 When all her robes are gone. 
 
 Anon* 
 
 CXXII 
 
 ON A GIRDLE 
 
 That which her slender waist confined 
 Shall now my joyful temples bind : 
 No monarch but would give his crown 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
 The pale which held that lovely deer 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
 Did all within this circle move. 
 
 A narrow compass! and yet there 
 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: 
 Give me but what this ribband bound, 
 Take all the rest the Sun goes round. 
 
 E. Waller 
 
 CXXII I 
 A MYSTICAL ECSTASY 
 
 E'en like .two little bank-dividing brooks. 
 
 That wash the pebbles with their w'anton streams, 
 And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, 
 Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
 Where in a greater current they conjoin : 
 So I my Best-Beloved's am ; so He is mine- 
 E'en so we met ; and after long pursuit. 
 
 E'en so we join'd ; w^e both became entire ; 
 No need for either to renew a suit, 
 
 For I was flax and he was flames of fire : 
 Our firm-united souls did more than twine ; 
 So I my Best-Beloved's am : so He is mine.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 9^ 
 
 If all those glittering Monarchs that command 
 The servile quarters of this earthly ball, 
 
 Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 
 I would not change my fortunes for them all: 
 Their wealth is but a counter to my coin : 
 
 The world's but theirs ; but my Beloved's mine. 
 
 /". Quartes 
 
 CXXIV 
 
 ro ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANV 
 THING 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live 
 
 Thy Protestant to be : 
 Or bid me love, and I will give 
 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find, 
 
 That heart Til give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 
 
 To honour thy decree : 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And 't shall do so for thee. 
 
 Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see : 
 And having none, yet I will keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and Til despair, 
 
 Under that cypress tree : 
 Or bid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en Death, to die for thee. 
 
 Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me. 
 And hast command of every part, 
 
 To live and die for thee. 
 
 R. Her rick
 
 98 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 cxxv 
 
 Love not me for comely grace, 
 For my pleasing eye or face, 
 Nor for any outward part, 
 No, nor for my constant heart, — 
 For those may fail, or turn to ill, 
 So thou and I shall sever : 
 Keep therefore a true woman's eye, 
 And love me still, but know not why — 
 So hast thou the same reason still 
 To doat upon me ever! 
 
 Anon 
 
 CXXVI 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 
 
 Or better than the rest ; 
 For I would change each hour, like them, 
 
 Were not my heart at rest. 
 
 But I am tied to very thee 
 
 By every thought I have ; 
 Thy face I only care to see, 
 
 Thy heart I only crave. 
 
 All that in woman is adored 
 
 In thy dear self I find — 
 For the whole sex can but aiford 
 
 The handsome and the kind. 
 
 Why then should I seek further store. 
 
 And still make love anew? 
 When change itself can give no more, 
 
 'Tis easy to be true. 
 
 Sir C. Sedlef 
 
 CXXVII 
 
 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings 
 Hovers within my gates.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 9 
 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair 
 
 And fetterd to her eye, 
 The Gods that wanton in the air 
 
 Know no such Hberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses bound, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free 
 Fishes that tipple in the deep 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When, (like committed linnets), I 
 
 With shriller throat shall sing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty 
 
 And glories of my King ; 
 When 1 shall voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be. 
 Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make. 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage ; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage ; 
 If I have freedom in my love 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone, that soar above, 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 Colonel Lovelace 
 CXXVIII 
 
 rO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 
 
 If to be absent were to be 
 Away from thee ; 
 Or that when I am gone 
 You or I were alone ;
 
 too THE GOLDEX TREASURy 
 
 Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
 Pity from hh^stering wind, or swallowing wave. 
 
 But 111 not sigh one blast or gale 
 To swell my sail. 
 Or pay a ter.r to 'suage 
 The foaming iiliie-god's rage; 
 For whether he will let nv pass 
 Or no, V\w still as happy as \ was. 
 
 Though seas and land hetwixt us both, 
 Our faith and troth. 
 Like separated souls. 
 All time and space controls : 
 Above the highest sphere we meet 
 Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. 
 
 So then we do anticipate 
 Our after-fate, 
 And are alive i' the skies, 
 If thus our lijjs and eyes 
 Can speak like si)irits unconfined 
 In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. 
 
 Colonel Lovelaci 
 
 CXXIX 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 
 
 Prvthee, why so pale? 
 Will, it' looking well can't move her, 
 
 Looking ill prevail ? 
 
 Prythee, why so pale? 
 
 Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 
 
 Prythee, why so mute? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win hti, 
 
 Saying nothing do"t ? 
 
 Prythee, why so mute ?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASVRY to 
 
 Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move, 
 This cannot take her ; 
 If of herself she will not love, 
 Nothinj; cm make her: 
 The D— 1 take her ! 
 
 SirJ. Sucklnig 
 
 cxxx 
 
 A SUPPLICATION 
 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
 And tell thy silent master's humble tale 
 
 In sounds that may prevail ; 
 Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire: 
 
 Though so exalted she 
 
 Antl I so lowly be 
 Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmon*' 
 
 Hark, how the strings awake ! 
 And, though the moving hand approach not near, 
 
 Themselves with awful fear 
 A kind of numerous trembling make. 
 
 Now all thy forces try ; 
 
 Now all thy charms apply ; 
 Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye 
 
 Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure 
 Is useless here, since thou art only found 
 
 To cure, but not to wound, 
 And she to wound, but not to cure. 
 
 Too weak too wilt thou prove 
 
 My passion to remove ; 
 Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to Lovt. 
 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! 
 For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
 In sounds that will prevail. 
 Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; 
 All thy vain mirth lay by. 
 Bid thy strings silent lie, 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. 
 
 A. Cow ley
 
 102 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CXXXI 
 THE MANLY HEART 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair, 
 Die because a woman's fair? 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care 
 'Cause another's rosy are? 
 Be she fairer than the day 
 Or the flowery meads in May — 
 If she think not well of me. 
 What care I how fair she be? 
 
 Shall my silly heart be pined 
 'Cause I see a woman kind ; 
 Or a well disposed nature 
 Joinc^d with a lovely feature? 
 Be she meeker, kinder than 
 Turtle-dove or pelican. 
 
 If she be not so to me. 
 
 What care I how kind she be? 
 
 Shall a woman's virtues move 
 Me to jjerish for her love? 
 Or her well-deservings known 
 Make me quite forget mine own? 
 Be she with that goodness blest 
 Which may merit name of Best; 
 If she be not such to me, 
 What care I how good she be? 
 
 ^Cause her fortune seems too high, 
 Shall I play the fool and die? 
 She that bears a noble mind 
 If not outward helps she find. 
 Thinks what with them he would do 
 Who without them dares her woo; 
 And unless that mind I see, 
 What care I how great she be? 
 
 Great or good, or kind or fair, 
 1 will ne'er the more despair ;
 
 THE GOLDEN" TREASURY 1 03 
 
 If she love me, this believe, 
 
 I will die ere she shall grieve ; 
 
 If she slight me when I woo, 
 
 I can scorn and let her go ; 
 For if she be not for me, 
 What care I for whom she be? 
 
 G, Wtthef 
 
 CXXXII 
 
 MELANCHOLY 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights, 
 
 As short as are the nights 
 
 Wherein you spend your folly: 
 
 There's nought in this life sweet 
 
 If man were wise to see't, 
 
 But only melancholy, 
 
 O sweetest Melancholy! 
 Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
 A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
 A look that's fastened to the ground, 
 A tongue chain'd up without a sound! 
 Fountain-heads and pathless groves. 
 Places which pale passion loves! 
 Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
 Are warmlv housed save bats and owls! 
 A midnight bell, a parting groan! 
 These are the sounds we i(^t(.\ upon ; 
 Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; 
 Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 J. Fletche? 
 
 CXXXIII 
 
 FORSAKEN 
 
 waly waly up the bank. 
 
 And waly waly down the brae, 
 And waly waly yon burn-side 
 
 Where' I and my Love wont to gae! 
 
 1 leant my back unto an aik, 
 
 1 thought it was a trusty tree ;
 
 ^04 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 
 Sae my true Love did lichtly me. 
 
 O waly waly, but love be bonny 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 
 But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 
 
 And fades awa' like morning dew. 
 O wherefore should I busk my head? 
 
 Or wherefore should I kame my hair? 
 For my tme Love has me forsook, 
 
 And says he'll never loe me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed ; 
 
 The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me: 
 Saint Anton's well sail be my drink. 
 
 Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
 Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw 
 
 And shake the green leaves aff the tree? 
 O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? 
 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell. 
 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry. 
 
 But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
 When we came in by Glasgow town 
 
 We were a comely sight to see : 
 My Love was clad in the black velvet, 
 
 And I mvsell in cramasie. 
 
 But had I wist, before I kist. 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win : 
 I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 
 
 And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 
 And, O! if my young babe were born, 
 
 And set upon the nurse's knee. 
 And I m\sell were dead and gane. 
 
 And the green grass growing over me ! 
 
 Atwn»
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 105 
 
 CXXXIV 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 
 And sucks upon my breast ; 
 Meantime his love maintains my life 
 And gives my sense her rest. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy! 
 
 When thou hast taken thy repast, 
 Repose, my babe, on me ; 
 So may thy mother and thy nurse 
 Thy cradle also be. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little bt)y. 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy! 
 
 I grieve that duty doth not work 
 All that my wishing would. 
 Because I would not be to thee 
 But in the best I should. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy! 
 
 Yet as I am, and as I may, 
 I must and will be thine. 
 Though all too little for thy self 
 Vouchsafing to be mine. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 cxxxv 
 
 FAIR HELEN 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ; 
 
 Night and day on me she cries: 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea! 
 
 Curst be the heart that thought the thought^ 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
 When in my arms burd Helen drupt. 
 And died to succour me!
 
 .o6 rnE GOLDEN- TREASURY 
 
 think na but my heart was sair 
 
 When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair' 
 
 1 laid her down wi' meikle care 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 As 1 went down the water-side. 
 None hut my foe to he my guide, 
 None hut my foe to be my guide, 
 On fair Kirconnell lea ; 
 
 I lighted down my sword to draw, 
 I hacked him in pieces sma\ 
 I hacked him in pieces sma". 
 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 O Helen fair, beyond compare! 
 ril make a garland of thy hair 
 Shall bind my heart for evermair 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies! 
 Night and day on me she cries; 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
 
 Says, ' Haste and come to me ! ' 
 
 Helen fair! O Helen chaste! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest. 
 Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 1 wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
 And I in Helen's arms lying. 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ; 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 Since my Love died for me. 
 
 Anon
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 107 
 
 CXXXVI 
 THE TWA CORBIES 
 
 As I was walking all alane 
 I heard twa corbies making a mane; 
 The tane unto the t'other say, 
 'Where sail we gang and dine today?' 
 
 * — In behint yon auld fail dyke, 
 
 I wot there lies a new-slain Knight; 
 And naebody kens that he lies there, 
 But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. 
 
 'His hound is to the hunting gane. 
 His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
 His lady's ta'en another mate. 
 So we may mak our dinner sweet. 
 
 * Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, 
 And ril pick out his bonnie blue een : 
 Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 
 
 We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 
 
 *Mony a one for him makes mane, 
 But nane sail ken where he is gane ; 
 O'er his white banes, when they are bare, 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair.' 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CXXXVII 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. WILLIAM HERVE\ 
 
 It was a dismal and a fearful night, — 
 
 Scarce could the Morn drive on th" unwilling light, 
 
 When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast, 
 
 By something liker death possest. 
 My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, 
 
 And on my soul hung the dull weight 
 
 Of some intolerable fate. 
 What bell was that.-* Ah me! Too much I know I
 
 lo8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, 
 Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, 
 Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan? 
 
 O thou hast left me all alone ! 
 Thy soul and body, when death's agony 
 Besieged around thy noble heart, 
 Did not with more reluctance part 
 Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. 
 
 Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, 
 
 Have ye not seen us, walking every day? 
 
 Was there a tree about which did not know 
 The love betwixt us two? 
 
 Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade, 
 Or your sad branches thicker join, 
 And into darksome shades combine, 
 
 Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. 
 
 Large was his soul ; as large a soul as e'er 
 
 Submitted to inform a body here: 
 
 High as the place "twas shortly in Heaven to ha-'p, 
 
 But low and humble as his grave; 
 So high that all the virtues there did come 
 
 As to the chiefest seat 
 
 Conspicuous, and great ; 
 So low that for me too it made a room. 
 
 Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, 
 As if for him knowledge had rather sought ; 
 Nor did more learning ever crowded iie 
 
 In such a short mortality. 
 Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed oi writ, 
 
 Still did the notions throng 
 
 About his eloquent tongue; 
 Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. 
 
 His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, 
 Yet never did his God or friends forget. 
 And when deep talk and wisdom came in view, 
 Retired, and gave to Ihern their due.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 1©^ 
 
 For the rich help of books he always took. 
 
 Though his own searching mind before 
 Was so with notions written oVr. 
 
 As if wise Nature had made that her book. 
 
 With as much zeal, devotion, piety, 
 
 He always lived, as other saints do die. 
 
 Still with his soul severe account he kept, 
 Weeping all debts out ere he slept. 
 
 Then down in peace and innocence he lay, 
 Like the sun's laborious light. 
 Which still in water sets at night, 
 
 Unsullied with his journey of the day. 
 
 A. Gnuley 
 
 CXXXVIII 
 
 FRIENDS IN PARADISE 
 
 They are all gone into the world of light! 
 
 And I alone sit lingering here; 
 Their very memory is fair and bright. 
 
 And my sad thoughts doth clear: — 
 
 it glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 
 Like stars upon some gloomy grove. 
 Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, 
 After the sun's remove. 
 
 I see them walking in an air of glory. 
 
 Whose light doth tranijDle on my davs : 
 
 My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 
 
 Mere glimmering and decays. 
 
 holy Hope! and high Humility, 
 
 High as the heavens above! 
 These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me, 
 To kindle my cold love. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just, 
 
 Shining no where, but in the dark ; 
 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 
 
 Could man outlook that mark!
 
 [o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may kntn 
 
 At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
 
 But what fair well or grove he sings in now, 
 
 That is to him unknown. 
 
 And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams 
 Call to the soul, when man doth sleep; 
 So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted theme 
 And into glory peep. 
 
 H. Vaughan 
 CXXXIX 
 
 TO BLOSSOMS 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 
 Why do ye fall so fast? 
 
 Your date is not so past, 
 But you may stay yet here awhile 
 
 To blush and gently smile, 
 And go at last. 
 
 What, were ye born to be 
 
 An hour or half's delight, 
 
 And so to bid good-night? 
 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 
 
 Merely to show your worth, 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where we 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end. though ne'er so brave : 
 And after they have shown their pride 
 Like you, awhile, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 CXL 
 
 TO DAFFODILS 
 
 Fair Daff"odils, we weep to see 
 You haste away so soon : 
 
 As yet the early-rising Sun 
 Has not attain'd hi'- "'^'^n
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY ill 
 
 Stay, stay. 
 Until the hasting day 
 
 Has run 
 But to the even-song; 
 And, having pray'd together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you, 
 
 We have as short a Spring ; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay 
 As you, or any thing. 
 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away 
 Like to the Summer's rain ; 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 R. Ilcrrkk 
 
 CXLI 
 
 THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FAWN 
 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first 
 
 I it at my own fingers nursed ; 
 
 And as it grew, so every day 
 
 It wax'd more white and sweet than they — 
 
 It had so sweet a breath! and oft 
 
 I blush'd to see its foot more soft 
 
 And white, — shall I say, — than my hand? 
 
 Nay, any lady's of the land ! 
 
 It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
 'Twas on those little silver feet : 
 With what a pretty skipping grace 
 It oft would challenge me the race : — 
 And when *t had left me far away 
 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay: 
 For it was nimbler mucii than hinds, 
 And trod as if on the four winds. 
 
 I have a garden of my own, 
 Dut so with roses overgrown
 
 THE GOLD EX TREASURY 
 
 And lilies, that you would it guess 
 
 To be a little wilderness : 
 
 And all the spring-time of the year 
 
 It only loved to be there. 
 
 Among the beds of lilies I 
 
 Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 
 
 Yet could not, till itself would rise, 
 
 Find it, although before mine eyes: -^ 
 
 For in the flaxen lilies' shade 
 
 It like a bank of lilies laid. 
 
 Upon the roses it would feed. 
 Until its lips e'en seemM to bleed : 
 And then to me 'twould boldly trip, 
 And print those roses on my lip. 
 But all its chief delight was still 
 On roses thus itself to fill. 
 And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
 In whitest sheets of lilies cold : — 
 Had it lived long, it would have been 
 Lilies without — roses within. 
 
 A. Marvell 
 CXLII 
 
 THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN 
 
 How vainly men themselves amaze 
 To win the palm, the oak, or bays. 
 And their uncessant labours see 
 Crown'd from some single herb or tree, 
 Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
 Does prudently their toils upbraid ; 
 While all the flowers and trees do close 
 To weave the garlands of Repose. 
 
 Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 
 And Innocence thy sister dear! 
 Mistaken long, I sought you then 
 In busy companies of men : 
 Your sacred plants, if here below, 
 Only among the plants will grow: 
 Society is all but rude 
 To this delicious solitude.
 
 7' HE GOLDEN TREASURY 113 
 
 No white nor red was eier seen 
 
 So amorous as this loveiy green. 
 
 Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 
 
 Cut in these trees their mistness'' name; 
 
 Little, alas, they know or heed 
 
 How far these beauties hers ex'ceed ! 
 
 Fair trees! wheres'e'er your barks 1 wound, 
 
 No name shall but your own be found. 
 
 When we have run our passions' heat 
 Love hither makes his best retreat : 
 The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
 Still in a tree did end their race; 
 Apollo hunted I)ai)hne so 
 Only that she might laurel grow; 
 And l*an did after Syrinx speed 
 Not as a nymph, but for a rtn-d. 
 
 What wondrous life is this 1 lead! 
 Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
 The luscious clusters of the vine 
 L'pon my mouth do crush their wine; 
 The nectarine and curious peach 
 Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
 Stumbling on melons, as I i)ass. 
 Ensnared with flowers, 1 fall on grass. 
 
 Meanwhile the mind froni pleasure less 
 
 Withdraws into its happiness ; 
 
 The mind, that ocean where each kind 
 
 Does straight its own resemblance find; 
 
 Yet it creates, transcending these. 
 
 Far other worlds, and other seas ; 
 
 Annihilating all that's made 
 
 To a green thought in a green shade. 
 
 Here at the fountain's sliding foot 
 Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root. 
 Casting the body's vest aside 
 My soul into the boughs does glide; 
 There, like a bird, it sits and sings, 
 Then whets and claps its silver wings,
 
 114 ^'^^^ GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And, till prepared for longer flight, 
 Waves in its plumes the various light. 
 
 Such was that happy Garden-state 
 While man there walk'd without a mate- 
 After a place so pure and sweet, 
 What other help could yet be meet! 
 But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 
 To wander solitary there : 
 Two ]>aradises 'twere in one, 
 To live in Paradise alone. 
 
 How well the skilful L;;ardener drew 
 Of flowers and herbs this dial new: 
 Where, from above, the milder sun 
 Does throu<j;h a frai^rant zodiac run : 
 And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
 Computes its time as well as we. 
 How could such sweet and wholesome liours 
 Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers! 
 
 A. Mar. -M 
 
 CXLIII 
 
 FORTUXATI NIMIUM 
 
 Jack and Joan, they think no ill, 
 
 But loving live, and merry still; 
 
 Do their week-day's work, and pray 
 
 Devoutly on the holy-day : 
 
 Skip and trip it on the green. 
 
 And help to choose the Summer Queen; 
 
 Lash out at a country feast 
 
 Their silver penny with the best. 
 
 Well can they judge of nappy ale, 
 
 And tell at large a winter tale; 
 
 Climb up to the apple loft, 
 
 And turn the crabs till they be soft. 
 
 Tib is all the father's joy, 
 
 And little Tom the mother's boy : — 
 
 All their pleasure is, Content, 
 
 And care, to pay their yearly rent.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 115 
 
 Joan can call by name her cows 
 And deck her windows with green boughs ; 
 She can wreaths and tutties make. 
 And trim with plums a bridal cake. 
 Jack knows what brings gain or loss, 
 And his long riail can stoutly toss : 
 Makes the hedge which others break, 
 And ever thinks what he doth speak. 
 
 — Now, you courtly dames and knights, 
 That study only strange delights. 
 Though you scorn the homespun gray. 
 And revel in your rich array ; 
 Though your tongues dissemble deep 
 And can your heads from danger keep; 
 Yet, for all your pomp and train, 
 Securer lives the silly swain! 
 
 T. Catupioh 
 
 CXLIV 
 L'ALLEGRO 
 
 Hence, loathcM Melancholy, 
 
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight lx)rn 
 In Stygian cave forlorn 
 
 \Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy 
 Find out some uncouth cell 
 
 Wliere brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings 
 And the night-raven sings; 
 
 There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks 
 As ragged as thy locks. 
 
 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
 
 But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
 In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
 And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
 WHiom lovely Venus at a birth 
 With two sister Graces more 
 To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ; 
 Or whether (as some sager sing) 
 The frolic wind that breathes the spring
 
 Ci6 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 
 As he met her once a-Maying — 
 There on beds of violets l)hir 
 And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew 
 Fiird her with thee, a daughter fair, 
 So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 
 
 Haste thee. Nymph, and bring with th*C 
 Jest, and youthful jollity. 
 Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
 Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles 
 Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
 And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
 And Laughter holding lx)th his sides: 
 Come, and trip it as you go 
 On the light fantastic toe; 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee 
 The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; 
 And if 1 give thee honour due 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
 To live with her, and live with thee 
 In unrei)rove^d pleasures free; 
 To hear the lark begin his Hight 
 And singing startle the dull night 
 From his watch-tower in the skies, 
 Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
 Then to come, in sj)ite of sorrow. 
 And at my window bid good-morrow 
 Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, 
 Or the twisted eglantine: 
 While the cock with lively din 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
 Stoutly struts his dames before : 
 Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 
 From the side of some hoar hill, 
 Through the high wood echoing shrill: 
 Sometime walking, not unseen. 
 By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
 Right against the eastern gate
 
 THE GOLDEX TREASURY II7 
 
 Where the great Sun begins his state 
 Robed in flames and amber light, 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight; 
 While the ploughman, near at hand, 
 Whistles o"er the furrow'd land. 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 
 And the mower whets his scythe. 
 And every shepherd tells his tale 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasure! 
 Whilst the landscape round it measures; 
 Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 
 Mountains, on whose barren breast 
 The labouring clouds do often rest ; 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied, 
 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; 
 Towers and battlements it sees 
 Bosomd high in tufted trees. 
 Where perhaps some Heauty lies, 
 The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 
 
 Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
 From betwixt two aged oaks. 
 Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, 
 Are at their savoury dinner set 
 Of herbs, and other country messes 
 Which the neat-handed I'hillis dresses; 
 And then in haste her bower she leaves 
 With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
 Or, if the earlier season lead. 
 To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 
 
 Sometimes with secure delight 
 The upland hamlets will invite. 
 When the merry bells ring round. 
 And the jocund rebecks sound 
 To many a youth and many a maid, 
 Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; 
 And young and old come forth to play 
 On a sun-shine holyday. 
 Till the live-long day-fight fail : 
 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.
 
 1 8 THE GOLD EX TREASURY 
 
 With stories told of many a feat, 
 How Faery iMab tlie junkets eat : — 
 Siie was pinch'd, and pulPd. she said; 
 And he, by Friar's lantern led ; 
 Tells how the drudging Cioblin sweat 
 To earn his cream-bowl duly set. 
 When in one night, ere glimpse of morn. 
 His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn 
 That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
 Then lies him down the lubber fiend. 
 And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; 
 And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
 Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
 
 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
 By whisj)ering winds soon luH'd asleep. 
 
 Tower'd cities please us then 
 And the busy hum of men. 
 Where throngs of knights and barons bole 
 In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold. 
 With store of ladies, whose bright e\ es 
 Rain influence, and judge the i)rize 
 Of wit or arms, while both contend 
 To win her grace, whom all commend. 
 There let Hymen oft appear 
 In satTron robe, with taper clear. 
 And i)omp, and feast, and revelry, 
 With mask, and antique pageantry; 
 Such sights as youthful poets dream 
 On summer eves by haunted stream. 
 Then to the well-trod stage anon. 
 If Jonson's learned sock be on. 
 Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child. 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild. 
 
 And ever against eating cares 
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs 
 Married to immortal verse, 
 Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
 In notes, with many a winding bout 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 
 With wanton heed and giddy cunning
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 119 
 
 The melting voice through mazes running, 
 
 Untwisting all the chains that tie 
 
 The hiilden soul of harmony ; 
 
 That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
 
 Yxo\w g{;lden slumber, on a bed 
 
 Of heap'd Elysian Howers, and hear 
 
 Such strains as woultl have won the ear 
 
 Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
 
 His half-regain'd Eurydice. 
 
 These deli<;hts if thou cmst give, 
 Mirth, with thee 1 mean to live. 
 
 J. Milt en 
 
 CXLV 
 IL PENSEROSC 
 
 lloncc, vain deluding Joys, 
 
 The brooti of Folly without father bred! 
 1 low little you bestead 
 
 Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! 
 nv.cll in some idle brain, 
 
 And fancies fond with gaudy shaj)es j)ossess 
 As thick and numberless 
 
 As the gay motes that people the sunl>eam& 
 Or likest hovering dreams. 
 
 The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' tniin. 
 
 But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, 
 Hail, divincst Melancholy! 
 Whose saintly visage is too bright 
 To hit the sense of human sight. 
 And therefore to our weaker view 
 O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; 
 Black, but such as in esteem 
 Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
 Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove 
 To set her beauty's praise above 
 The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended 
 Yet thou art higher far descended : 
 Thee bright-hair'd \'esta, long of yore, 
 To solitary Saturn bore ;
 
 I20 THE G or. HEX TREASURY 
 
 His flai]<i:hter she; in Saturn's rcigu 
 Such mixture was not held a stain : 
 Oft in j^Hnimerino; bowers and glades 
 He met her, and in secret shades 
 Of woody Ida's inmost <(rove. 
 While yet there saw no fear of Jove. 
 
 Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure. 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
 All in a robe of darkest grain 
 Flowinf]j with majestic train, 
 And sable stole of Cipres lawn 
 Over thy decent shoulders drawn : 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
 With even step, and musiui; jj^ait. 
 And looks commercin<; witli tlie skies. 
 Thy rapt soul sittini^ in thine eyes ; 
 There, held in holy passion still, 
 Forget thyself to marble, till 
 With a sad leaden downward cast 
 Thou fix them on the earth as fast : 
 And join with thee calm Peace, anrl Quiet 
 Spare P\ast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
 And hears the Muses in a ring 
 Aye round about Jove\s altar sing: 
 And add to these retired Leisure 
 That in trim gardens takes his pleasine: - 
 But first and chiefest, with thee I ring 
 Him that yon soars on golden wing 
 Guiding the fiery-wheeled thron-^. 
 The cherub Contemplation: 
 Anil the mute Silence hist along. 
 'Less Philomel will deign a song 
 In her sweetest saddest plight 
 Smoothing the rui^ged l>row of Night, 
 While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
 Gently o'er the accustom'd oak. 
 — Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of follj 
 Most musical, most melancholy! 
 Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among 
 I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
 And missing thee, 1 walk unseen
 
 THE GOLDEX IREASUKY 121 
 
 On the dry smooth-shaven green, 
 
 'I'o behold the wanderinjj; Moon 
 
 Riding near her highest noon. 
 
 Like one that had been led astray 
 
 Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 
 
 And oft, as if her head she bow'd. 
 
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
 Oft, on a plat of rising ground 
 
 I hear the fai -otT Curfeu sound 
 
 Over some widc-water'd shore. 
 
 Swinging slow with sullen roar: 
 
 Or, if the air will not permit. 
 
 Some still removed place will fit. 
 
 Where glowing embers through the roorr 
 
 Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; 
 
 Far from all resort of mirth. 
 
 Save the cricket on the hearth. 
 
 Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
 
 To bless the d(»ors from nightlv h;irm. 
 Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
 
 Be seen in some high lonely tower. 
 
 Where I may oft out-watch the Hear 
 
 With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 
 
 The sjjirit of Plato, to unfold 
 
 What w(^rlds or what vast regions hold 
 
 The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
 
 Her mansion in this Heshly nook • 
 
 And of those demons that are f'-'^n*'! 
 
 In fire, air, flood, or under ground. 
 
 Whose power hath a tri.e consent 
 
 With planet, or with elenn-nt. 
 
 Sometime let gorgeo'js Tragedy 
 
 In scepter'd pall come sweeping by, 
 
 Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 
 
 Or the tale of Troy divine : 
 
 Or what (though rare) of later age 
 
 Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage- 
 Put, O sad X'irgin, that thy jxjwer 
 
 Might raise Musaeus from his bower, 
 
 Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
 
 Such notes as, warbled to the string,
 
 122 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Drew iron tears clown Pluto's cheek 
 
 And made Hell i^rant what Love did seek! 
 
 Or call up him that left half-told 
 
 The story of Cambuscan bold, 
 
 Of Camball, and of Al<;arsife, 
 
 And who had Canace to wife 
 
 That own"d the virtuous rin^ and glass; 
 
 And of the wondrous horse of brass 
 
 On which the Tartar kim^ did ride: 
 
 And if aught else great bards beside 
 
 In sage and solemn tunes have sung 
 
 Of turneys, and of trojjhies hung. 
 
 Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
 
 Where more is meant than meets the ear. 
 
 Thus, Night, oft see me m thy pale caree: 
 Till civil-suited Morn appear. 
 Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont 
 With the Attic Boy to hunt. 
 But kercheft in a comely cloud 
 While rocking winds are piping loud, 
 Or usher'd with a shower still. 
 When the gust hath blown his fill, 
 Ending on the rustling leaves 
 With minute drops fiom ofl' the eaves. 
 And when the sun begins to fling 
 His riaring beams, me, goddess, bring 
 To arched walks of twilight groves. 
 And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
 Of pine, or monumental oak. 
 Where the rude axe, with heavdd stroke, 
 Was never heard the nymphs to daunt 
 Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt 
 There in close covert by some brook 
 Where no profaner eye may look, 
 Hide me from day's garish eye. 
 While the bee with honey'd thigh 
 That at her flowery work doth sing, 
 And the waters murmuring. 
 With such consort as they keep 
 Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep ; 
 A-iid let some strange mysterious dream
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY \i 
 
 Wave at his wings in airy stream 
 
 Of lively portraiture displayed, 
 
 Softly on my eyelids laid : 
 
 And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
 
 Above, about, or underneath, 
 
 Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 
 
 Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 
 
 But let my due feet never fail 
 To walk the studious cloister's pale, 
 And love the high-embowdd roof. 
 With antique pillars massy proof, 
 And storied windows richly dight 
 Casting a dim religious light. 
 There let the pealing organ blow 
 To the full-voiced quire lx*low 
 In service high and anthems clear, 
 As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
 Dissolve me into ecstasies. 
 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 
 
 And may at last my weary age 
 FMnd out the jx-aceful hermitage. 
 The hairy gow n and mossy cell 
 Where 1 may sit and rightly s|X'll 
 Of every star that heaven doth shew. 
 And every herb that sips the dew ; 
 Till old experience do attain 
 To something like prophetic strain. 
 
 These pleasures. Melancholy, give, 
 And I with thee will choose to live. 
 
 J. Milton 
 
 CXLVI 
 
 SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 
 In the ocean's bosom unespied. 
 From a small boat that row\l along 
 The listening winds received this song. 
 
 'What should we do but sing His praise 
 That led us through the watery maze
 
 124 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
 
 That lift the deep upon their hacks, 
 
 Unto an isle so long unknown. 
 
 And yet far kinder than our own? 
 
 He lands us on a <ijrassy stage. 
 
 Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage : 
 
 He gave us this eternal Spring 
 
 Which here enamels everything. 
 
 And sends the fowls to us in care 
 
 On daily visits through the air. 
 
 He hangs in shades the orange bright 
 
 Like golden lamps in a green night. 
 
 And does in the pomegranates close 
 
 Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 
 
 He makes the figs our mouths to meet 
 
 And throws the melons at our feet ; 
 
 But apples plants of such a price. 
 
 No tree could ever bear them twice. 
 
 With cedars chosen by His hand 
 
 From Lebanon He stores the land; 
 
 And makes the hollow seas that roar 
 
 Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
 
 He cast (of which we rather boast) 
 
 The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; 
 
 And in these rocks for us did frame 
 
 A temple where to sound His name. 
 
 Oh! let our voice His praise exalt 
 
 Till it arrive at Heaven's valt. 
 
 Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may 
 
 Echo beyond the Mexique bay!' 
 
 — Thus'sung they in the English boat 
 
 A holy and a cheetful note : 
 
 And all the way, to guide their chime, 
 
 With falling oars thev kept the time. 
 
 A. Mary^eli 
 
 CXLVII 
 
 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC 
 
 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
 Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 125 
 
 Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ, 
 Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce; 
 And to our high-raised phantasy i)resent 
 That undisturbed Song of pure concent 
 Aye sung before the s:ipphire-colour'd throne 
 
 To Him that sits thereon. 
 W'itli saintly shout and solemn jubilee: 
 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
 Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow; 
 And the Cheruijic host in thousand (juires 
 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. 
 With those just Sj)irits that wear victorious palms, 
 
 Hymns devout and holy psalms 
 
 Singing everlastingly: 
 That we on Earth, with undiscording voice 
 May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
 As once we did. till disproijortion'd sin 
 Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
 Hroke the fair music that all creatures made 
 To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 
 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
 In first obedience, and their state of good. 
 () mav we soon again renew that Song, 
 And keep in tune with Heaven, till (iod ere long 
 To His celestial consort us unite, 
 ro live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light! 
 
 J. Milton 
 
 CXTA'III 
 
 NOX XOCTI IXDICAT SCTEXTIAM 
 
 When I survey the bright 
 Celestial sphere : 
 So rich with jewels hung, that nighf 
 Doth like an Ethiop bride appear; 
 
 My soul her wings doth spread, 
 And heaven- ward Hies. 
 The Almighty's mysteries to read 
 in the large volumes of the skies.
 
 126 ////> GOLDEN TREASVRY 
 
 For the bright firmament 
 Shoots forth no flame 
 So silent, but is eloquent 
 In speaking the Creator's name. 
 
 No unregarded star 
 
 Contracts its li,s;ht 
 Into so small a character, 
 Removed far from our human sight. 
 
 But if we steadfast look. 
 We shall discern 
 In it as in some holy book. 
 How man may heavenly knowledge learn 
 
 It tells the Conqueror, 
 
 That far-stretch'd power 
 Which his proud dangers traffic for. 
 Is but the triumph of an hour. 
 
 That from the farthest North 
 Some nation may 
 Yet undiscovered issue forth. 
 And o'er his new-got conquest sway. 
 
 Some nation yet shut in 
 With hills of ice, 
 May be let out to scourge his sin, 
 IjH they shall equal him in vice. 
 
 And then they likewise shall 
 Their ruin have ; 
 For as yourselves your Empires fall. 
 And every Kingdom hath a grave. 
 
 Thus those celestial fires, 
 Though seeming mute. 
 The fallacy of our desires 
 And all the pride of life, confute. 
 
 For they have watch' d since first 
 The world had birth : 
 And found sin in itself accursed. 
 And nothing permanent on earth. 
 
 W. Habington
 
 THE GO IDEA TKLASUKY 1 27 
 
 CXLIX 
 
 HYMN TO DARKNESS 
 
 Hail thou most sacred venerable thing! 
 What Muse is worthy thee to sing? 
 Thee, from whose pregn.mt universal womb 
 All things, ev'n Light, thy rival, first did come. 
 What dares he not attempt that sings ot thee, 
 
 Thou first and greatest mystery? 
 Who can the secrets of thy essence tell? 
 Thou, like the light of God, art inaccessible. 
 
 Before great Love this monument did raise 
 
 This ample theatre of praise ; 
 Before the folding circles of the sky 
 Were tuned by Him, Who is all harmony; 
 Before the morning .Stars their hymn began, 
 
 Before the council held for man, 
 Before the birth of either time or place. 
 Thou reign'st unquestion'd monarch in the empty space 
 
 Thy native lot thou didst to Light resign. 
 
 But still half of the globe is thine. 
 Here with a quiet, but yet awful hand, 
 Like the best emjx^rors thou dost command. 
 To thee the stars above their brightness ow 
 
 And mortals their repose below : 
 To thy protection fear and sorrow flee. 
 And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee. 
 
 y. Norris of Bemerton 
 
 CL 
 
 A VISION 
 
 I saw Eternit) th^ other night, 
 
 Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 
 
 All calm, as it was bright : — 
 And round beneath it. Time, in hours, days, years, 
 
 Driven by the spheres, 
 Like a vast shadow moved; in which the World 
 
 And all her train were huri'd. 
 
 li. Vanghan
 
 128 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CLI 
 
 ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER OF 
 MUSIC 
 
 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
 Hy Philip's warlike son — 
 Aloft in awful state 
 The fjodlike hero sate 
 On his imperial throne; 
 His valiant peers were placed around, 
 Their brows with roses and with myrtles hound, 
 (So should desert in arms he crown'd) ; 
 The lovely Thais by his side- 
 Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 
 in flower of youth and beauty's pride : — 
 Happy, happy. hai)py pair! 
 None but the brave- 
 None but the brave 
 None but the brave deserves the fair! 
 
 Timotheus pi. iced on hi<j;h 
 Amid the tuneful ([uire 
 With tlyino; fingers touch'd the lyre: 
 The trembling not<s ascend the sky 
 And heavenly joys inspire. 
 The song began from Jove 
 Who left his blissful seats above — 
 Such is the power 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 curKd, 
 And stamp'd an image of himself a sovereign of the world 
 — The listening crowd admire the lofty sound; 
 A present deity I they shout around : 
 A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound: 
 With ravish'd ears 
 The monarch hears,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 129 
 
 Assumes the god ; 
 
 Atfects to nod 
 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 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! 
 Flush'd with a i)urplc grace 
 He shows his honest face : 
 
 Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes! 
 Bacciius, 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, 
 Aiul thrice he touted all his foes, and thrice he slew the 
 
 siain! 
 The master saw the madness rise. 
 His glowing checks, his ardent eyes ; 
 Arul while he Heaven and Karth defied 
 Changed his hand and check'd his i>ride. 
 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 
 By those his former bounty fed; 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies 
 With not a friend to close his eves. 
 — With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 
 Revolving in his alter'd soul 
 The various turns ol CI) a nee below ;
 
 130 THi: GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And nov/ and then a sigh he stole, 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 The mighty master smiled to see 
 That love was in the next degree ; 
 'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, 
 Yox pity melts the mind to love. 
 Sofdy sweet, in Lydian measures 
 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
 War. he sung, is toil and trouble, 
 Honour 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 crown'd, but Music won the cause. 
 The pnnce, unable to conceal his pain.. 
 Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care, 
 ' And sigh'd and looked, sigh'd and lookM, 
 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
 At length with love and wine at once opprest 
 The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 
 
 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 corch in his hand!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 13 
 
 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 ghttering temples of their hostile gods. 
 
 -- The princes applaud with a furious joy: 
 
 And the King seized a flambeau witli zeal to destroy 
 
 Thais led the way 
 
 To light him to his prey, 
 
 And like another Helen, fired another Troy? 
 
 — Thus, long ago, 
 Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow. 
 While organs yet were mute, 
 Timotheus, 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 Irame ; 
 The sweet enthusiast from her sacred .^tore 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
 And added length to solemn sounds, 
 Witli Nature's mother-wit, and arts uriknown before 
 — Let old Timotheus yield the prize 
 Or both divide the crown ; 
 He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
 She drew an angel down ! 
 
 /. Dryden
 
 BOOK THIRD 
 
 CLII 
 
 ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
 VICISSITUDE 
 
 Now the golden Morn aloft 
 
 Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 
 With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 
 
 She woos the tardy Spring: 
 Till April starts, and calls around 
 The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
 And lightly o'er the living scene 
 Scatters his freshest, tenderest greea. 
 
 New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 
 
 Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 
 Forgetful of their wintry trance 
 
 The birds his presence greet: 
 But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
 His trembling thrilling ecstasy ; 
 And lessening from the dazzled sight 
 Melts into air and liquid light. 
 
 Yesterday the sullen year 
 
 Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; 
 Mute was the music of the air, 
 
 The herd stood drooping by : 
 Their raptures now that wildly flow 
 No yesterday nor morrow know ; 
 'Tis Man alone that joy descries 
 With forward and reverted eyes. 
 
 Smiles on past misfortune's brow 
 Soft reflection's hand can trace, 
 
 And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 
 A melancholy grace ; 
 132
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 133 
 
 While hope prolongs our happier hour, 
 Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 
 And blacken round our weary way, 
 Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 
 
 Still, where rosy pleasure leads. 
 
 See a kindred grief pursue ; 
 Behind the steps that misery treads 
 
 Approaching comfort view : 
 The hues of bliss more brightly glow 
 Chastised by sabler tints of woe. 
 And blended form, with artful strife. 
 The strength and harmony of life. 
 
 See the wretch that long has tost 
 
 On the thorny bed of pain. 
 At length repair his vigour lost 
 
 And breathe and walk again : 
 The meanest floweret of the vale, 
 The simplest note that swells the gale. 
 The common sun, the air, the skies, 
 To him are opening Paradise. 
 
 T. Gray 
 
 CLIII 
 ODE TO SIMPLICITY 
 
 O Thou, by Nature taught 
 
 To breathe her genuine thought 
 In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; 
 
 Who first, on mountains wild, 
 
 In Fancy, loveliest child. 
 Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song' 
 
 Thou, who with hermit heart, 
 
 Disdain'st the wealth of art. 
 And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall. 
 
 But com'st, a decent maid 
 
 In Attic robe array'd, 
 P chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I caiii
 
 134 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 By all the honey'd store 
 
 On Hyi)la\s thy my shore, 
 By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear; 
 
 By her whose love-lorn woe 
 
 In evening musings, slow 
 Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear : 
 
 By old Cephisus deep, 
 
 Who spread his wavy sweep 
 In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat; 
 
 On whose enamelTd side, 
 
 When holy Freedom died, 
 No equal haunt allured thy future feet : — 
 
 O sister meek of Truth, 
 
 To my admiring youth 
 Thy sober aid and native charms infuse' 
 
 The flowers that sweetest breathe, 
 
 Though Beauty culTd the wreath, 
 Still ask thy hand to range their ordered hues. 
 
 While Rome could none esteem 
 
 But Virtue's patriot theme, 
 You loved her hills, and led her laureat band ; 
 
 But stayed to sing alone 
 
 To one distinguish'd throne ; 
 And turn'd thy face, and fled her altered land. 
 
 No more, in hall or bower. 
 
 The Passions own thy power ; 
 Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean : 
 
 For thou hast left her shrine ; 
 
 Nor olive more, nor vine. 
 Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. 
 
 Though taste, though genius, bless 
 
 To some divine excess. 
 Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole ; 
 
 What each, what all supply 
 
 May court, may charm our eye ; 
 Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 135 
 
 Of these let others ask 
 To aid some mighty task ; 
 I only seek to find thy temperate vale ; 
 Where oft my reed might sound 
 To maids and shepherds round, 
 And all thy sons, O Nature! learn my tale. 
 
 IV. Collins 
 CLIV 
 
 SOLITUDE 
 
 Happy the man, whose wish and care 
 A few paternal acres bound, 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 
 In his own ground. 
 
 Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire; 
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
 In winter fire. 
 
 Blest, who can unconcernedly find 
 Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 
 In health of body, peace of mind, 
 (^uiet by day, 
 
 Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
 Together mixt, sweet recreation. 
 And innocence, which most does please 
 With meditation. 
 
 Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; 
 Thus unlamented let me die ; 
 Steal from the world, and not a stone 
 Tell where I lie. 
 
 A. Pope 
 CLV 
 
 THE BLIND BOY 
 
 O say what is that thing calTd Light, 
 
 Which I must ne'er enjoy ; 
 What are the blessings of the sight, 
 
 O tell your poor blind boy!
 
 136 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 You talk of wondrous things you seCy 
 You say the sun shines bright ; 
 
 I feel him warm, but how can he 
 Or make it day or night ? 
 
 My day or night myself I make 
 Whene'er I sleep or play; 
 
 And could I ever keep awake 
 With me 'twere always day. 
 
 With heavy sighs I often hear 
 You mourn my hapless woe ; 
 
 But sure with patience I can bear 
 A loss I ne'er can know. 
 
 Then let not what I cannot have 
 My cheer of mind destroy : 
 
 Whilst thus 1 sing, I am a king, 
 Although a poor blind boy. 
 
 C. GbbcY 
 
 CLVI 
 
 ON A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED Ln /y 
 TUB OF GOLD FISHES 
 
 'Twas on a lofty vase's side. 
 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 purr'd applause. 
 
 Still had she gazed, but "midst the tide 
 Two angel forms were seen to glide, 
 The Genii of the stream :
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 137 
 
 Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue 
 Through richest purple, to the view 
 Betray 'd a golden gleam. 
 
 The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : 
 
 A whisker first, and then a claw 
 
 With many an ardent wish 
 
 She stretch'd. in vain, to reach the prize — 
 
 What female heart can gold despise? 
 
 What Cat's averse to fish? 
 
 Presumptuous maid! with looks intent 
 Again she stretch'd, again she bent, 
 Nor knew the gulf between — 
 Malignant F'ate sat by and smiled — 
 The slippery verge her feet beguiled ; 
 She tumbled headlong in! 
 
 Eight times emerging from the fl(3od 
 Siie mew'd to every watery (iod 
 Some speedy aid to send : — 
 No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, 
 Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — 
 A favourite has no friend ! 
 
 From 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 all that glisters, gold! 
 
 T. Gray 
 
 CLVII 
 TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY 
 
 Timely blossom. Infant fair. 
 Fondling of a ha|)|;y pair. 
 Every morn and every night 
 Their solicitous delight,
 
 138 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Sleeping, waking, still at ease. 
 Pleasing, without skill to please; 
 Little gossip, blithe and hale, 
 Tattling many a broken tale, 
 Singing many a tuneless song, 
 Lavish of a heedless tongue ; 
 Simple maiden, void of art, 
 Babbling out the very heart, 
 Yet abandon'd to thy will, 
 Yet imagining no ill. 
 Yet too innocent to blush ; 
 Like the linnet in the bush 
 To the mother-linnet's note 
 Moduling her slender throat; 
 Chirping forth thy petty joys, 
 Wanton in the change of toys. 
 Like the linnet green, in May 
 Flitting to each bloomy spray; 
 Wearied then and glad of rest, 
 Like the linnet in the nest: — 
 This thy present happy lot 
 This, in time will be forgot : 
 Other pleasures, other cares. 
 Ever-busy Time prepares ; 
 And thou shalt in thy daughter see. 
 This picture, once, resembled thee. 
 
 A. Philips 
 CLVIII 
 RULE BRITANNIA 
 
 When Britain first at Heaven's command 
 
 Arose from out the azure main. 
 This was the charter of her land. 
 
 And guardian angels sung the strain : 
 Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves. 
 
 Tne nations not so blest as thee 
 Must in their turn to tyrants fall. 
 
 Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free 
 The dread and envy of them all.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 139 
 
 Still more majestic shalt thou rise. 
 
 More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 
 
 As the loud blast that tears the skies 
 Serves but to root thy native oak. 
 
 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 
 
 All their attempts to bend thee down 
 Will but arouse thy generous flame, 
 
 And work their woe and thy renown. 
 
 To thee belongs the rural reign ; 
 
 Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
 All thine shall be the subject main. 
 
 And every shore it circles thine! 
 
 The Muses, still with F'recdom found, 
 
 Shall to thy hapj)y coast repair ; 
 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd 
 And manly hearts to guard the fair: — 
 Rule. Hritannia! Britannia rules the waves! 
 Britons never shall jje slaves! 
 
 J. Thotnson 
 
 CLIX 
 THE HARD 
 Pindaric Ode 
 
 *Ruin seize thee, mthless King! 
 
 Confusion on thy banners wait ; 
 I ho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing 
 
 They mock the air with idle state. 
 Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 
 Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 
 To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
 From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears ! ' 
 — Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 
 
 Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay. 
 As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 
 
 He wound with toilsome march his long array : — 
 Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; 
 ' To arms! ' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering iance
 
 I40 THE COLDKX TREASURY 
 
 On a rock, whose haughty brow 
 Frowns o'er old Conways foamin;^ flood, 
 
 Robed in the .sal)le j^arb of woe 
 With haii^ard eyes the Poet stood ; 
 (Loose his bearil and hoary hair 
 Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air) 
 And witli a master's hand and prophet's fire 
 Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : 
 
 ' Hark, how each giant-oak and desert-cave 
 Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 
 O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, 
 
 Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; 
 Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
 To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 
 
 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. 
 
 That hush'd the stormy main : 
 Brave LIrien sleei)s ui)on his craggy bed: 
 
 Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
 
 Modred, whose magic song 
 Made huge Plinlimmon bow liis cloud-topt head- 
 
 On dreary Arvon's shore they lie 
 Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale : 
 Far, far aloof the atTrighted ravens sail ; 
 
 The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. 
 Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. 
 
 Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
 Dear as tiie ruddy drops that warm my heart, 
 
 Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
 No more I weep ; They do not sleep ; 
 
 On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 
 I see them sit ; They linger yet. 
 
 Avengers of their native lantl : 
 With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
 ^nd weave with bloodv hands the tissue of thv line 
 
 ll'ecwe the ii>arp and wdue the ivoof 
 The winding sheet of Edward's race : 
 
 Give ample room and 7'erge enough 
 The characters of hell to trace.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 141 
 
 Mark the ycur, and mark the uii^ht, 
 
 II 'hen Se-i'ern shall re-echo with affrii^ht 
 
 The shrieks of death thro' Berkley s roof that ring^ 
 
 Shrieks of an ai^onizhn^ khti^l 
 
 She-7L'olf of France^ with unrelenthti^ fani^s 
 That tear st the hmvels of thy mant^led mate. 
 
 From thee be born, who o'er thy country hant^s 
 The scoiirj^e of hea7>en ! II 'hat terrors round him w*'i 
 Amazement in his van, with flii^ht combined. 
 And sorrow's faded for niy and solitude behind. 
 
 '• Mii^hty Ti'ctor, mia^hty lord. 
 
 Ijrw on his funeral couch he lies I 
 No pityint^ heart, no eye, afford 
 
 A tear to i^race his obsequies, 
 /s the sable warrior fled / 
 7hy son is t^one. He rests amoni^ the dead. 
 'The suarm that in thy puwn-tide beam 7i'ere born f 
 — Gone to salute the rismi^ morn . 
 J air lauj^hs the .MorUy and soft the zephyr bUrws^ 
 
 It 'hile proudly ridim; o'er the azure realm 
 In i^alltint trim the i^ilded vessel i^oes : 
 
 \'outh on the prim', and I 'lea sure at the helm : 
 Ke^^ardless of the s^veepim; whirlwind's s^iuiy, 
 'That hush' d in grim repose expects his e7>ening prp^. 
 
 ' Till high the sparkling bmvl^ 
 The rich repast prepare ; 
 
 Reft of a cnrwn, he yet may share the feast : 
 Close by the regal chair 
 
 Tell 7 hirst and Famine sctnul 
 
 .1 baleful smile upon their baffled guest^ 
 Heard ye the dm of battle bray, 
 
 Laui e to lani e, and horse to horse / 
 
 Long years of havoik urge their destined course.^ 
 And thro' the kindred squadrons miKO their 7uay. 
 
 ) 'e towers of Julius, London's lastim^ shame. 
 If ith many a foul and midnight murder fed, 
 
 Rei'ere his consort's faith, his father's fame^ 
 And spare the meek usurper's holy head ! 
 Above, below, the rose of snoiv,
 
 142 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Twined with her blushing foe, we spread : 
 The bristled boar in i7if ant-gore 
 
 Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
 Now, brothers, benditig o'^er the accursed loom, 
 Si amp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom 
 
 * Edward, lol to sudden fate 
 
 ( Weave we the woof; The thread is spun ;) 
 Half of thy heart we consecrate. 
 
 ( The web is wove ; The work is done.) 
 — Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn 
 Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : 
 In yon bright track that fires the western skies 
 They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
 But oh ! viYvaX solemn scenes on Snowdon^s height 
 
 Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? 
 Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 
 Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 
 No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail : — 
 All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! 
 
 ' Girt with many a baron bold 
 Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; 
 
 And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
 In bearded majesty, appear. 
 In the midst a form divine! 
 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line : 
 Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face 
 Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. 
 What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 
 
 What strains of vocal transport round her play' 
 Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 
 
 They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
 Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, 
 Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour'd wings 
 
 * The verse adorn again 
 
 Fierce war, and faithful love, 
 And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. 
 
 In buskin'd measures move 
 Pale grief, and pleasing pain. 
 With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 1 43 
 
 A voice as of the cherub-choir 
 
 Gales from blooming Eden bear, 
 
 And distant warblings lessen on my ear 
 That lost in long futurity expire. 
 Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud 
 
 Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? 
 To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 
 
 And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
 Enough for me : with joy I see 
 
 The different doom our fates assign : 
 Be thine despair and sceptred care, 
 
 To triumph and to die are mine.' 
 - He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
 Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 
 
 T. Gray 
 
 CLX 
 ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 
 
 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. 
 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung. 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung : 
 There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
 And Freedom shall awhile repair 
 To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 
 
 W. Collzm 
 
 CLXI 
 
 LAMENT FOR CULLODEN 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
 Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
 For e'en and morn she cries, Alas! 
 And aye the saut tear blins her ee :
 
 144 ^//^ GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 
 A waefu' day it was to me i 
 For there I lost my father dear, 
 My father dear, and brethren three. 
 
 Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
 Their graves are growing green to see: 
 And by them lies the dearest lad 
 That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
 Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
 A bluidy man I trow thou be; 
 For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
 That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 
 
 ye. rums 
 
 CLXII 
 LAMENT FOR FLODDEN 
 
 Tve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking. 
 
 Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day; 
 B'.it now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, 
 
 Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae ; 
 Nae daffin', nae gabbing but sighing and sabbing, 
 
 Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 
 
 In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 
 Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray ; 
 
 At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; 
 
 But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 
 The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 
 
 Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border' 
 The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, 
 The prime f our land, are cauld in the clay.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 145 
 
 We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; 
 
 Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; 
 Sighing and moaning onilka green loaning — 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 /. Elliott 
 
 CLXIII 
 
 THE BRAES OF YARROW 
 
 Thy braes were^bonny, Yarrow stream, 
 When first on them I met my lover; 
 Thy braes how dreary. Yarrow stream, 
 When now thy waves his body cover! 
 For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! 
 Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; 
 For never on thy banks shall I 
 Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow! 
 
 He promised me a milk-white steed 
 
 To bear me to his father's bowers ; 
 
 He promised me a little page 
 
 To squire me to his father s toweis ; 
 
 He promised me a wedding-ring. — 
 
 The wedding-day was fix'cl to-moir .w ; -- 
 
 Now he is wedded to his grave, 
 
 Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 
 
 Sweet were his words when last we met; 
 My passion I as freely told him ; 
 Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought 
 That I should never more behold him? 
 Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
 It vanislVd with a shriek of sorrow ; 
 Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. 
 And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 
 
 His mollier from the window looked 
 
 With all the longing of a mother; 
 
 His little sister weeping walk'd 
 
 The green-wood path tu meet her brother j
 
 146 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 They sought him east, they sought him west 
 They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
 They only saw the cloud of night, 
 rhey only heard the roar of Yarrow. 
 
 No longer from thy window look — 
 Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! 
 No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
 Alas, thou hast no more a brother! 
 No longer seek him east or west 
 And search no more the forest thorough ; 
 For, wandering in the night so dark, 
 He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 
 
 The tear shall never leave my cheek. 
 No other youth shall be my marrow — 
 ril seek thy body in the stream. 
 And then with thee Til sleep in Yarrow. 
 — The tear did never leave her cheek, 
 No other youth became her marrow ; 
 She found his body in the stream. 
 And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 
 
 J. Logai 
 
 CLXIV 
 WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 
 Where bonny grows the lily, 
 
 I heard a fair maid sighing say, 
 *My wish be wi' sweet Willie! 
 
 * Willie's rare, and Willie's fair. 
 And Willie's wondrous bonny ; 
 
 And Willie hecht to marry me 
 Gin e'er he married ony, 
 
 *0 gentle wind, that bloweth south 
 From where my Love repaireth, 
 
 Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth 
 And tell me how he fareth!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 147 
 
 *0 tell sweet Willie to come doun 
 
 And hear the mavis singing, 
 And see the birds on ilka bush 
 
 And leaves around them hinging. 
 
 *The lav'rock there, \vi' her white breast 
 
 And gentle throat sae narrow ; 
 There's sport eneuch for gentlemen 
 
 On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 * O Leader haughs are wide and braid 
 
 And Yarrow haugh? ^re bonny ; 
 There Willie hecht to rnarry me 
 If e'er he married ony. 
 
 * But Willie's gone, whorr T thought on» 
 
 And does not hear me N-eeping ; 
 
 Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e 
 
 When other maids are sleeping. 
 
 * Yestreen I made my bed fu' brai'\ 
 
 The night Til mak' it narrow. 
 For a' the live-lang winter night 
 I lie twined o' my marrow. 
 
 *0 came ye by yon water-side? 
 
 Pou'd you the rose or lily? 
 Or came you by yon meadow green, 
 
 Or saw you my sweet Willi.^? ' 
 
 She sought him up, she sought him down, 
 
 She sought him braid and narrow ; 
 Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, 
 She found him drown'd in Y3rrow! 
 
 Anon 
 CLXV 
 
 LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 
 
 Toll for the Brave! 
 The brave that are no morf f 
 All sunk beneath the wav*> 
 Fast by their native shore
 
 i48 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Eight hundred of the brave 
 Whose courage well was tried, 
 Had made the vessel heel 
 And laid her on her side. 
 
 A land-breeze shook the shrouds 
 And she was overset ; 
 Down went the Royal George, 
 With all her crew complete. 
 
 Toll for the brave! 
 Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
 His last sea-fight is fought, 
 His work of glory done. 
 
 It was not in the batde ; 
 No tempest gave the shock ; 
 She sprang no fatal leak, 
 She ran upon no rock. 
 
 His sword was in its sheath, 
 His fingers held the pen, 
 When Kempenfelt went down 
 With twice four hundred men. 
 
 — Weigh the vessel up 
 Once dreaded by our foes! 
 And mingle with our cup 
 The tears that England owes. 
 
 Her timbers yet are sound, 
 
 And she may float again 
 
 Full charged with England's thunder, 
 
 And plough the distant main : 
 
 But Kempenfelt is gone. 
 His victories are o'er ; 
 And he and his eight hundred 
 Shall plough the wave no more. 
 
 IV Cowjfer
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 149 
 
 CLXVI 
 BLACK-EYED SUSAN 
 
 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 
 
 The streamers waving in the wind, 
 When black-eyed Susan came aboard ; 
 
 'O! where shall I my true-love find? 
 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 
 If my sweet William sails among the crew.' 
 
 William, who high upon the yard 
 
 Rock'd with the billow to and fro, 
 Soon as her well-known voice he heard 
 
 He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below: 
 The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands 
 And quick as Hghtning on the deck he stands. 
 
 So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 
 
 Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
 If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 
 
 And drops at once into her nest : — 
 The noblest captain in the British fleet 
 Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 
 
 * O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, 
 
 My vows shall ever true remain ; 
 Let me kiss oft' that falling tear ; 
 
 We only part to meet again. 
 Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 
 The faithful compass that still points to thee. 
 
 * Believe not what the landmen say 
 
 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind ; 
 They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
 
 In every port a mistress find : 
 Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 
 For Thou art present wheresoever I go. 
 
 ' If to fair India's coast we sail. 
 
 Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 
 
 Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, 
 Thy skin is ivory so white.
 
 150 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thus every beauteous object that I view 
 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 
 
 ^ Though battle call me from thy arms 
 
 Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 
 Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 
 
 William shall to his Dear return. 
 Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, 
 Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.' 
 
 The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
 The sails their swelling bosom spread. 
 
 No longer must she stay aboard ; 
 
 They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. 
 
 Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; 
 
 * Adieu !' she cries ; and waved her Hly hand. 
 
 J. Gay 
 
 CLXVII 
 SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart 
 
 There's none like pretty Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 There is no lady in the land 
 
 Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets 
 
 And through the streets does cry 'em; 
 Her mother she sells laces long 
 
 To such as please to buy 'em : 
 But sure such folks could ne'er beget 
 
 So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When she is by, I leave my work, 
 I love her so sincerely ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 157 
 
 My master comes like any Turk, 
 
 And bangs me most severely — • 
 But let him bang his bellyful, 
 
 ni bear it all for Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Of all the days that's in the week 
 
 I dearly love but one day — 
 And that's the day that comes betwixt 
 
 A Saturday and Monday ; 
 For then I'm drest all in my best 
 
 To walk abroad with Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart. 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master carries me to church, 
 
 And often am I blamed 
 Because I leave him in the lurch 
 
 As soon as text is named ; 
 I leave the church in sermon-time 
 
 And slink away to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When Christmas comes about again 
 
 O then I shall have money ; 
 I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 
 
 I'll give it to my honey : 
 I would it were ten thousand pound, 
 
 I'd give it all to S' /j-'; 
 She is the darling of .ny heart. 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master and the neighbours all 
 
 Make game of me and Sally, 
 And, but for her, I'd better be 
 
 A slave and row a galley ; 
 But when my seven long years are out 
 
 O then I'll marry Sally, — 
 O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed . . 
 
 But not in our alley ! 
 
 H, Carey
 
 152 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CLXVIII 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
 
 An' fill it in a silver tassie ; 
 That I may drink before I go 
 
 A service to my bonnie lassie : 
 The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry. 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
 
 And 1 maun leave my bonnie Mary, 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 
 The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar, 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
 But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
 Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 
 
 It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 R, Durm 
 
 CLXIX 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please 
 
 Right soon Til mount my steed ; 
 And strong his arm. and fast his seat 
 
 That bears frae me the meed, 
 ril wear thy colours in my cap 
 
 Thy picture at my heart; 
 And he that bends not to thine eye 
 Shall rue it to his smart ! 
 
 Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ; 
 
 O tell me how to woo thee! 
 For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take 
 Tho' ne'er another trow me. 
 
 If gay attire delight thine e3'e 
 
 I'll dight me in array ; 
 ril tend thy chamber door all night, 
 
 And squire thee all the day.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 1 53 
 
 If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 
 These sounds I'll strive to catch ; 
 
 Thy voice Til steal to woo thysell, 
 That voice that nane can match. 
 
 But if fond love thy heart can gain, 
 
 I never broke a vow ; 
 Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 
 
 I never loved but you. 
 For you alone I ride the ring, 
 
 For you I wear the blue ; 
 For you alone I strive to sing, 
 
 O tell me how to woo! 
 
 Then tell me how to woo thee, Love 5 
 
 O tell me how to woo thee! 
 For thy dear sake, nae care Til take, 
 
 Tho' ne'er another trow me. 
 
 R. Graham of G art more 
 
 CLXX 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY 
 
 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 
 
 Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — • 
 
 Silent and chaste she steals along, 
 
 Far from the world's gay busy throng : 
 
 With gentle yet prevailing force, 
 
 Intent upon her destined course; 
 
 Graceful and useful all she does. 
 
 Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; 
 
 Pure-bosom 'd as that watery glass 
 
 And Heaven reflected in her face. 
 
 W. Cou'Per 
 CLXXI 
 
 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 
 Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile — 
 Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes. 
 Thy rosy lips still wear a smile 
 And move, and breathe delicious sighs!
 
 154 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks 
 And mantle o'er her neck of snow : 
 Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
 What most I wish — and fear to know! 
 
 She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! 
 Her fair hands folded on her breast : 
 — And now, how like a saint she sleeps! 
 A seraph in the realms of rest! 
 
 Sleep on secure! Above controul 
 Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee : 
 And may the secret of thy soul 
 Remain within its sanctuary! 
 
 S, Rogers 
 CLXXII 
 
 For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 
 An unrelenting foe to Love, 
 And when we meet a mutual heart 
 Come in between, and bid us part? 
 
 Bid us sigh on from day to day. 
 And wish and wish the soul away; 
 Till youth and genial years are flown, 
 And all the life of life is gone? 
 
 But busy, busy, still art thou, 
 To bind the loveless joyless vow, 
 The heart from pleasure to delude, 
 To join the gentle to the rude. 
 
 For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer. 
 And I absolve thy future care ; 
 All other blessings I resign, 
 Make but the dear Amanda mine. 
 
 /. Tho7nson 
 CLXXni 
 
 The merchant, to secure his treasure, 
 Conveys it in a borrowed name : 
 Euphelia serves to grace my measure. 
 But Cloe is my real flame.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 155 
 
 My softest verse, my darling lyre 
 Upon Euphelia's toilet lay — 
 When Cloe noted her desire 
 That 1 should sing, that I should play. 
 
 My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 
 But with my numbers mix my sighs ; 
 And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, 
 I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. 
 
 Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd : 
 I sung, and gazed ; I play'd, and trembled : 
 And Venus to the Loves around 
 Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. 
 
 M, Prior 
 CLXXIV 
 
 LOVE'S SECRET 
 
 Never seek to tell thy love, 
 
 Love that never told can be ; 
 For the gentle wind doth move 
 
 Silently, invisibly. 
 
 I told my love, I told my love, 
 
 I told her all my heart, 
 Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears : — 
 
 Ah! she did depart. 
 
 Soon after she was gone from me 
 
 A traveller came by, 
 Silently, invisibly : 
 He took her with a sigh. 
 
 W. Blakt 
 CLXXV 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly 
 And finds too late that men betray, — 
 What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
 What art can wash her guilt away ? 
 
 The only art her guilt to cover. 
 To hide her shame from every eye,
 
 156 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To give repentance to her lover 
 And wring his bosom, is — to die. 
 
 O. Goldsmiik 
 
 CLXXVI 
 
 Ye hanks and braes o'' bonnie Doon 
 
 How can ye blume sae fair! 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 
 And I sae fu' o' care! 
 
 Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 
 
 That sings upon the bough ; 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days 
 
 When my fause Luve was true. 
 
 Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
 
 And wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon 
 
 To see the woodbine twine, 
 And ilka bird sang o' its love ; 
 
 And sae did I o' mine. 
 
 Wi' lightsome heart I puM a rose, 
 
 Frae aff its thorny tree ; 
 And my fause luver staw the rose, 
 
 But left the thorn wi' me, 
 
 R. Burn^ 
 
 CLXXVII 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF POESY 
 
 A Pindaric Ode 
 
 'Vwake, Aeolian lyre, awake, 
 A«d give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
 From Helicon's harmonious springs 
 
 A thousand rills their mazy progress take \ 
 The laughing flowers that round them blow 
 Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 157 
 
 Now the rich stream of music winds along 
 
 Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
 
 Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign ; 
 
 Now rolling down the steep amain 
 
 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: 
 
 The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 
 
 Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul, 
 Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
 Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares 
 
 And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul, 
 On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
 Has curb'd the fury of his car 
 And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. 
 Perching on the sceptred hand 
 Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king 
 With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : 
 Quenclrd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
 The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 
 
 Thee the voice, the dance, obey 
 
 Tempered to thy warbled lay. 
 
 O'er Idalia's velvet-green 
 
 The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 
 
 On Cytherea's day ; 
 
 W^ith antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
 
 Frisking light in frolic measures ; 
 
 Now pursuing, now retreating, 
 
 Now in circling troops they meet : 
 To brisk notes in cadence beating 
 
 Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
 Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : 
 
 Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay : 
 With arms sublime that float upon the air 
 
 In gliding state she wins her easy way : 
 O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 
 The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. 
 
 Man's feeble race what ills await ! 
 Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
 Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train. 
 
 And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!
 
 158 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
 
 And justify the laws of Jove. 
 
 Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? 
 
 Night, and all her sickly dews. 
 
 Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry 
 
 He gives to range the dreary sky : 
 
 Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
 
 Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of wai 
 
 In climes beyond the solar road 
 Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
 The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 
 
 To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. 
 And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
 Of Chili's boundless forests laid, 
 She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat 
 In loose numbers wildly sweet 
 Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. 
 Her track, where'er the goddess roves. 
 Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 
 Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame 
 
 Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
 Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep, 
 Fields that cool Ilissus laves. 
 Or where Maeander's amber waves 
 In lingering labyrinths creep, 
 How do your tuneful echoes languish, 
 Mute, but to the voice of anguish! 
 Where each old poetic mountain 
 
 Inspiration breathed around; 
 Every shade and hallow'd fountaiu 
 
 Murmur'd deep a solemn sound : 
 rill the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour 
 
 Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
 Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 
 
 And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
 When Latium had her lofty spirit lost. 
 They sought, oh Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast 
 
 Far from the sun and summer-gale 
 In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 159 
 
 What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 
 
 To him the mighty Mother did unveil 
 Her awful face : the dauntless child 
 Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 
 ' This pencil take ' (she said), ' whose colours clear 
 Richly paint the vernal year : 
 Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! 
 This can unlock the gates of joy ; 
 Of horror that, and thrilling fears. 
 Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.* 
 
 Nor second He, that rode sublime 
 Upon the seraph-wings of Extasy 
 The secrets of the abyss to spy : 
 
 He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: 
 The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze 
 Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
 He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, 
 Closed his eyes in endless night. 
 Behold where Dryden^s less presumptuous car 
 Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
 Two coursers of ethereal race. 
 With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace 
 
 Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 
 
 Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, 
 
 Scatters from her pictured urn 
 
 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. , 
 
 But ah ! 'tis heard no more — 
 
 Oh ! lyre divine, what daring spirit 
 
 Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit 
 
 Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, 
 
 That the Theban eagle bear, 
 Sailing with supreme dominion 
 
 Thro' the azure deep of air : 
 Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 
 
 Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
 With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun: 
 
 Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
 Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate : 
 Beaeath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 
 
 T. Gray
 
 l6o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CLXXVIII 
 THE PASSIONS 
 
 An Ode for M 21 sic 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
 While yet in early Greece she sung, 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
 Throng'd around her magic cell 
 Exulting, trembUng, raging, fainting, 
 Possest beyond the Muse's painting ; 
 By turns they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined: 
 'Till once, His said, when all were fired, 
 Fiird with fury, rapt, inspired. 
 From the supporting myrtles round 
 They snatch'd her instruments of sound, 
 And, as they oft had heard apart 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
 Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 First Fear his hand, its skill to try. 
 Amid the chords bewildered laid. 
 
 And back recoiPd, he knew not why, 
 E'en at the sound himself had made. 
 
 * Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 
 
 In lightnings, own'd his secret stings ; 
 In one rude clash he struck the lyre 
 
 And swept with hurried hand the strings. 
 
 With v/oeful measures wan Despair, 
 Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled ; 
 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 
 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 
 
 But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair, 
 What was thy delighted measure? 
 
 Still it whispered promised pleasure 
 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hailt
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY i6l 
 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 
 
 She caird on Echo still through all the song ; 
 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
 
 And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 
 hair ; — 
 
 And longer had she sung: — but with a frown 
 
 Revenge impatient rose : 
 He threw Ills blood-stain'd sword in thunder down; 
 
 And with a withering look 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! 
 
 And ever and anon he beat 
 
 The doubling drum with furious heat; 
 And. though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 
 Dtjected Pity at his side 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
 Yet still he kept his wild unalterM mien, 
 While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his 
 head. 
 
 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd : 
 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state! 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mixM ; 
 
 And now it courted Love, now raving calPd on Hate. 
 
 With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, 
 
 Pale Melancholy sat retired; 
 
 And from her wild sequester^ seat. 
 
 In notes by distance made more sweet, 
 
 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: 
 
 And dashing soft from rocks around 
 
 Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
 Through glides and glooms the mingled measure stole. 
 Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
 
 Round an holy calm diffusing. 
 
 Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
 In hollow murmurs died away.
 
 162 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone 
 
 When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
 Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
 Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 
 
 Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
 The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known! 
 
 The oak-crown'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Qu-^en 
 Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
 
 Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 
 
 And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 
 
 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
 
 He, with viny crown advancing, 
 
 First to the lively pipe his hand addrest : 
 
 But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol 
 
 Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 
 
 They would have thought who heard the strain 
 They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids 
 Amidst the festal-sounding shades 
 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
 
 While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
 Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round : 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
 And he, amidst his frolic play, 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 
 Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings, 
 
 O Music! sphere-descended maid, 
 Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! 
 Why, goddess! why, to us denied, 
 Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? 
 As in that loved Athenian bower 
 You learn'd an all-commanding power, 
 Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd, 
 Can well recall what then it heard. 
 Where is thy native simple heart 
 Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? 
 Arise, as in that elder time, 
 Warm, energic, chaste, sublime! 
 Thy wonders, in that god-like ag^ 
 Fill thy recording Sister's page ; «■
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 163 
 
 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 
 Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
 Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
 Than all which charms this laggard age: 
 E'en all at once together found, 
 Cecilia's mingled world of sound : — 
 O bid our vain endeavours cease : 
 Revive the just designs of Greece : 
 Return in all thy simple state! 
 Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 
 
 W. Collim 
 
 CLXXIX 
 THE SONG OF DAVID 
 
 He sang of God, the mighty source 
 Of all things, the stupendous force 
 
 On which all strength depends : 
 From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes, 
 All period, power, and enterprise 
 
 Commences, reigns, and ends. 
 
 The world, the clustering spheres He made, 
 The glorious light, the soothing shade, 
 
 Dale, champaign, grove and hill : 
 The multitudinous abyss, 
 Where secrecy remains in bliss. 
 
 And wisdom hides her skill. 
 
 Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said 
 
 To Moses : while Earth heard in dread, 
 
 And, smitten to the heart. 
 At once, above, beneath, around, 
 All Nature, without voice or sound, 
 Replied, <0 Lord, THOU ART/ 
 
 C. Smart 
 CLXXX 
 
 INFANT JOY 
 
 * I have no name ; 
 
 I am but two days old.' 
 
 — What shall I call thee?
 
 I64 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ' 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! 
 
 CLXXXI 
 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, 
 Dreaming in the joys of night ; 
 Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
 Little sorrows sit and weep. 
 
 Sweet babe, in thy face 
 Soft desires I can trace. 
 Secret joys and secret smiles, 
 Little pretty infant wiles. 
 
 As thy softest limbs I feel, 
 Smiles as of the morning steal 
 O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
 Where thy little heart doth rest. 
 
 Oh the cunning wiles that creep 
 In thy little heart asleep ! 
 When thy little heart doth wake^ 
 Then the dreadful light shall break. 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 CLXXXII 
 ODE ON THE SPRING 
 
 Lot where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 
 
 Fair Venus' train, appear. 
 Disclose the long-expecting flowers 
 
 And wake the purple >^earl
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY T65 
 
 The Attic warbler pours her throat 
 Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 
 The untaught harmony of Spring : 
 While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
 Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 
 Their gathered fragrance fling. 
 
 Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 
 
 A broader, browner shade, 
 Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 
 
 O'er-canopies the glade, 
 Beside some water's rushy brink 
 With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
 (At ease reclined in rustic state) 
 How vain the ardour of the crowd, 
 How low, how little are the proud, 
 
 How indigent the great! 
 
 Still is the toiling hand of Care; 
 
 The panting herds repose: 
 Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air 
 
 The busy murmur glows ! 
 The insect-youth are on the wing, 
 Eager to taste the honied spring 
 And float amid the liquid noon : 
 Some hghtly o'er the current skim, * 
 Some show their gaily-gilded trim 
 
 Quick-glancing to the sun. 
 
 To Contemplation's sober eye 
 
 Such is the race of Man : 
 And they that creep, and they that fly, 
 
 Shall end where they began. 
 Alike the Busy and the Gay 
 But flutter thro' life's little day, 
 In Fortune's varying colours drest : 
 Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance 
 Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance 
 
 They leave, in dust to rest. 
 
 Methinks I hear in accents low 
 The sportive kind reply :
 
 t66 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Poor moralist! and what art thou? 
 
 A sohtary fly ! 
 Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
 No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
 No painted plumage to display : 
 On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 
 Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — • 
 
 We frolic while 'tis May. 
 
 r. Gray 
 
 CLXXXIII 
 
 THE POPLAR FIELD 
 
 The poplars are felPd ; farewell to the shade 
 And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
 The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, 
 Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 
 Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew : 
 And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
 And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade! 
 
 The blackbird has fled to another retreat 
 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; 
 And the scene where his melody charmM me before 
 Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 
 
 My fugitive years are all hasting away, 
 And 1 must ere long lie as lowly as they, 
 With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, 
 Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 
 
 The change both my heart and my fancy employs ; 
 I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys : 
 Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
 Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 
 
 W. Cowpet
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 167 
 
 CLXXXIV 
 
 TO A MOUSE 
 
 On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November 
 1785 
 
 Wee, sleekit, covvVin', tim'rous beastie, 
 
 what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
 Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
 Wi' bickering brattle ! 
 
 1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 
 Wi' murd'ring pattle! 
 
 I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
 
 Has broken Nature's social union, 
 
 An' justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which makes thee startle 
 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion. 
 
 An' fellow-mortal! 
 
 I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve ; 
 
 What then? poor beastie, thou maun live f 
 
 A daimen-icker in a thrave 
 
 'S a sma' request : 
 
 I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, 
 
 And never miss't ! 
 
 Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! 
 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin : 
 And naething, now, to big a new ane, 
 O' foggage green ! 
 
 An' bleak December's winds ensuin' 
 Baith snell an' keen! 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste 
 
 An' weary winter comin' fast. 
 
 An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell. 
 
 Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 
 
 Out thro' thy cell.
 
 x68 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 That wee bit heap o^ leaves an' stibble 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
 Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble. 
 But house or hald, 
 To thole the winter's sleety dribble 
 An' cranreuch cauld! 
 
 But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
 In proving foresight may be vain : 
 The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 
 Gang aft a-gley, 
 
 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 
 For promised joy. 
 
 Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! 
 
 The present only toucheth thee : 
 
 But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 
 
 On prospects drear ! 
 
 An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
 
 I guess an' fear! 
 
 CLXXXV 
 
 A WISH 
 
 Mine be a cot beside the hill ; 
 A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
 A willowy brook that turns a mill, 
 With many a fall shall linger near. 
 
 The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
 Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 
 Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
 And share my meal, a welcome guest. 
 
 Around my ivied porch shall spring 
 Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; 
 And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
 In russet-gown and apron blue. 
 
 The village-church among the trees, 
 Where first our marriage-vows were given. 
 With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
 And point with taper spire to Heaven. 
 
 S. F^(;w
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 1 69 
 
 CLXXXVI 
 
 ODE TO EVENING 
 
 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 
 
 May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear 
 
 Like thy own solemn springs, 
 
 Thy "springs, and dying gales ; 
 
 O Nymph reserved, — while now the bright-hair'd sui 
 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 
 
 With brede ethereal wove, 
 
 O'erhang his wavy bed ; 
 
 Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat 
 With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 
 
 Or where the beetle winds 
 
 His small but sullen horn, 
 
 As oft he rises midst the twilight path, 
 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — 
 
 Now teach me, maid composed. 
 
 To breathe some softened strain 
 
 Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening valej 
 May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 
 
 As, musing slow, I hail 
 
 Thy genial loved return. 
 
 For when thy folding-star arising shows 
 His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 
 
 The fragrant Hours, and Elves 
 
 Who slept in buds the day, 
 
 And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge 
 And sheds the freshening dew, and, loveHer still, 
 
 The pensive Pleasures sweet. 
 
 Prepare thy shadowy car. 
 
 Then let me rove some wild and healthy scene; 
 Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells. 
 
 Whose walls more awful nod 
 
 By thy religious gleams^
 
 lyo THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain 
 Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 
 
 That, from the mountain's side. 
 
 Views wilds, and swelling floods. 
 
 And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; 
 And hears their simple bell ; and marks o'er all 
 
 Thy dewy fingers draw 
 
 The gradual dusky veil. 
 
 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wojit 
 And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! 
 
 While Summer loves to sport 
 
 Beneath thy lingering light ; 
 
 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 
 
 Affrights thy shrinking train 
 
 And rudely rends thy robes ; 
 
 So long, regardful of thy quiet rule. 
 
 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 
 
 Thy gentlest influence own. 
 
 And love thy favourite name ! 
 
 W. Collins 
 
 CLXXXVII 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
 YARD 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
 The ploughman homew^ard 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 : 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bovver^ 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 171 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 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 lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 
 
 Oft did the harv^est to their sickle yield. 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
 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, 
 Await alike th' 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 through the long-drawn aisle and fret*^"?<^ vault 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
 Can storied urn or animated bust 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Or waked to extasy the living lyre :
 
 172 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 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 unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 Some village-Hampdcn, that v^^ith dauntless breast 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 Th' 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 forbad : nor circumscribed alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 
 Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
 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 learn'd to stray ; 
 Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 
 They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. 
 
 Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 
 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck't. 
 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 
 The place of fame and elegy supply : 
 And many a holy text around she strewn 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 173 
 
 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey. 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd. 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing lingering lool< 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 th' unhonourM dead, 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
 If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, — 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
 ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; 
 
 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
 His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 
 
 ' Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
 Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; 
 Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, 
 Oi crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love 
 
 ' One morn 1 miss'd him on the customed hill. 
 Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 
 
 ' The next with dirges due in sad array 
 Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne,— 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
 
 174 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
 A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
 Fair science frownM not on his humble birth 
 And melancholy mark'd 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 gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he w^ish'd) a frient 
 
 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. 
 
 T. Gray 
 
 CLXXXVIII 
 MARY MORISON 
 
 Mary, at thy window be. 
 
 It is the wished, the trysted hour! 
 Those smiles and glances let me see 
 That make the miser's treasure poor : 
 How blithely wad I bid the stoure, 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
 Could I the rich reward secure, 
 The lovely Mary Morison. 
 
 Yestreen when to the trembling string 
 The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
 
 1 sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
 Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 
 I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
 * Ye are na Mary Morison.' 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 Whase only faut is loving thee?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 175 
 
 If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
 At least be pity to me shown ; 
 A thought ungentle canna be 
 The thought o' Mary Morison. 
 
 /?. Burn. 
 
 CLXXXIX 
 BONNIE LESLEY 
 
 O saw ye bonnie Lesley 
 
 As she gaed o'er the border? 
 
 She's gane, like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to love her, 
 And love but her for ever ; 
 
 For Nature made her what she is, 
 And ne'er made sic anither ! 
 
 Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 
 Thy subjects we, before thee ; 
 
 Thou art divine. Fair Lesley, 
 The hearts o' men adore thee. 
 
 The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
 Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
 
 He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
 And say ' I canna wrang thee! * 
 
 The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 
 
 Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
 Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely 
 
 That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 
 
 Return again. Fair Lesley, 
 
 Return to Caledonie! 
 That we may brag we hae a lass 
 
 There's nane again sae bonnie. 
 
 CXC 
 
 O my Luve's like a red, red rose 
 That's newly sprung in June : 
 
 R. Burn
 
 176 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 my Luve^s like the melodic 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass. 
 
 So deep in luve am I : 
 And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry : 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
 And the rocks melt \vi' the sun ; 
 
 1 will luve thee still, my dear. 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only Luve! 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile ; 
 And I will come again, my Lave, 
 
 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 CXCI 
 HIGHLAND MARY 
 
 Ye banks and braes and streams around 
 
 The castle o" Montgomery, 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 
 
 Your waters never drumlie ! 
 There simmer first unfauld her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry ; 
 For there I took the last fireweel 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 How sweetly bloomed the gay gi-een birk, 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
 As underneath their fragrant shade 
 
 I clasp'd her to my bosom! 
 The golden hours on angel wings 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
 For dear to me as light and life 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 Wi' mony a vow and lock"d embrace 
 Our parting was fu' tender ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 177 
 
 And pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore oursels asunder ; 
 But, Oh! fell Death's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early! 
 Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary! 
 
 pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ; 
 And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
 And mouldering now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that lo'ed me dearly! 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 cxcn 
 
 AULD ROBIN GRAY 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
 And a' the world to rest are gane. 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
 While my gudeman lies sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; 
 But saving a croun he had naething else beside : 
 To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ; 
 And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 
 
 He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, 
 When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; 
 My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — 
 And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. 
 
 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
 I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; 
 Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e 
 Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me ! 
 
 My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; 
 
 His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee? 
 
 Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me ?
 
 178 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak ; 
 But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break 
 They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; 
 Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 
 When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he 
 Till he said, Fm come hame to marry thee. 
 
 sair, sair did we greet, and miickle did we say; 
 We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gani^ away; 
 
 1 wish that I were dead, but Tm no like to dee; 
 And why was I born to say, Wae's me! 
 
 1 gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
 I claurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
 But ril do my best a gude wife aye to be. 
 For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 
 
 Lady A. Lindsay 
 CXCIII 
 
 DUNCAN GRAY 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ; 
 On blythe Yule night when we were fou. 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't : 
 Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
 Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 
 Gart poor Duncan stand abeigk ; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 
 
 Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 
 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; 
 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
 Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', 
 Spak o' lowpin ower a linn! 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide. 
 Slighted love is sair to bide ; 
 Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
 For a haughty hizzie dee? 
 She may gae to — France for mef
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 1 79 
 
 How it comes let doctors tell, 
 Meg grew sick — as he grew well; 
 Something in her bosom wrings, 
 For relief a sigh she brings! 
 And O, her een, they spak sic things! 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace ; 
 Maggie's was a piteous case ; 
 Duncan couldna be her death, 
 Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
 Now they're crouse and canty baith : 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 
 
 R. Burm 
 
 CXCIV 
 
 THE SAILOR'S WIFE 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true? 
 
 And are ye sure he's weel? 
 Is this the time to think o' vvark? 
 
 Ye jades, lay by your wheel ; 
 Is this the time to spin a thread, 
 
 When Colin's at the door? 
 Reach down my cloak. Til to the quay, 
 
 And see him come ashore. 
 For there's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There's nae luck at a' ; 
 There's little pleasure in the house 
 
 When our gudeman's awa'. 
 
 And gie to me my bigonet. 
 
 My bishop's satin gown ; 
 For I maun tell the bailUe's wife 
 
 That Colin's in the town. 
 My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 
 
 My stockins pearly blue ; 
 It's a' to pleasure our gudeman. 
 
 For he's baith leal and true. 
 
 Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside^ 
 
 Put on the muckle pot ; 
 Gie little Kate her button gown 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat ;
 
 l8o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 
 
 Their hose as white as snaw ; 
 It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 
 For he's been long awa'. 
 
 There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 
 
 Been fed this month and mair ; 
 Mak haste and thravv their necks about 
 
 That Colin weel may fare ; 
 And spread the table neat and clean, 
 
 Gar ilka thing look braw, 
 For wha can tell how Colin fared 
 
 When he was far awa' ? 
 
 Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speeri* 
 
 His breath like caller air ; 
 His very foot has music in't 
 
 As he comes up the stair — 
 And will I see his face again? 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 
 
 In troth I'm like to greet! 
 
 If Colin's weel, and weel content, 
 
 I hae nae mair to crave : 
 And gin I live to keep him sae, 
 
 I'm blest aboon the lave : 
 And will I see his face again, 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 
 
 In troth I'm like to greet. 
 For there's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There's nae luck at a' ; 
 There's little pleasure in the house 
 
 When our gudeman's awa\ 
 
 W,J. Micku 
 
 cxcv 
 
 ABSENCE 
 When I think on the happy days 
 
 I spent wi' you, my dearie ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY l8f 
 
 And now what lands between us lie 
 How can I be but eerie! 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
 
 As ye were wae and weary ! 
 At was na sae ye glinted by 
 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
 Anof 
 
 CXCVI 
 
 JEAN 
 
 Of a"* the airts the wind can blaw 
 
 I dearly like the West, 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild woods grow, and rivers rotij 
 
 And mony a hill between ; 
 But day and night my fancy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair : 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air : 
 There's not a bonnie flower that springs 
 
 By fountain, shaw, or green. 
 There's not a bonnie bird that sings 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft 
 
 Amang the leafy trees ; 
 Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale 
 
 Bring hame the laden bees ; 
 And bring the lassie back to me 
 
 That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
 Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 
 
 Sae charming is my Jean. 
 
 What sighs and vows amang the knowCi 
 
 Hae pass'd atween us twa ! 
 How fond to meet, how wae to part 
 
 That night she gaed awa' !
 
 .82 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The Powers aboon can only ken 
 To whom the heart is seen, 
 
 That nane can be sae dear to me 
 As my sweet lovely Jean ! 
 
 y?. Burns 
 
 CXCVII 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 When we were first acquent 
 Your locks were like the raven, 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
 But now your brow is bald, John, 
 Your locks are like the snow ; 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 We clamb the hill thegither. 
 And mony a canty day, John, 
 We've had wi' ane anither : 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 But hand in hand we'll go, 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 R. Bt*rn 
 
 CXCVIII 
 
 THE LAND O' THE LEAL 
 
 I'm wearing awa', Jean, 
 
 Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean, 
 
 I'm wearing awa' 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
 There's neither cauld nor care, Jean^ 
 The day is aye fair 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 
 v-"r task's ended noo, Jean-
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 183 
 
 And ni welcome you 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, 
 She was baith guid and fair, Jean ; 
 O we grudged her right sair 
 
 To the land o' the leal ! 
 
 Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 
 My soul langs to be free, Jean, 
 And angels wait on me 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 
 This warld's care is vain, Jean ; 
 We'll meet and aye be fain 
 
 In the land o' the leal ! 
 
 Lady Nairn 
 
 CXCIX 
 
 ODL ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
 COLLEGE 
 
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 
 
 That crown the watery glade, 
 Where grateful Science still adores 
 
 Her Henry's holy shade ; 
 And ye, that from the stately brow 
 Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 
 Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
 Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
 Wanders the hoary Thames along 
 
 His silver-winding way : 
 
 Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing shade ! 
 
 Ah fields beloved in vain ! 
 Where once my careless childhood stray'd, 
 
 A stranger yet to pain ! 
 I feel the gales that from ye blow 
 A momentary bliss bestow. 
 As waving fresh their gladsome wing 
 My weary soul they seem to soothcj 
 And, redolent of joy and youth, 
 
 To breathe a second spring.
 
 1 84 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 
 Full many a sprightly race 
 
 Disporting on thy margent green 
 The paths of pleasure trace ; 
 
 Who foremost now delight to cleave 
 
 With pliant arm, thy glassy wave ? 
 
 The captive linnet which enthral ? 
 
 What idle progeny succeed 
 
 To chase the rolling circle's speed 
 Or urge the flying ball ? 
 
 While some on earnest business bent 
 
 Their murmuring labours ply 
 'Gainst graver hours that bring constrain' 
 
 To sweeten liberty : 
 Some bold adventurers disdain 
 The limits of their little reign 
 And unknown regions dare descry : 
 Still as they run they look behind, 
 They hear a voice in every wind, 
 And snatch a fearful joy. 
 
 Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 
 Less pleasing when possest ; 
 
 The tear forgot as soon as shed. 
 The sunshine of the breast : 
 
 Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, 
 
 Wild wit, invention ever new. 
 
 And lively cheer, of vigour born ; 
 
 The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
 
 The spirits pure, the slumbers light 
 That fly th' approach of morn. 
 
 Alas ! regardless of their doom 
 
 The little victims play ; 
 No sense have they of ills to come 
 
 Nor care beyond to-day : 
 Yet see how all around 'em wait 
 The ministers of human fate 
 And black Misfortune's baleful train ! 
 Ah show them where in ambush stand 
 To seize their prey, the murderous band 
 
 Ah, tell them they are men I
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY t8c 
 
 These shall the fiiry Passions tear. 
 
 The vultures of the mind, 
 Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 
 
 And Shame that sculks behind; 
 Or pining Love shall waste their youth. 
 Or Jealousy with rankling tooth 
 That inly gnaws the secret heart. 
 And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
 Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 
 
 And Sorrow's piercing dart. 
 
 Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 
 
 Then whirl the wretch from high 
 To bitter Scorn a sacrifice 
 
 And grinning Infamy. 
 The stings of Falsehood those shall try 
 And hard Unkindness' alterM eye. 
 That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; 
 And keen Remorse with blood defiled, 
 And moody Madness laughing wild 
 
 Amid severest woe. 
 
 Lo, in the vale of years beneath 
 
 A grisly troop are seen. 
 The painful family of Death, 
 
 More hideous than their queen: 
 This racks the joints, this fires the veins. 
 That every labouring sinew strains, 
 Those in the deeper vitals rage : 
 Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band. 
 That numbs the soul with icy hand, 
 
 And slow-consuming Age. 
 
 To each his sufferings : all are men, 
 
 Condemned alike to groan ; 
 The tender for another's pain, 
 
 Th' unfeeling for his own. 
 Vet, ah! why should they know their fate, 
 Since sorrow never comes too late, 
 And happiness too swiftly flies ? 
 Thought would destroy their paradise. 
 No more ; — where ignorance is bliss, 
 
 'Tis folly to be wise. 7'. Gray
 
 l86 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CC 
 
 THE SHRUBBERY 
 
 O happy shades! to me unblest! 
 
 Friendly to peace, but not to me! 
 How ill the scene that offers rest, 
 
 And heart that cannot rest, agree! 
 
 This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 
 Those alders quivering to the breeze, 
 
 Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
 And please, if anything could please. 
 
 But fix'd unalterable Care 
 
 Foregoes not what she feels within, 
 
 Shows the same sadness everywhere. 
 And slights the season and the scene. 
 
 For all that pleased in wood or lawn 
 
 While Peace possess^ these silent bowers. 
 
 Her animating smile withdrawn, 
 Has lost its beauties and its powers. 
 
 The saint or moralist should tread 
 This moss-grown alley, musing, slow, 
 
 I'hey seek like me the secret shade. 
 But not, like me, to nourish woe! 
 
 Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste 
 
 Alike admonish not to roam ; 
 These tell me of enjoyments past. 
 
 And those of sorrows yet to come. 
 
 W, Cowper 
 
 CCI 
 
 HYMN TO ADVERSITY 
 
 Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 
 Thou tamer of the human breast. 
 
 Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
 The bad affright, afflict the best!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 187 
 
 Bound in thy adamantine chain 
 The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
 And purple tyrants vainly groan 
 With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 
 
 When first thy Sire .to send on earth 
 
 Virtue, his darling child, designed, 
 To thee he gave the heavenly birth 
 
 And bade to form her infant mind. 
 Stern, rugged nurse ; thy rigid lore 
 With patience many a year she bore ; 
 What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know. 
 And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe 
 
 Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 
 
 Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
 Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 
 
 And leave us leisure to be good. 
 Light they disperse, and with them go 
 The summer friend, the flattering foe; 
 By vain Prosperity received. 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again believed 
 
 Wisdom in sable garb array'd 
 
 Immersed in rapturous thought profound. 
 And Melancholy, silent maid, 
 
 With leaden eye, that loves the ground. 
 Still on thy solemn steps attend : 
 Warm Charity, the general friend. 
 With Justice, to herself severe, 
 .And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 
 
 Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head 
 
 Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! 
 
 Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad. 
 Nor circled with the vengeful band 
 
 (As by the impious thou art seen) 
 
 With thundering voice, and threatening mien, 
 
 With screaming Horror's funeral cry. 
 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty ; — - 
 
 Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, 
 Thy milder influence impart,
 
 fSS THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thy philosophic train be there 
 
 To soften, not to wound my heart. 
 The generous spark extinct revive, 
 Teach me to love and to forgive, 
 Exact my own defects to scan, 
 What others are to feel, and know myself a Man 
 
 T, Gray 
 
 ecu 
 
 THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey ; 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 From the centre all round to the sea 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 
 Solitude ! where are the charms 
 That sages have seen in thy face? 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 
 1 am out of humanity's reach, 
 
 I must finish my journey alone, 
 Never hear the sweet music of speech ; 
 I start at the sound of my own. 
 The beasts that roam over the plain 
 My form with indifference see ; 
 They are so unacquainted with man. 
 Their tameness is shocking to me. 
 
 Society, Friendship, and Love, 
 Divinely bestow'd upon man. 
 Oh, had I the wings of a dove 
 How soon would I taste you again! 
 My sorrows I then might assuage 
 In the ways of religion and truth, 
 Might learn from the wisdom of age, 
 And be cheered by the sallies of youth. 
 
 Ye winds that have made me your sportr 
 Convey to this desolate shore 
 Some cordial endearing report 
 Of a land I shall visit no more :
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 189 
 
 My friends, do they now and then seno 
 A wish or a thought after me? 
 O tell me I yet have a friend, 
 Though a friend I am never to see. 
 
 How fleet is a glance of the mind! 
 Compared with the speed of its flight, 
 The tempest itself lags behind, 
 And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
 When I think of my own native land 
 In a moment I seem to be there ; 
 But alas! recollection at hand 
 Soon hurries me back to despair. 
 
 But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 
 The beast is laid down in his lair; 
 Even here is a season of rest, 
 And I to my cabin repair. 
 There's mercy in every place, 
 And mercy, encouraging thought! 
 Gives even affliction a grace 
 And reconciles man to his lot. 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 CCIII 
 
 TO MARY UNWIN 
 
 Mary' 1 want a lyre with other strings, 
 
 Such aid from Heaven as some have feignM they drew, 
 
 An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
 
 And undebased by praise of meaner things. 
 
 That ere through age or woe I shed my wings 
 I may record thy worth with honour due, 
 In verse as musical as thou art true. 
 And that immortalizes whom it sings : — 
 
 But thou hast little need. There is a Book 
 By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
 On which the eyes of God not rarely look.
 
 xgo T'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 A cnronicie of actions just and bright — 
 There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; 
 And since thou own^st that praise, I spare thee mine:. 
 
 W. Cowpef 
 
 CCIV 
 
 TO THE SAME 
 
 The twentieth year is well-nigh past 
 Since first our sky was overcast ; 
 Ah would that this might be the last ! 
 My Mary! 
 
 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
 I see thee daily weaker grow — 
 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 
 My Mary! 
 
 Thy needles, once a shining store, 
 For my sake restless heretofore. 
 Now rust disused, and shine no more ; 
 My Mary! 
 
 For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
 The same kind office for me still, 
 Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 But well thou play'st the housewife's part, 
 And all thy threads with magic art 
 Have wound themselves about this heart. 
 My Mary! 
 
 Thy indistinct expressions seem 
 Like language utter'd in a dream ; 
 Yet me they charm, whatever the theme, 
 My Mary! 
 
 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
 Are still more lovely in my sight 
 Than golden beams of orient light, 
 My Mary!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY I91 
 
 For could I view nor them nor thee, 
 What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
 The sun would rise in vain for me, 
 My Mary! 
 
 Partakers of thy sad decline 
 Thy hands their little force resign ; 
 Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 
 My Mary! 
 
 Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
 That now at every step thou mov'st 
 Upheld by two ; yet still thou lov'st, 
 My Maryi 
 
 And still to love, though prest with ill, 
 in wintry age to feel no chill, 
 With me is to be lovely still, 
 My Mary! 
 
 But ah ! by constant heed I know 
 How oft the sadness that I show 
 Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And should my future lot be cast 
 With much resemblance of the past. 
 Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 
 My Mary 1 
 
 W CowpCf 
 
 CCV 
 THE CASTAWAY 
 
 Obscurest night involved the sky, 
 
 The Atlantic billows roar'd, 
 When such a destined wretch as I, 
 
 WashM headlong from on board. 
 Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 
 His floating home for ever left.
 
 192 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 No braver chief could Albion boast 
 Than he with whom he went, 
 
 Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
 With warmer wishes sent. 
 
 He loved them both, but both in vain, 
 
 Nor him beheld, nor her again. 
 
 Not long beneath the whelming brine, 
 
 Expert to swim, he lay ; 
 Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 
 
 Or courage die away ; 
 But waged with death a lasting strife. 
 Supported by despair of life. 
 
 He shouted : nor his friends had faiPd 
 To check the vessel's course, 
 
 But so the furious blast prevailed. 
 That, pitiless perforce. 
 
 They left their outcast mate behind. 
 
 And scudded still before the wind. 
 
 Some succour yet they could afford; 
 
 And such as storms allow. 
 The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 
 
 Delay'd not to bestow. 
 But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore^ 
 Whatever they gave, should visit more. 
 
 Nor, cruel as it seemM, could he 
 Their haste himself condemn, 
 
 Aware that flight, in such a sea, 
 Alone could rescue them ; 
 
 Yet bitter felt it still to die 
 
 Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 
 
 He long survives, who lives an hour 
 
 In ocean, self-upheld; 
 And so long he, with unspent power, 
 
 His destiny repelPd ; 
 And ever, as the minutes flew, 
 Entreated help, or cried < Adieu!'
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 1 93 
 
 At length, his transient respite past, 
 
 His comrades, who before 
 Had heard his voice in every blast, 
 
 Could catch the sound no more ; 
 For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
 The stifling wave, and then he sank. 
 
 No poet wept him ; but the page 
 
 Of narrative sincere. 
 That tells his name, his worth, his age, 
 
 Is wet with Anson's tear : 
 And tears by bards or heroes shed 
 Alike immortalize the dead. 
 
 I therefore purpose not, or dream, 
 
 Descanting on his fate, 
 To give the melancholy theme 
 
 A more enduring date : 
 But misery still delights to trace 
 Its semblance in another's case. 
 
 No voice divine the storm allay'd, 
 
 No light propitious shone, 
 When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, 
 
 We perish'd, each alone : 
 But I beneath a rougher sea, 
 And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 CCVI 
 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 In the downhill of life, when I find Fm declining, 
 
 May my fate no less fortunate be 
 Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining. 
 
 And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; 
 With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn. 
 
 While I carol away idle sorrow. 
 And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn 
 
 Look fprwarcj with hope for To-morrow.
 
 194 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, 
 
 As the sunshine or rain may prevail ; 
 And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, 
 
 With a barn for the use of the flail : 
 A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, 
 
 And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; 
 ril envy no Nabob his riches or fame, 
 
 Or what honours may wait him To-morrow. 
 
 From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely 
 
 Secured by a neighbouring hill ; 
 And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly 
 
 By the sound of a murmuring rill : 
 And while peace and plenty I find at my board. 
 
 With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, 
 With my friends may I share what To-day may afford, 
 
 And let them spread the table To-morrow. 
 
 And when 1 at last must throw off this frail covering 
 
 Which IVe worn for three-score years and ten. 
 On the brink of the grave Til not seek to keep hov'ring. 
 
 Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again : 
 But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey. 
 
 And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow ; 
 As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare To-day, 
 
 May become Everlasting To-morrow. 
 
 /. Collim 
 
 CCVII 
 
 Life! I know not what thou art, 
 But know that thou and I must part ; 
 And when, or how, or where we met 
 I own to me^s a secret yet. 
 
 Life! we've been long together 
 Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 
 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
 Perhaps Hwill cost a sigh, a tear ; 
 — Then steal away, give little warning, 
 Choose thine own time ; 
 Say not Good Night, — but Iq some brighter clime 
 
 Bid me Good Morning. A. L. Bariauld
 
 BOOK FOURTH 
 
 CCVIII 
 TO THE MUSES 
 
 Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
 
 Or in the chambers of the East, 
 The chambers of the sun, that now 
 
 From ancient melody have ceased; 
 
 Whether in Heaven ye wander fair. 
 Or the green corners of the earth, 
 
 Or the blue regions of the air, 
 Where the melodious winds have birth ^ 
 
 Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 
 
 Beneath the bosom of the sea, 
 .Wandering in many a coral grove, — 
 
 Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry; 
 
 How have you left the ancient love 
 That bards of old enjoy 'd in you! 
 
 The languid strings do scarcely move, 
 The sound is forced, the notes are few. 
 
 IV, Blake 
 
 CCIX 
 
 ODE ON THE POETS 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
 Ye have left your souls on earth! 
 Have ye souls in heaven too, 
 Double-lived in regions new?
 
 .96 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — Yes, and those of heaven commune 
 With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
 With the noise of fountains wond'rous 
 And the parle of voices thundVous ; 
 With the whisper of heaven's trees 
 And one another, in soft ease 
 Seated on Elysian lawns 
 Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
 Underneath large blue-bells tented, 
 Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
 And the rose herself has got 
 Perfume which on earth is not ; 
 Where the nightingale doth sing 
 Not a senseless, tranced thing, 
 But divine melodious truth ; 
 Philosophic numbers smooth ; 
 Tales and golden histories 
 Of heaven and its mysteries. 
 
 Thus ye live on high, and then 
 On the earth ye live again ; 
 And the souls ye left behind you 
 Teach us, here, the way to find you. 
 Where your other souls are joying, 
 Never slumber'd, never cloying. 
 Here, your earth-born souls still speak 
 To mortals, of their little week ; 
 Of their sorrows and delights ; 
 Of their passions and their spites ; 
 Of their glory and their shame ; 
 What doth strengthen and what maim : — 
 Thus ye teach us, every day. 
 Wisdom, though fled far away. 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
 Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
 Ye have souls in heaven too, 
 Double-lived in regions newf 
 
 /. Keati
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 197 
 
 CCX 
 
 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER 
 
 Much have I travelPd 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. 
 
 Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
 
 That deep-brow'd 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 ; 
 Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
 
 He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
 Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — 
 Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 
 
 y. Keats 
 
 CCXI 
 
 LOVE 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour, 
 When mid-way on the mount I lay, 
 Beside the ruin'd tower. 
 
 The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
 My own dear Genevieve !
 
 •98 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 She lean'd against the armed man, 
 The statue of the armed knight ; 
 She stood and listened to my lay, 
 Amid the lingering light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
 My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! 
 She loves me best, whene'er I sing 
 The songs that make her grieve. 
 
 I playM a soft and doleful air, 
 I sang an old and moving story — 
 An old rude song, that suited well 
 That ruin wild and hoary. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace; 
 For well she knew, I could not choose 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the Knight that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 And that for ten long years he woo'd 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
 I told her how he pined : and ah! 
 The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 With which I sang another's love 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listen'd with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
 And she forgave me, that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face! 
 
 But when I told the cruel scorn 
 That crazed that bold and lovely Knight 
 And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
 Nor rested day nor night ; 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den, 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 And sometimes starting up at once 
 In green and sunny glade, —
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 199 
 
 There came and lookM him in the face 
 An angel beautiful and bright ; 
 And that he knew it was a Fiend. 
 This miserable Knight! 
 
 And that unknowing what he did, 
 He leaped amid a murderous band, 
 And saved from outrage worse than death 
 The Lady of the Land ; — 
 
 And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees ; 
 And how she tended him in vain — 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave, 
 And how his madness went away, 
 When on the yelljw forest-leaves 
 A dying man he lay ; — 
 
 His dying words — but when I reach'd 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
 My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturbed her soul with pity! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 Had thriird my guileless Genevieve; 
 The music and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 An undistinguishable throng. 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 Subdued and cherished long! 
 
 She wept with pity and delight. 
 She blushed with love, and virgin shame; 
 And like the murmur of a dream, 
 I heard her breathe my name. 
 
 Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside, 
 As conscious of my look she stept —
 
 200 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
 She fled to me and wept. 
 
 She half inclosed me with her arms, 
 She pressM me with a meek embrace ; 
 And bending back her head, look'd up, 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
 And partly 'twas a bashful art 
 That I might rather feel, than see, 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calm'd her fears, and she was calm 
 And told her love with virgin pride ; 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 
 My bright and beauteous Bride. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge 
 
 CCXII 
 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 talk not to me of a name great in story ; 
 
 The days of our youth are the days of our glory; 
 And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
 Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 
 
 What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled! 
 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled : 
 Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — 
 What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory .^ 
 
 Oh fame! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, 
 Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
 She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. 
 
 There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ; 
 Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; 
 When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 
 
 1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 
 
 Lord Byron
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 20I 
 
 CCXIII 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall 
 
 Beneath the turrets high, 
 A Maiden on the castle-wall 
 
 Was singing merrily : 
 < O Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 rd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen.' 
 
 * If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me. 
 
 To leave both tower and town, 
 Thou first must guess what life lead we 
 
 That dwell by dale and down. 
 And if thou canst that riddle read. 
 
 As read full well you may, 
 Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 
 
 As blithe as Queen of May.' 
 Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 rd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen. 
 
 * I read you, by your bugle-horn 
 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 
 1 read you for a ranger sworn 
 
 To keep the king's greenwood.' 
 
 * A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
 
 And 'tis at peep of light ; 
 His blast is heard at merry morn, 
 
 And mine at dead of night.' 
 Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are gay ; 
 I would I were with Edmund there 
 
 To reign his Queen of May !
 
 ^02 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 With burnish'd brand and musketoon 
 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold Dragoon 
 
 That lists the tuck of drum.' 
 < I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his hum 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 And O ! though Brignall banks be fair 
 
 And Greta woods be gay. 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare 
 
 Would reign my Queen of May ! 
 
 * Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 
 A nameless death I'll die ; 
 The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I'm with my comrades met 
 
 Beneath the greenwood bough, — 
 What once we were we all forget, 
 
 Nor think what we are now.' 
 
 Chorus 
 
 * Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 Would grace a summer-queen.' 
 
 Sir W Scoti 
 
 CCXIV 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters 
 
 With a magic like Thee ; 
 And like music on the waters 
 
 Is thy sweet voice to me : 
 When, as if its sound were causing 
 The charmed ocean's pausing, 
 The waves lie still and gleaming. 
 And the luU'd winds seem dreaming : 
 
 And the midnight moon is weaving 
 Her bright chain o'er the deep,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 203 
 
 Whose breast is gently heaving 
 
 As an infant's asleep : 
 So the spirit bows before thee 
 To listen and adore thee ; 
 With a full but soft emotion, 
 Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 CCXV 
 
 THE INDIAN SERENADE 
 
 I arise from dreams of Thee 
 In the first sweet sleep of night. 
 When the winds are breathing low 
 And the stars are shining bright : 
 I arise from dreams of thee, 
 And a spirit in my feet 
 Hath led me — who knows how ? 
 To thy chamber-window. Sweet ! 
 
 The wandering airs they faint 
 
 On the dark, the silent stream — 
 
 The champak odours fail 
 
 Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
 
 The nightingale's complaint 
 
 It dies upon her heart, 
 
 As I must die on thine 
 
 beloved as thou art ! 
 
 Oh lift me from the grass ! 
 
 1 die, I faint, I fail ! 
 
 Let thy love in kisses rain 
 On my lips and eyelids pale. 
 My cheek is cold and white, alas ! 
 My heart beats loud and fast ; 
 Oh ! press it close to thine again 
 Where it will break at last. 
 
 P. B. Shelley
 
 204 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 CCXVI 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
 And all that's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 
 Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less, 
 Had half impaired the nameless grace 
 Which waves in every raven tress 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face, 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
 How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 
 
 And on that cheek and o'er that brow 
 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 
 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow 
 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, — 
 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 
 A heart whose love is innocent 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 ccxvn 
 
 She was a Phantom of delight 
 When first she gleam'd upon my sight ; 
 A lovely Apparition, sent 
 To be a moment's ornament ; 
 Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; 
 Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; 
 A dancing shape, an image gay, 
 To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 
 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 
 A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
 
 Her household motions light and free. 
 
 And steps of virgin-liberty ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 205 
 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food, 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 
 
 And now I see with eye serene 
 The very pulse of the machine ; 
 A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveller between life and death : 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
 A perfect Woman, nobly plannM 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
 With something of an angel-light. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCXVIII 
 
 She is not fair to outward view 
 
 As many maidens be ; 
 Her loveliness I never knew 
 
 Until she smiled on me. 
 O then I saw her eye was bright, 
 A well of love, a spring of light. 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold, 
 
 To mine they ne'er reply, 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 
 The love-light in her eye : 
 Her very frowns are fairer far 
 Than smiles of other maidens are. 
 
 H. Coler i.ge 
 
 CCXIX 
 
 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ; 
 Thou needest not fear mine ; 
 My spirit is too deeply laden 
 Ever to burthen thine.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ; 
 Thou needest not fear mine ; 
 Innocent is the heart's devotion 
 With which I worship thine. 
 
 P, B. Shelley 
 
 CCXX 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 
 
 Beside the springs of Dove ; 
 A maid whom there were none to praise, 
 
 And very few to love. 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half-hidden from the eye ! 
 — Fair as a star, when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
 The difference to me ! 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 CCXXI 
 
 I travell'd among unknown men 
 
 In lands beyond the sea; 
 Nor, England ! did I know till then 
 
 What love I bore to thee. 
 
 'Tis past, that melancholy dream ! 
 
 Nor will I quit thy shore 
 A second time; for still I seem 
 
 To love thee more and more. 
 
 Among thy mountains did I feel 
 
 The joy of my desire ; 
 And she 1 cherished turn'd her wheel 
 
 Beside an English fire. 
 
 Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceaPd 
 The bowers where Lucy play'd ; 
 
 And thine too is the last green field 
 That Lucy's eyes survey 'd. 
 
 W. Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 207 
 
 CCXXII 
 
 THE EDUCATION OF NATURE 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower- 
 Then Nature said, ' A lovelier flower 
 On earth was never sown : 
 This Child I to myself will take ; 
 She shall be mine, and I will make 
 A lady of my own. 
 
 * Myself will to my darling be 
 
 Both law and impulse : and with me 
 
 The girl, in rock and plain, 
 
 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 
 
 Shall feel an overseeing power 
 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
 * She shall be sportive as the fawn 
 That wild with glee across the lawn 
 Or up the mountain springs ; 
 
 And hers shall be the breathing balm> 
 And hers the silence and the calm 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 *The floating clouds their state shall lend 
 
 To her ; for her the willow bend ; 
 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 
 Ev'n in the motions of the storm 
 
 Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
 
 By silent sympathy. 
 
 * The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
 In many a secret place 
 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 Shall pass into her face. 
 
 ' And vital feelings of delight 
 
 Shall rear her form to stately height, 
 
 Her virgin bosom swell ;
 
 2o8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
 While she and I together live 
 Here in this happy dell.' 
 
 Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 
 
 How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 
 
 She died, and left to me 
 
 This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 
 
 The memory of what has been, 
 
 And never more will be. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 ccxxin 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal ; 
 
 I had no human fears : 
 She seenVd a thing that could not feel 
 
 The touch of earthly years. 
 
 No motion has she now, no force ; 
 
 She neither hears nor sees ; 
 Roird round in earth's diurnal course 
 
 With rocks, and stones, and trees. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCXXIV 
 
 A LOST LOVE 
 
 I meet thy pensive, moonlight face ; 
 
 Thy thrilling voice I hear ; 
 And former hours and scenes retrace, 
 
 Too fleeting, an'^ loo dear! 
 
 Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, 
 Though none is nigh to share ; 
 
 And life has nought beside for me 
 So sweet as this despair. 
 
 There are crushed hearts that will not break ; 
 
 And mine, methinks, is one ; 
 Or thus I should not weep and wake, 
 
 And thou to slumber gone.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 209 
 
 I little thought it thus could be 
 
 In days more sad and fair — 
 That earth could have a place for me, 
 
 And thou no longer there. 
 
 Yet death cannot our hearts divide, 
 
 Or make thee less my own : 
 'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side 
 
 Than watching here alone. 
 
 Yet never, never can we part, 
 
 While Memory holds her reign : 
 Thine, thine is still this withered heart, 
 
 Till we shall meet again. 
 
 H. F, Lytt 
 
 CCXXV 
 
 LORD ULLIN^S DAUGHTER 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 
 Cries ' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
 And ril give thee a silver pound 
 To row us o'er the ferry ! ' 
 
 * Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
 This dark and stormy water ? ' 
 
 * O Tm 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 
 
 * ril go, my chief, I'm ready : 
 It is not for your silver bright, 
 But for your winsome lady : —
 
 210 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 * And by my word ! the bonny bird 
 In danger shall not tarry ; 
 
 So though the waves are raging white 
 I'll row you o'er the ferry.' 
 
 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 still as wilder blew the wind, 
 And as the night grew drearer, 
 Adown the glen rode armed men. 
 Their trampling sounded nearer. 
 
 *0 haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 
 
 * Though tempests round us gather ; 
 I'll 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 the stormy water: 
 And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 
 My daughter! — Oh, 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. 
 
 T. Campbell
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 2 11 
 
 CCXXVI 
 
 LUCY GRAY 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray : 
 And when 1 crossed the wild, 
 I chanced to see at break of day 
 The soUtary 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: 
 
 'Tis scarcely afternoon—- 
 
 The minster-clock has just struck two 
 
 And yonder is the moon ! ' 
 
 At this the father raised his hook, 
 
 And snapped a faggot-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 wander'd up and down ; 
 
 And many a hill did Lucy chmb : 
 
 But never reach'd the town.
 
 212 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 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 day-break on a hill they stood 
 That overlooked the moor ; 
 And thence they saw the bridge of wood 
 A furlong from their door. 
 
 They wept — and, turning homeward, cried 
 *In heaven we all shall meet! ^ 
 
 — When in the snow the mother spied 
 The print of Lucy's feet. 
 
 Then downwards from the steep hilPs edge 
 They track'd the footmarks small ; 
 And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 
 And by the long stone-wall : 
 
 And then an open field they crossM : 
 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. 
 
 W, Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 213 
 
 CCXXVII 
 JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 
 
 ' Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide ? 
 ril 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. 
 
 * 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. 
 
 ' A chain of gold ye sail not lack. 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair, 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
 
 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. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd 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 W. Scott
 
 214 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CCXXVIII 
 LOVERS PHILOSOPHY 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river 
 And the rivers with the ocean, 
 The winds of heaven mix for ever 
 With a sweet emotion ; 
 Nothing in the world is single, 
 All things by a law divine 
 In one another's being mingle — 
 Why not I with thine ? 
 
 See the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 And the waves clasp one another; 
 No sister-flower would be forgiven 
 If it disdained its brother : 
 And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
 And the moonbeams kiss the sea — 
 What are all these kissings worth, 
 If thou kiss not me ? 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 CCXXIX 
 
 ECHOES 
 
 How sweet the answer Echo makes 
 To Music at night 
 
 When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
 And far away o'er lawns and lakes 
 Goes answering light ! 
 
 Yet Love hath echoes truer far 
 
 And far more sweet 
 
 Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, 
 
 Of horn or lute or soft guitar 
 
 The songs repeat. 
 
 'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere 
 And only then, 
 
 The sigh that's breathed for one to hear — 
 Is by that one, that only Dear 
 Breathed back again. 
 
 T. Moore
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 215 
 
 ccxxx 
 
 A SERENADE 
 
 AVi ! 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 thrilPd all day, 
 
 Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
 Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, 
 
 But where is County Guy ? 
 
 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 influence know — 
 
 But where is County Guy ? 
 
 Sir W. Scotl 
 
 CCXXXI 
 
 TO THE EVENING STAR 
 
 Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even, 
 Companion of retiring day. 
 Why at the closing gates cf heaven, 
 Beloved Star, dost thou delay 1 
 
 So fair thy pensile beauty burns 
 When soft the tear of twilight flows ; 
 So due thy plighted love returns 
 To chambers brighter than the rose; 
 
 To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love 
 So kind a star thou seem'st to be, 
 Sure some enamoured orb above 
 Descends and burns to meet with thee.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thine is the breathing, blushing hour 
 When all unheavenly passions fly, 
 Chased by the soul-subduing power 
 Of Love''s delicious witchery. 
 
 O ! sacred to the fall of day 
 Queen of propitious stars, appear, 
 And early rise, and long delay. 
 When Caroline herself is here ! 
 
 Shine on her chosen green resort 
 Whose trees the sunward summit crown. 
 And wanton flowers, that well may court 
 An angel's feet to tread them down : — 
 
 Shine on her sweetly scented road 
 Thou star of evening's purple dome, 
 That lead'st the nightingale abroad. 
 And guid'st the pilgrim to his home. 
 
 Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath 
 Embalms the soft exhaling dew. 
 Where dying winds a sigh bequeath 
 To kiss the cheek of rosy hue : — 
 
 Where, winnow'd by the gentle air, 
 ?{er silken tresses darkly flow 
 And fall upon her brow so fair, 
 Like shadows on the mountain snow. 
 
 Thus, ever thus, at day's decline 
 In converse sweet to wander far — 
 O bring with thee my Caroline, 
 And thou shalt be mv Ruling Star! 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 CCXXXII 
 
 TO THE NIGHT 
 
 Swiftlv walk over the western wave, 
 
 Spirit of Night! 
 Out of the misty eastern cave 
 Where, all the long and lone daylight,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 2-7 
 
 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 sigh'd for thee ; 
 When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
 And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
 And the weary Day turn'd to his rest 
 Lingering like an unloved guest, 
 
 I sigh'd for thee. 
 
 Thy brother Death came, and cried 
 
 Wouldst thou me? 
 Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
 Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee 
 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 boon 
 I ask of thee, belove'd Night — 
 Swift be thine approaching flight. 
 Come soon, soon! 
 
 P. B. Sh^Uey 
 CCXXXIIl' 
 TO A DISTANT FRIEND 
 
 Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant 
 Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
 Of absence withers what was once so fair? 
 Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ?
 
 2i8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 
 Bound to thy service with unceasing care — 
 The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
 For nought but what thy happiness could spare. 
 
 Speak! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 
 A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, 
 Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
 
 Than a forsaken bird's-nest filPd with snow 
 
 Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
 
 Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know' 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCXXXIV 
 
 When we two parted 
 
 In silence and tears, 
 
 Half broken-hearted, 
 
 To sever for years, 
 
 Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 
 
 Colder thy kiss ; 
 
 Truly that hour foretold 
 
 Sorrow to this! 
 
 The dew of the morning 
 Sunk chill on my brow ; 
 It felt like the warning 
 Of what I feel now. 
 Thy vows are all broken, 
 And light is thy fame : 
 I hear thy name spoken 
 And share in its shame. 
 
 They name thee before me, 
 A knell to mine ear; 
 A shudder comes o'er me — 
 Why wert thou so dear? 
 They know not I knew thee 
 Who knew thee too well : 
 Long, long shall I rue thee, 
 Too deeply to tell.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 219 
 
 In secret we met : 
 
 In silence I grieve 
 
 That thy heart could forget, 
 
 Thy spirit deceive. 
 
 If I should meet thee 
 
 After long years. 
 
 How should I greet thee? — 
 
 With silence and tears. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 ccxxxv 
 
 HAPPY INSENSIBILITY 
 
 In a drear-nighted December, 
 
 Too happy, happy tree, 
 
 Thy branches ne'er remember 
 
 Their green felicity : 
 
 The north cannot undo them 
 
 With a sleety whistle through them, 
 
 Nor frozen thawings glue them 
 
 From budding at the prime. 
 
 In a drear-nighted December, 
 Too happy, happy brook, 
 Thy bubblings ne'er remember 
 Apollo's summer look ; 
 But with a sweet forgetting 
 They stay their crystal fretting. 
 Never, never petting 
 About the frozen time. 
 
 Ah ! would 'twere so with many 
 A gentle girl and boy! 
 But were there ever any 
 Writhed not at passed joy? 
 To know the change and feel it, 
 When there is none to heal it 
 Nor numbed sense to steal it — 
 Was never said in rhyme. 
 
 /. Keats
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CCXXXVI 
 
 Where shall the lover rest 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast 
 
 Parted for ever? 
 Where, through groves deep and high 
 
 Sounds the far billow, 
 Where early violets die 
 
 Under the willow. 
 Eleii loro 
 
 Soft shall be his pillow. 
 
 There through the summer day 
 
 Cool streams are laving : 
 There, while the tempests sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving; 
 There thy rest shalt thou take, 
 
 Parted for ever, 
 Never again to wake 
 
 Never, O never ! 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Never. O never .' 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest, 
 
 He, the deceiver, 
 Who could win maiden's breast, 
 
 Ruin, and leave her? 
 In the lost battle. 
 
 Borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles warls rattle 
 
 With groans of the dying; 
 Eleu loro 
 
 There shall he be lying. 
 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap 
 
 O'er the falsehearted ; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap 
 
 Ere life be parted : 
 Shame and dishonour sit 
 
 By his grave ever ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 221 
 
 Blessing shall hallow it 
 Never, O never! 
 
 Eleu Inro 
 Never, O never I 
 
 Sir W. ScoH 
 CCXXXVII 
 
 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 
 
 *0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
 
 Alone and palely loitering? 
 The sedge has withered from the lake, 
 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 *0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! 
 
 So haggard and so woe-begone? 
 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 cheeks a fading rose 
 
 Fast withfereth too.' 
 
 ' I met a lady in the meads, 
 
 Full beautiful — a faery's child. 
 Her hair was long, her foot was light, 
 
 And her eyes were wild. 
 
 *I made a garland for her head, 
 
 And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 
 
 She look'd at me as she did love, 
 And made sweet moan. 
 
 ' I set her on my pacing steed 
 
 And nothing else saw all day long. 
 
 For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
 A faery's song. 
 
 * She found me roots of relish sweet, 
 
 And honey wild and manna-dew. 
 And sure in language strange she said 
 
 " I love thee true.'''
 
 2 22 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 * She took me to her elfin grot, 
 
 And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, 
 And there I shut her wild wild eyes 
 With kisses four. 
 
 * And there she lulled me asleep, 
 
 And there I dreamM — Ah! woe betide I 
 The latest dream I ever dream'd 
 On the cold hilPs side. 
 
 * I saw pale kings and princes too, 
 
 Pale warriors, death-pale were they all : 
 They cried — '' La belle Dame sans Merci 
 Hath thee in thrall!" 
 
 * I saw their starved lips in the gloam 
 
 With horrid warning gaped wide, 
 And I awoke and found me here 
 On the cold hilFs side. 
 
 *And this is why I sojourn here 
 
 Alone and palely loitering, 
 Though the sedge is withered from the lake, 
 
 And no birds sing.' 
 
 CCXXXVIII 
 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, 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green — 
 
 No more of me you knew 
 My Love! 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 *This morn is merry June, I trow, 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; 
 But she shall bloom in winter sno'^ 
 
 Ere we two meet again.'
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 223 
 
 He turn'd 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 W. Scott 
 
 CCXXXIX 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE 
 
 When the lamp is shattered 
 The light in the dust lies dead — 
 When the cloud is scatter'd, 
 The rainbow's glory is shed. 
 When the lute is broken, 
 Sweet tones are remembered not ; 
 When the lips have spoken. 
 Loved accents are soon forgot. 
 
 As music and splendour 
 
 Survive not the lamp and the lute, 
 
 The heart's echoes render 
 
 No song when the spirit is mute — 
 
 No song but sad dirges, 
 
 Like the wind through a ruin'd cell. 
 
 Or the mournful surges 
 
 That ring the dead seaman's knell. 
 
 When hearts have once mingled, 
 
 Love first leaves the well-built nest ; 
 
 The weak one is singled 
 
 To endure what it once possesst. 
 
 O Love ! who bewailest 
 
 The frailty of all things here, 
 
 Why choose you the frailest 
 
 For your cradle, your home, and your bier? 
 
 Its passions will rock thee 
 
 As the storms rock the ravens on high ; 
 
 Bright reason will mock thee 
 
 Like the sun from a wintry sky.
 
 224 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 From thy nest every rafter 
 Will rot, and thine eagle home 
 Leave thee naked to laughter, 
 When leaves fall and cold winds come. 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 
 CCXL 
 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH 
 
 O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 
 
 And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
 And love, in life's extremity. 
 
 Can lend an hour of cheering. 
 Disease had been in Mary's bower 
 
 And slow decay from mourning. 
 Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower 
 
 To watch her Love's returning. 
 
 All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 
 
 Her form decay'd by pining, 
 Till through her wasted hand, at night, 
 
 You saw the taper shining. 
 By fits a sultry hectic hue 
 
 Across her cheek was flying; 
 By fits so ashy pale she grew 
 
 Her maidens thought her dying. 
 
 Yet keenest powers to see and hear 
 
 Seem'd in her frame residing ; 
 Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear 
 
 She heard her lover's riding ; 
 Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd 
 
 She knew and waved to greet him. 
 And o'er the battlement did bend 
 
 As on the wing to meet him. 
 
 He came — he pass'd — an heedless gaze 
 As o'er some stranger glancing ; 
 
 Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 
 Lost in his courser's prancing —
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 225 
 
 The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 
 
 Returns each whisper spoken, 
 Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 
 
 Which told her heart was broken. 
 
 Sir W. Scott 
 
 CCXLI 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child, 
 And, smit with grief to view her — 
 
 The youth, he cried, whom I exiled 
 Shall be restored to woo her. 
 
 She's at the window many an hour 
 
 His coming to discover: 
 And he looked up to Ellen's bower 
 
 And she look'd on her lover — 
 
 But ah! so pale, he knew her not, 
 
 Though her smile on him was dwelling ^- 
 
 And am I then forgot — forgot? 
 It broke the heart of Ellen. 
 
 In vain he w^eps, in vain he sighs, 
 
 Her cheek is cold as ashes ; 
 Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 
 
 To lift their silken lashes. 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 CCXLII 
 
 Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art — 
 Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, 
 And watching, with eternal lids apart, 
 Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 
 
 The moving waters at their priestlike task 
 Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, 
 Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask 
 Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : —
 
 ;*20 THE GOLDEN TREASuRy 
 
 No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
 Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast 
 To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
 Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; 
 
 Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
 And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. 
 
 /. KecK% 
 CCXLIII 
 
 THE TERROR OF DEATH 
 
 When I have fears that I may cease to be 
 Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, 
 Before high-piled books, in charactVy 
 Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain ; 
 
 When I behold, upon the night's starred face. 
 Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance. 
 And think that I may never live to trace 
 Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance •, 
 
 And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour! 
 That I shall never look upon thee more. 
 Never have relish in the faery power 
 Of unreflecting love — then on the shore 
 
 Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 
 Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 
 
 y. Keati 
 
 CCXLIV 
 
 DESIDERIA 
 
 Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind — 
 I turned to share the transport — Oh ! with whon^ 
 But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, 
 That spot which no vicissitude can find? 
 
 Love, faithful love recalPd thee to my mind — 
 But how could I forget thee? Through what powei 
 Even for the least division of an hour 
 Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 227 
 
 To my most grievous loss ! — That thought's return 
 Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore 
 Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, 
 
 Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; 
 That neither present time, nor years unborn 
 Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCXLV 
 
 At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly 
 To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine 
 
 eye; 
 And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air 
 To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me 
 
 there 
 And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky! 
 
 Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear 
 When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the 
 
 ear ; 
 And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, 
 I think, oh my Love ! 'tis thy voice, from the Kingdom of 
 
 Souls 
 Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. 
 
 T. Moore 
 
 CCXLVI 
 ELEGY ON THYRZA 
 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair 
 
 As aught of mortal birth ; 
 And forms so soft and charms so rare 
 
 Too soon returned to Earth ! 
 Though Earth received them in her bed, 
 And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 
 
 In carelessness or mirth. 
 There is an eye which could not brook 
 A moment on that grave to look.
 
 228 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I will not ask where thou liest low 
 
 Nor gaze upon the spot ; 
 There flowers or weeds at will may grow 
 
 So I behold them not : 
 It is enough for me to prove 
 That what I loved, and long must love, 
 
 Like common earth can rot; 
 To me there needs no stone to tell 
 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 
 
 Yet did I love thee to the last. 
 
 As fervently as thou 
 Who didst not change through all the past 
 
 And canst not alter now. 
 The love where Death has set his seal 
 Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 
 
 Nor falsehood disavow : 
 And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
 Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 
 
 The better days of life were ours ; 
 
 The worst can be but mine : 
 The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, 
 
 Shall never more be thine. 
 The silence of that dreamless sleep 
 I envy now too much to weep ; 
 
 Nor need I to repine 
 That all those charms have passM away 
 I might have watch'd through long decay. 
 
 The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatched 
 
 Must fall the earliest prey ; 
 Though by no hand untimely snatched, 
 
 The leaves must drop away. 
 And yet it were a greater grief 
 To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, 
 
 Than see it pluck'd to-day ; 
 Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
 To trace the change to foul from fair. 
 
 I know not if I could have borne 
 To see thy beauties fade j
 
 THE C OLDEN TREASURY 329 
 
 The night that follow'd such a mom 
 
 Had worn a deeper shade : 
 Thy day without a cloud hath past, 
 And thou wert lovely to the last, 
 
 Extinguished, not decay'd ; 
 As stars that shoot along the sky 
 Shine brightest as they fall from high. 
 
 As once I wept, if I could weep, 
 
 My tears might well be shed 
 To think I was not near, to keep 
 
 One vigil o'er thy bed : 
 To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, 
 To fold thee in a faint embrace, 
 
 Uphold thy drooping head ; 
 And show that love, however vain, 
 Nor thou nor I can feel again. 
 
 Yet how much less it were to gain, 
 
 Though thou hast left me free, 
 The loveliest things that still remain 
 
 Than thus remember thee! 
 The all of thine that cannot die 
 Through dark and dread Eternity 
 
 Returns again to me, 
 And more thy buried love endears 
 Than aught except its living years. 
 
 Lord Byi on 
 
 CCXLVII 
 
 One word is too often profaned 
 
 For me to profane it, 
 One feeling too falsely disdain'd 
 
 For thee to disdain it. 
 One hope is too like despair 
 
 For prudence to smother, 
 And pity from thee more dear 
 
 Than that from another. 
 
 1 can give not what men call love ; 
 But wilt thou accept not
 
 2,^o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The worship the heart hfts above 
 
 And the Heavens reject not : 
 The desire of the inoth for the star, 
 
 Of the night for the morrow, 
 The devotion to something afar 
 
 From the sphere of our sorrow ? 
 
 1\ B. Shelley 
 
 CCXLVIII 
 GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil 
 Wake thy wild voice anew, 
 
 Summon Clan Conuil. 
 Come away, come away, 
 
 Hark to the summons! 
 Come in your war-array, 
 
 Gentles and commons. 
 
 Come from deep glen, and 
 
 From mountain so rocky; 
 The war-pipe and pennoa 
 
 Are at Inverlocky. 
 Come every hill-plaid, and 
 
 True heart that wears one, 
 Come every steel blade, and 
 
 Strong hand that bears one. 
 
 Leave untended the herd, 
 
 The flock without shejter; 
 Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 
 
 The bride at the altar ; 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 
 Leave nets and barges : 
 Come with your fighting gear. 
 
 Broadswords and targes. 
 
 Come as the winds come, when 
 
 Forests are rended, 
 Come as the waves come, when 
 
 Navies are stranded :
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY -231 
 
 Faster come, faster come, 
 
 Faster and faster, ' 
 
 Chief, vassal, page and groom, 
 
 Tenant and master. 
 
 Fast they come, fast they come ; 
 
 See how they gather! 
 Wide waves the eagle plume 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 
 
 Forward each man set ! 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 
 
 Knell for the onset! 
 
 Sir IV. Scoti 
 CCXLIX 
 
 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. 
 
 O 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 horned 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. 
 
 A. Cunnin^Iiam
 
 232 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CCL 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 
 
 That guard our native seas! 
 
 Whose flag has braved, a thousand yean, 
 
 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, 
 
 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 I 
 Our song and feast shall flow
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 233 
 
 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. 
 
 T, Campbell 
 CCLI 
 
 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 
 
 Sing the glorious day's renown, 
 
 When to battle fierce came forth 
 
 All the might of Denmark's crown, 
 
 And her arms along the deep proudly shone; 
 
 By each gun the lighted brand 
 
 In a bold determined hand, 
 
 And the Prince of all the land 
 
 Led them on. 
 
 Like leviathans afloat 
 Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 
 While the sign of battle flew 
 On the lofty British line : 
 It was ten of April morn by the chime- 
 As they drifted on their path 
 There was silence deep as death ; 
 And the boldest held his breath 
 For a time. 
 
 But the might of England flushed 
 
 To anticipate the scene; 
 
 And her van the fleeter rush'd 
 
 O'er the deadly space between. 
 
 ' Hearts of oak ! ' our captains cried, when each gun 
 
 From its adamantine lips 
 
 Spread a death-shade round the ships. 
 
 Like the hurricane eclipse 
 
 Of the sun. 
 
 Again! again! again! 
 And the havoc did not slack, 
 rill a feeble cheer the Dane 
 To our cheering sent us back; —
 
 234 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Their shots along the deep slowly boom: — 
 Then ceased — and all is wail, 
 As they strike the shattered sail ; 
 Or in conflagration pale 
 Light the gloom. 
 
 Out spoke the victor then 
 
 As he haird them o'er the wave, 
 
 'Ye are brothers! ye are men! 
 
 And we conquer but to save : — 
 
 So peace instead of death let us bring: 
 
 But yield, proud foe, thy fleet 
 
 With the crews, at England's feet, 
 
 And make submission meet 
 
 To our King/ 
 
 Then Denmark bless'd our chief 
 
 That he gave her wounds repose ; 
 
 And the sounds of joy and grief 
 
 From her people wildly rose, 
 
 As death withdrew his shades from the day; 
 
 While the sun look'd smiling bright 
 
 O'er a wide and woeful sight. 
 
 Where the fires of funeral light 
 
 Died away. 
 
 Now joy, old England, raise! 
 For the tidings of thy might, 
 By the festal cities' blaze, 
 Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; 
 And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
 Let us think of them that sleep 
 Full many a fathom deep 
 By thy wild and stormy steep, 
 Elsinore! 
 
 Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 
 
 Once so faithful and so true, 
 
 On the deck of fame that died. 
 
 With the gallant good Riou : 
 
 Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 235 
 
 While the billow mournful rolls 
 And the mermaid's song condoles 
 Singing glory to the souls 
 Of the brave! 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 CCLII 
 
 ODE TO DUTY 
 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! 
 O Duty! if that name thou love 
 Who art a light to guide, a rod 
 To check the erring, and reprove ; 
 Thou who art victory and law 
 When empty terrors overawe ; 
 From vain temptations dost set free, 
 And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! 
 
 There are who ask not if thine eye 
 Be on them ; who, in love and truth 
 Where no misgiving is, rely 
 Upon the genial sense of youth : 
 Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, 
 Who do thy work, and know it not : 
 Oh ! if through confidence misplaced 
 J'hey fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast 
 
 Serene will be our days and bright 
 And happy will our nature be 
 When love is an unerring light. 
 And joy its own security. 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold. 
 Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
 )^et seek thy firm support, according to their need- 
 
 I, loving freedom, and untried, 
 No sport of every random gust, 
 Yet being to myself a guide. 
 Too blindly have reposed my trust : 
 And oft, when in my heart was heard 
 Thy timely mandate, I deferred
 
 236 THE COLDE.V TREASURY 
 
 The task, in smoother walks to stray; 
 Hut thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 
 
 Throuf]^h no disturbance of my soul 
 Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
 I supplicate for thy controul. 
 But in the quietness of thought: 
 Me this unchartered freedom tires; 
 I feel the weight of chance-desires : 
 My hopes no more must change their name; 
 I long for a repose that ever is the same. 
 
 Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace ; 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 As is the smile upon thy face : 
 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
 Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong ; 
 And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh 
 and strong. 
 
 To humbler functions, awful Power! 
 I call thee: I myself commend 
 Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
 Oh let my weakness have an end! 
 Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
 The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
 The confidence of reason give ; 
 And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live. 
 
 W. Words7uorth 
 
 CCLIII 
 
 ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 
 
 Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! 
 Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, 
 For there thy habitation is the heart — 
 The heart which love of Thee alone can bind ; 
 
 And when thy sons to fetters are consigned, 
 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 237 
 
 Their country conquers with their martyrdom. 
 And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
 
 Chillon! thy prison is a holy place 
 
 And thy sad fioor an altar, for 'twas trod, 
 
 Until his very steps have left a trace 
 
 Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
 
 By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface! 
 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 CCLIV 
 
 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802 
 
 Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea, 
 One of the Mountains ; each a mighty voice : 
 In both from age to age thou didst rejoice. 
 They were thy chosen music. Liberty! 
 
 There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 
 Thou fought'st against him, — but hast vainly striven: 
 Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
 Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 
 
 — Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft ; 
 Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left 
 For, high-sourd Maid, what sorrow would it be 
 
 That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
 And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore. 
 And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee! 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLV 
 
 ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN 
 REPUBLIC 
 
 Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 
 And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth 
 Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
 Venice, the eldest child of Liberty.
 
 238 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 She was a maiden city, bright and free; 
 No guile seduced, no force could violate; 
 And when she took unto herself a mate, 
 She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 
 
 And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
 Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — 
 Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
 
 When her long life hath reached its final day; 
 Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade 
 Of that which once was great is pass'd away. 
 
 //'. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLVI 
 
 LONDON, 1802 
 
 O Friend! I know not which way I must look 
 
 For comfort, l>eing, as I am, opprest 
 
 To think that now our life is only drest 
 
 For show ; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook. 
 
 Or groom! — We must run glittering like a brook 
 In the open sunshine, or we arc unblest ; 
 The wealthiest man among us is the best: 
 No grandeur now in nature or in book 
 
 Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, 
 This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 
 Plain living and high thinking are no more : 
 
 The homely beauty of the good old cause 
 Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence. 
 And pure religion breathing household laws. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLVII 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: 
 England hath need of thee : she is a fen 
 Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, 
 Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower»
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 239 
 
 ffave forfeited their ancient English dower 
 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men: 
 Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
 
 Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : 
 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, 
 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; 
 
 So didst thou travel on life's common way 
 In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
 The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 
 
 VV. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLVIII 
 
 When I have borne in memory what has tamed 
 Great nations ; how ennobling thoughts depart 
 When men change swords for ledgers, r.nd desert 
 The student's bower for gold, — some fears unnamed 
 
 I had, my Country! — am I to be blamed? 
 Now, when 1 think of thee, and what thou art, 
 Verily, in the bottom of my heart 
 Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 
 
 For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find 
 In thee a bulwark for the cause of men ; 
 And I by my atfection was beguiled : 
 
 What wonder if a Poet now and then, 
 Among the many movements of his mind, 
 FeJt for thee as a lover or a child ! 
 
 W, WordswortiS 
 
 CCLIX 
 
 HOHENLINDEN 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low, 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snowj 
 And dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
 
 240 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But Linden saw another sight, 
 When the drum beat at dead of night 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast array'd 
 Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
 And furious every charger neigh'd 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riven; 
 Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven; 
 And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
 Far 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. 
 
 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
 Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun, 
 Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy 
 
 The combat deepens. On, ye Brave 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave! 
 Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, 
 And charge with all thy chivalry! 
 
 Few, few shall part, where many meet! 
 The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier''s sepulchre. 
 
 T. Campbeh 
 
 CCLX 
 
 AFTER BLENHEIM 
 
 It was a summer evening. 
 Old Kaspar's work was done, 
 
 And he before his cottage door 
 Was sitting in the sun ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY «4' 
 
 And by him sported on the greet* 
 His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 
 
 She saw her brother Peterkin 
 
 Roll something large and round 
 Which he beside the rivulet 
 
 In playing there had found; 
 He came to ask what he had found 
 That was so large and smooth and round 
 
 Old Kaspar took it from the boy 
 
 Who stood expectant by ; 
 And then the old man shook his head. 
 
 And with a natural sigh 
 
 * 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' 3aid he, 
 
 * Who fell in the great victory. 
 
 * I find them in the garden, 
 
 For there's many hereabout ; 
 And often when I go to plough 
 
 The ploughshare turns them out. 
 For many thousand men,' said he, 
 ' Were slain in that great victory.' 
 
 * Now tell us what 'twas all about,' 
 
 Young Peterkin he cries ; 
 And litde Wilhelmine looks up 
 With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
 
 * Now tell us all about the war, 
 
 And what they fought each other for.' 
 
 *It was the English,' Kaspar cried, 
 
 * Who put the French to rout ; 
 But what they fought each other for 
 
 I could not well make out. 
 But everybody said,' quoth he, 
 *That 'twas a famous victory. 
 
 *My father lived at Blenheim then, 
 
 Yon little stream hard by ; 
 They burnt his dwelling to the ground, 
 
 And he was forced to fly :
 
 242 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 So with his wife and child he fled. 
 Nor had he where to rest his head. 
 
 < With fire and sword the country round 
 
 Was wasted far and wide 
 And many a childing mother then 
 
 And newborn baby died : 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 At every famous victory. 
 
 *They say it was a shocking sight 
 
 After the field was won ; 
 For many thousand bodies here 
 
 Lay rotting in the sun : 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 After a famous victory. 
 
 * Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won 
 
 And our good Prince Eugene ; ' 
 
 * Why 'twas a very wicked thing ! ' 
 
 Said little Wilhelmine; 
 *Nay . . nay . . my little girl/ quoth he, 
 *It was a famous victory. 
 
 *And everybody praised the Duke 
 Who this great fight did win.' 
 
 * But what good came of it at last?' 
 
 Quoth little Peterkin: — 
 *Why that 1 cannot tell,' said he, 
 ' But 'twas a famous victory.' 
 
 R. Southey 
 
 CCLXI 
 PRO PATRIA MORI 
 
 When he who adores thee has left but the name 
 
 Of his fault and his sorrows behind. 
 Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 
 
 Of a life that for thee was resign'd ! 
 Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, 
 
 Thy tears shall eiface their decree ; 
 For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 
 
 I have been but too faithful to thee.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ^4j 
 
 With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 
 
 Every thought of my reason was thine : 
 In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above 
 
 Thy name shall be mingled with mine! 
 Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 
 
 The days of thy glory to see ; 
 But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 
 
 Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 
 
 T. Moore 
 CCLXII 
 
 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT 
 CORUNNA 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 As his corpse to the rampart we hurried; 
 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
 VVe 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 enclosed his breast, 
 
 Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 
 
 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 that was dead, 
 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 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'll talk of the spirit that's gone 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
 
 But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
 
 444 ^'^^ GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done 
 
 When the clock struck the hour for retiring: 
 
 And we heard the distant and random gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 *^lowly 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. 
 
 C. Wolft 
 
 CCLXIII 
 
 SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
 Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
 An old man dwells, a little man, — 
 'Tis said he once was tall. 
 Full five-and-thirty years he lived 
 A running huntsman merry; 
 And still the centre of his cheek 
 Is red as a ripe cherry. 
 
 No man like him the horn could sound. 
 
 And hill and valley rang with glee, 
 
 When Echo bandied, round and round^ 
 
 The halloo of Simon Lee. 
 
 In those proud days he little cared 
 
 For husbandry or tillage ; 
 
 To blither tasks did Simon rouse 
 
 The sleepers of the village. 
 
 He all the country could outrun. 
 
 Could leave both man and horse behind; 
 
 And often, ere the chase was done 
 
 He reePd and was stone-blind. 
 
 And still there's something in the world 
 
 At which his heart rejoices ; 
 
 For when the chiming hounds are out, 
 
 He dearly loves their voices.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 245 
 
 But oh the heavy change! — bereft 
 
 Of health, strength, friends and kindred, see' 
 
 Old Simon to the world is left 
 
 In liveried poverty ; — 
 
 His master's dead, and no one now 
 
 Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; 
 
 Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; 
 
 He is the sole survivor. 
 
 And he is lean and he is sick. 
 
 His body, dwindled and awry, 
 
 Rests upon ankles swoln and thick; 
 
 His legs are thin and dry. 
 
 One prop he has. and only one, — 
 
 His wife, an aged woman, 
 
 Lives with him, near the waterfall, 
 
 Upon the village common. 
 
 Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, 
 Not twenty paces from the door, 
 A scrap of land they have, but they 
 Are poorest of the poor. 
 This scrap of land he from the heath 
 Enclosed when he was stronger ; 
 But what to them avails the land 
 Which he can till no longer.? 
 
 Oft, v/orking by her husband's side, 
 
 Ruth does what Simon cannot do; 
 
 For she, with scanty cause for pride, 
 
 Is stouter of the two. 
 
 And, though you with your utmost ski 
 
 From labour could not wean them, 
 
 'Tis little, very little, all 
 
 That they can do between them. 
 
 Few months of life has he in store 
 
 As he to you will tell, 
 
 For still, the more he works, the more 
 
 Do his weak ankles swell. 
 
 My gentle Reader, I perceive 
 
 How patiently youVe waited.
 
 :40 THE GOLDEN rktA^URl 
 
 And now I fear that you expect 
 Some tale will be related. 
 
 O Reader! had you in your mind 
 Such stores as silent thought can bring 
 
 gentle Reader! you would find 
 A tale in every thing. 
 
 What more I have to say is short, 
 And you must kindly take it : 
 It is no tale ; but, should you think, 
 Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 
 
 One summer-day I chanced to see 
 This old Man doing all he could 
 To unearth the root of an old tree. 
 A stump of rotten wood. 
 The mattock totter'd in his hand ; 
 So vain was his endeavour 
 That at the root of the old tree 
 He might have work'd for ever. 
 
 'YouVe overtasked, good Simon LeC; 
 Give me your tool,' to him I said; 
 And at the word right gladly he 
 Received my proffer'd aid. 
 
 1 struck, and with a single blow 
 The tangled root I scverM, 
 
 At which the poor old man so long 
 And vainly had endeavoured. 
 
 The tears into his eyes were brought, 
 And thanks and praises seem'd to run 
 So fast out of his heart, I thought 
 They never would have done. 
 — Tve heard of hearts unkind, kind deed 
 With coldness still returning; 
 Alas! the gratitude of men 
 Hath oftener left me mourning. 
 
 W, Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 247 
 
 CCLXIV 
 
 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 
 
 i have had playmates, I have had companions. 
 
 In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days ; 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies . 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I loved a Love once, fairest among women : 
 Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man : 
 Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; 
 Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 
 
 Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, 
 Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse. 
 Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 
 
 Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, 
 Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling.'* 
 So might we talk of the old familiar faces. 
 
 How some they have died, and some they have left me, 
 And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 C Lamb 
 
 CCLXV 
 THE JOURNEY ONWARDS 
 
 As slow our ship her foamy track 
 Against the wind was cleaving, 
 
 Her trembling pennant still look'd back 
 To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 
 
 So loth we part from all we love, 
 From all the links that bind us :
 
 <48 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 So turn our hearts, as on we rove, 
 To those we've left behind us! 
 
 When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years 
 
 We talk with joyous seeming — 
 With smiles that might as well be tears, 
 
 So faint, so sad their beaming ; 
 While memory brings us back again 
 
 Each early tie that twined us. 
 Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 
 
 To those we've left behind us ! 
 
 And when, in other climes, we meet 
 
 Some isle or vale enchanting. 
 Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweec, 
 
 And nought but love is wanting ; 
 We think how great had been our bliss 
 
 If Heaven had but assigned us 
 To live and die in scenes like this, 
 
 With some we've left behind us! 
 
 As travellers oft look back at eve 
 
 When eastward darkly going. 
 To gaze upon that light they leave 
 
 Still faint behind them glowing, — 
 So, when the close of pleasure's day 
 
 To gloom hath near consign'd us. 
 We turn to catch one fading ray 
 
 Of joy that's left behind us. 
 
 T. Moors 
 
 CCLXVI 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE 
 
 There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 
 When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull 
 
 decay ; 
 Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which 
 
 fades so fast, 
 But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be 
 
 past.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 249 
 
 Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happi- 
 ness 
 Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess : 
 The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain 
 The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch 
 again. 
 
 Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes 
 
 down ; 
 It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; 
 That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears. 
 And though the eye may sparkle still, Uis where the ice 
 
 appears. 
 
 Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract 
 
 the breast, 
 Tlirough midnight hours that yield no more their former 
 
 hope of rest ; 
 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe. 
 All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray 
 
 beneath. 
 
 Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been. 
 Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd 
 
 scene, — 
 As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though 
 
 they be. 
 So midst the witherM waste of life, those tears would flow 
 
 to me! 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 CCLXVIl 
 
 A LESSON 
 
 There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine, 
 That shrinks like many more from cold and rain, 
 And the first moment that the sun may shine, 
 Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again! 
 
 When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 
 Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, 
 Oft have I seen it muftied up from harm 
 In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past, 
 And recognized it, though an altered form, 
 Now standing forth an offering to the blast, 
 And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 
 
 I stopped and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, 
 *It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold; 
 This nekher is its courage nor its choice, 
 But its necessity in being old. 
 
 * The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew ; 
 It cannot help itself in its decay ; 
 Stiff in its members, withered, changed of hue,' — 
 And, in my spleen, 1 smiled that it was gray. 
 
 To be a prodigal's favourite — then, worse truth, 
 A miser's pensioner — behold our lot ! 
 O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth 
 Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLXVIII 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 The house where I was born. 
 The little window where the sun 
 Came peeping in at morn ; 
 He never came a wink too soon 
 Nor brought too long a day ; 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 The roses, red and white, 
 The violets, and the lily-cups — 
 Those flowers made of light! 
 The lilacs where the robin built, 
 And where my brother set 
 The laburnum on his birth-day, — 
 The tree is living yet!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 25: 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 Where I was used to swing, 
 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing ; 
 
 My spirit flew in feathers then 
 
 That is so heavy now, 
 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The fir trees dark and high ; 
 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 
 It was a childish ignorance. 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 
 To know I'm farther off from Heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy. 
 
 7 Hiwa 
 CCLXIX 
 
 THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
 Fond Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me : 
 The smiles, the tears 
 Of boyhood's years. 
 The words of love then spoken ; 
 The eyes that shone, 
 Now dimm'd and gone. 
 The cheerful hearts now broken! 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumbers chain has bound me. 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 When I remember all 
 
 The friends so link'd together 
 I've seen around me fall 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather, 
 I feel like one 
 Who treads alone
 
 •52 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Some banquet-hall deserted, 
 Whose lights are fled 
 Whose garlands dead, 
 And all but he departed! 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 T. Moon 
 
 CCLXX 
 
 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION 
 NEAR NAPLES 
 
 The sun is warm, the sky is clear, 
 The waves are dancing fast and bright, 
 Blue isles and snowy mountains wear 
 The purple noon's transparent might: 
 The breath of the moist earth is light 
 Ground its unexpanded buds ; 
 "Like many a voice of one delight — 
 The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods' — 
 The city's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. 
 
 1 see the deep's untrampled floor 
 With green and purple sea-weeds strown ; 
 I see the waves upon the shore 
 Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown : 
 I sit upon the sands alone ; 
 The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
 Is flashing round me, and a tone 
 Arises from its measured motion — 
 How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion 
 
 Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, 
 
 Nor peace within nor calm around, 
 
 Nor that content, surpassing wealth, 
 
 The sage in meditation found, 
 
 And walk'd with inward glory crown'd — 
 
 Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ; 
 
 Others I see whom these surround —
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; 
 To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 
 
 Yet now despair itself is mild 
 Even as the winds and waters are; 
 1 could lie down like a tired child, 
 And weep away the life of care 
 Which I have borne, and yet must bear, — 
 Till death like sleep might steal on me, 
 And I might feel in the warm air 
 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 
 
 P, B. Shelley 
 
 CCLXXI 
 
 THE SCHOLAR 
 
 My days among the Dead are past ; 
 
 Around me I behold. 
 
 Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 
 
 The mighty minds of old : 
 
 My never-failing friends are they, 
 
 With whom I converse day by day. 
 
 With them I take delight in weal 
 
 And seek relief in woe; 
 
 And while I understand and feel 
 
 How much to them I owe, 
 
 My cheeks have v^ften been bedew'd 
 
 With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 
 
 My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them 
 
 I live in long-past years. 
 
 Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 
 
 Partake their hopes and fears. 
 
 And from their lessons seek and find 
 
 Instruction with an humble mind. 
 
 My hopes are with the Dead ; anon 
 My place with them will be, 
 And I with them shall travel od 
 Through all Futurity; 
 
 553
 
 254 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
 That will not perish in the dust. 
 
 R. Southey 
 CCLXXII 
 
 THE MERMAID TAVERN 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium Lave ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern, 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 
 Have ye tippled drink more fine 
 Than mine host's Canary wine? 
 Or are fruits of Paradi.ie 
 Sweeter than those dainty pies 
 Of venison ? O generous food ! 
 Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
 Would, with his Maid Marian, 
 Sup and bowse from horn and can. 
 
 I have heard that on a day 
 Mine host's sign-board Hew away 
 Nobody knew whither, till 
 An astrologer's old quill 
 To a sheepskin gave the story, 
 Said he saw you in your glory 
 Underneath a new-old sign 
 Sipping beverage divine. 
 And pledging with contented smack 
 The Mermaid in the Zodiac. 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have v^ known, 
 Happy field or moss> cavern. 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern. 
 
 /. KeaU 
 CCLXXIII 
 
 THE PRIDE OF YOUTH 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood, 
 Walking so early ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 255 
 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 
 Singing so rarely. 
 
 * Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
 
 When shall I marry me?' 
 
 — 'When six braw gentlemen 
 
 Kirkward shall carry ye.' 
 
 * Who makes the bridal bed, 
 
 Birdie say truly ? ' 
 — < The gray-headed sexton 
 That delves the grave duly. 
 
 ^The glowworm o'er grave and stone 
 
 Shall light thee steady ; 
 The owl from the steeple sing 
 
 Welcome, proud lady.' 
 
 Sir W. Scoii 
 
 CCLXXIV 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS 
 
 One more Unfortunate 
 Weary of breath, 
 Rashly importunate, 
 Gone to her death ! 
 Take her up tenderly, 
 Lift her with care; 
 Fashioned so slenderly, 
 Young, and so fair! 
 
 Look at her garments 
 Clinging like cerements ; 
 Whilst the wave constantly 
 Drips from her clothing ; 
 Take her up instantly, 
 Loving, not loathing. 
 
 Touch her not scornfully, 
 Think of her mournfully, 
 Gently and humanly ;
 
 «56 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 Not of the stains of her — 
 All that remains of her 
 Now is pure womanly. 
 
 Make no deep scrutiny 
 Into her mutiny 
 Rash and undutiful : 
 Past all dishonour, 
 Death has left on her 
 Only the beautiful 
 
 Still, for all slips of hers, 
 One of Eve's family — 
 Wipe those poor lips of hers 
 Oozing so clammily. 
 Loop up her tresses 
 Escaped from the comb. 
 Her fair auburn tresses ; 
 Whilst wonderment guessep, 
 Where was her home? 
 
 Who was her father? 
 Who was her mother? 
 Had she a sister? 
 Had she a brother? 
 Or was there a dearer one 
 Still, and a nearer one 
 Yet, than all other? 
 
 Alas ! for the rarity 
 Of Christian charity 
 Under the sun! 
 Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
 Near a whole city full, 
 Home she had none. 
 
 Sisterly, brotherly, 
 Fatherly, motherly 
 Feelings had changed : 
 Love, by harsh evidence, 
 Thrown from its eminence? 
 Even God's providence 
 Seeming estranged.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Where the lamps quiver 
 
 So far in the river, 
 
 With many a light 
 
 From window and casement, 
 
 From garret to basement, 
 
 She stood with amazement, 
 
 Houseless by night. 
 
 The bleak wind of March 
 Made her tremble and shiver 
 But not the dark arch, 
 Or the black flowing river: 
 Mad from life's history, 
 Glad to death's mystery 
 Swift to be hurPd — 
 Any where, any where 
 Out of the world! 
 
 In she plunged boldly. 
 No matter how coldly 
 "The rough river ran, — 
 Over the brink of it. 
 Picture it — think of it, 
 Dissolute Man! 
 Lave in it, drink of it, 
 Then, if you can! 
 
 Take her up tenderly. 
 Lift her with care ; 
 Fashioned so slenderly, 
 Young, and so fair! 
 
 Ere her limbs frigidly 
 Stiffen too rigidly, 
 Decently, kindly. 
 Smooth and compose thei% 
 And her eyes, close them, 
 Staring so blindly! 
 
 Dreadfully staring 
 Thro' muddy impurity. 
 As when with the daring 
 Last look of despairing 
 Fix'd on futurity.
 
 258 THE GOLDEN TREASURV 
 
 Perishing gloomily, 
 SpurrYl by contumely, 
 Cold inhumanity, 
 Burning insanity, 
 Into her rest. 
 
 — Cross her hands humbly 
 As if praying dumbly, 
 Over her breast! 
 
 Owning her weakness, 
 Her evil behaviour, 
 And leaving, with meekness. 
 Her sins to her Saviour. 
 
 T. Hood 
 CCLXXV 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom- 
 On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; 
 But on thy turf shall roses rear 
 Their leaves, the earliest of the year, 
 And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom : 
 
 And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
 Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head. 
 And feed deep thought with many a dream. 
 And lingering pause and lightly tread ; 
 Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead! 
 
 Away! we know that tears are vain. 
 That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
 Will this unteach us to complain? 
 Or make one mourner weep the less? 
 And thou, who tell'st me to forget. 
 Tfty looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 CCLXXVI 
 
 HESTER 
 
 When maidens such as Hester die 
 Their place ye may not well supply. 
 Though ye among a thousand try 
 With vain endeavour.
 
 rtiE GOLDEN TREASURY 259 
 
 A month or more hath she been dead. 
 Yet cannot I by force be led 
 To think upon the wormy bed 
 And her together. 
 
 A springy motion in her gait, 
 
 A rising step, did indicate 
 
 Of pride and joy no common rate 
 
 That flushed her spirit : 
 I know not by what name beside 
 1 shall it call : if 'twas not pride, 
 It was a joy to that allied 
 
 She did inherit. 
 
 Her parents held the Quaker rule, 
 Which doth the human feeling cool. 
 But she was train'd in Nature's schoolt 
 
 Nature had blest her. 
 A waking eye, a prying mind, 
 A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
 A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, 
 
 Ye could not Hester. 
 
 My sprightly neighbour ! gone before 
 To that unknown and silent shore, 
 Shall we not meet, as he/etofore 
 
 Some summer morning — 
 When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
 Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
 Pi. bliss that would not go away, 
 
 A sweet fore-warning ? 
 
 C Lamh 
 
 CCLXXVII 
 TO MARY 
 
 If I had thought thou couldst have died, 
 I might not weep for thee ; 
 
 But I forgot, when by thy side, 
 That thou couldst mortal be :
 
 26o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 It never through my mind had past 
 The time would e'er be o'er, 
 
 And I on thee should look my last, 
 And thou shouldst smile no more! 
 
 And still upon that face I look, 
 
 And think 'twill smile again ; 
 And still the thought I will not brook 
 
 That I must look in vain! 
 But when I speak — thou dost not say 
 
 What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; 
 And now I feel, as well I may, 
 
 Sweet Mary! thou art dead! 
 
 If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, 
 
 All cold and all serene — 
 1 still might press thy silent heart, 
 
 And where thy smiles have been. 
 While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, 
 
 Thou seemest still mine own ; 
 But there I lay thee in thy grave — 
 
 And I am now alone ! 
 
 I do not think, where'er thou art, 
 
 Thou hast forgotten me ; 
 And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, 
 
 In thinking too of thee : 
 Yet there was round thee such a dawn 
 
 Of light ne'er seen before. 
 As fancy never could have drawn, 
 
 And never can restore ! 
 
 C. Wolfi 
 
 CCLXXVIII 
 CORONACH 
 
 He is gone on the mountain, 
 He is lost to the forest. 
 
 Like a summer-dried fountain, 
 When our need was the sorest
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 261 
 
 The font reappearing 
 
 From the raindrops shall borrow, 
 But to us comes no cheering, 
 
 To Duncan no morrow! 
 
 The hand of the reaper 
 
 Takes the ears that are hoary, 
 But the voice of the weeper 
 
 Wails manhood in glory. 
 The autumn winds rushing 
 
 Waft the leaves that are searest, 
 But our flower was in flushing 
 
 When blighting was nearest. 
 
 Fleet foot on the correi. 
 
 Sage counsel in cumber, 
 Red hand in the foray, 
 
 How sound is thy slumber! 
 Like the dew on the mountain, 
 
 Like the foam on the river, 
 Liice the bubble on the fountain, 
 
 Thou art gone ; and for ever! 
 
 Sir W. Scoii 
 
 CCLXXIX 
 
 THE DEATH BED 
 
 We watchM her breathing thro' the night. 
 
 Her breathing soft and low, 
 As in her breast the wave of life 
 
 Kept heaving to and fro. 
 
 So silently we seem'd to speak, 
 
 So slowly moved about, 
 As we had lent her half our powers 
 
 To eke her living out. 
 
 Our very hopes belied our fears. 
 
 Our fears our hopes belied — 
 We thought her dying when she slept. 
 
 And sleeping when she died.
 
 T, Hooa 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 For when the morn came dim and sad 
 
 And chill with early showers. 
 Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
 
 Another morn than ours. 
 
 CCLXXX 
 AGNES 
 
 1 saw her in childhood — 
 
 A bright, gentle thing, 
 Like the dawn of the morn, 
 
 Or the dews of the spring: 
 The daisies and hare-bells 
 
 Her playmates all day ; 
 Herself as light-hearted 
 
 And artless as they. 
 
 I saw her again — 
 
 A fair girl of eighteen. 
 Fresh glittering with graces 
 
 Of mind and of mien. 
 Her speech was all music; 
 
 Like moonlight she shon** • 
 The envy of many, 
 
 The glory of one. 
 
 Years, years fleeted over — 
 
 I stood at her foot : 
 The bud had grown blossom, 
 
 The blossom was fruit. 
 A dignified mother, 
 
 Her infant she bore ; 
 And look'd, I thought, fairer 
 
 Than ever before. 
 
 I saw her once more — 
 
 'Twas the day that she died ; 
 Heaven's light was around her, 
 
 And God at her side ; 
 No wants to distress her, 
 
 No fears to appal — 
 O then, I felt, then 
 
 She was fairest of all! H, F. LyU
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 263 
 
 CCLXXXI 
 
 ROSABELLE 
 
 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 cie«* 
 
 And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
 Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 
 Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 
 
 'The blackening wave is edged with white; 
 
 To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; 
 The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
 
 Whose screams forebode that wieck is nigh. 
 
 'Last night the gifted Seer did view 
 
 A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; 
 
 Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 
 Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?' 
 
 * 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
 
 To-night at Roslin leads the ball. 
 But that my ladye-mother there 
 
 Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 
 
 * 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
 
 And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 
 But that my sire the wine will chide 
 If 'tis not fiird by Rosabelle.' 
 
 — O'er Roslin all that dreary night 
 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 
 
 *Twas broader than the watch-fire's light 
 And redder than the bright moonbeam, 
 
 It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
 
 It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 
 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, 
 
 And seen from cavern 'd Hawthorndeiii
 
 564 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud 
 Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie, 
 
 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 IV. Scott 
 
 CCLXXXII 
 
 ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN 
 
 I saw where in the shroud did lurk 
 
 A curious frame of Nature's work ; 
 
 A flowVet crushed in the bud, 
 
 A nameless piece of Babyhood, 
 
 Was in her cradle-cofifin lying ; 
 
 Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying : 
 
 So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb 
 
 For darker closets of the tomb ! 
 
 She did but ope an eye, and put 
 
 A clear beam forth, then straight up shut 
 
 For the long dark : ne'er more to see 
 
 Through glasses of mortality.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 265 
 
 Riddle of destiny, who can sliow 
 
 What thy short visit meant, or know 
 
 What thy errand here below? 
 
 Shall we say, that Nature blind 
 
 Checked her hand, and changed her mind 
 
 Just when she had exactly wrought 
 
 A finished pattern without fault? 
 
 Could she flag, or could she tire, 
 
 Or lack'd she the Promethean fire, 
 
 (With her nine moons' long workings sickenM) 
 
 That should thy litde limbs have quicken'd? 
 
 Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure 
 
 Life of health, and days mature : 
 
 Woman's self in miniature! 
 
 Limbs so fair, they might supply 
 
 (Themselves now but cold imagery) 
 
 The sculptor to make Beauty by. 
 
 Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 
 
 That babe or mother, one must die 
 
 So in mercy left the stock 
 
 And cut the branch ; to save the shock 
 
 Of young years widow'd, and the pain 
 
 When Single State comes back again 
 
 To the lone man who, reft of wife. 
 
 Thenceforward drags a maimed life ? 
 
 The economy of Heaven is dark. 
 
 And w^isest clerks have miss'd the mark 
 
 Why human buds, like this, should fall. 
 
 More brief than fly ephemeral 
 
 That has his day ; while shrivell'd crone:- 
 
 Stiffen with age to stocks and stones ; 
 
 And crabbed use the conscience sears 
 
 In sinners of an hundred years. 
 
 — Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, 
 
 Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss : 
 
 Rites, which custom does impose, 
 
 Silver bells, and baby clothes ; 
 
 Coral redder than those lips 
 
 Which pale death did late eclipse ; 
 
 Music framed for infants' glee. 
 
 Whistle never tuned io^ thee ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them, 
 
 Loving hearts were they which gave them. 
 
 Let not one be missing ; nurse, 
 
 See them laid upon the hearse 
 
 Of infant slain by doom perverse. 
 
 Why should kings and nobles have 
 
 Pictured troj^hies to their grave, 
 
 And we, churls, to thee deny 
 
 Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — 
 
 A more harmless vanity ? 
 
 L. Lamb 
 
 CCLXXXIII 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 A child's a plaything for an hour; 
 
 Its pretty tricks we try 
 For that or for a longer space,— 
 
 Then tire, and lay it by. 
 
 But I knew one that to itself 
 
 All seasons could control ; 
 That would have mock'd the sense of pain 
 
 Out of a grieved soul. 
 
 Thou straggler into loving arms, 
 
 Young climber up of knees, 
 When I forget thy thousand ways 
 
 Then life and all shall cease ! 
 
 M. Land 
 
 CCLXXXIV 
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET 
 
 Where art thou, my beloved Son, 
 Where art thou, worse to me than dead ? 
 Oh find me, prosperous or undone ! 
 Or if the grave be now thy bed. 
 Why am 1 ignoran*: of the same 
 That I may rest '*nd neither blame 
 Nor sorrow ma) attend thy name ?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 267 
 
 Seven years, alas ! to have received 
 No tidings of an only child — 
 To have despaired, have hoped, believed, 
 And been for evermore beguiled, — 
 Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 
 I catch at them, and then I miss ; 
 Was ever darkness like to this ? 
 
 He was among the prime in worth, 
 An object beauteous to behold ; 
 Well born, well bred ; I sent him forth 
 Ingenuous, innocent, and bold : 
 If things ensued that wanted grace 
 As hath been said, they were not base ; 
 And never blush was on my face. 
 
 Ah ! little doth the young-one dream 
 When full of play and childish cares, 
 What power is in his wildest scream 
 Heard by his mother unawares! 
 He knows it not, he cannot guess ; 
 Years to a mother bring distress ; 
 But do not make her love the less. 
 
 Neglect me ! no, I sufferM long 
 From that ill thought ; and being blind 
 Said 'Pride shall help me in my wrong: 
 Kind mother have I been, as kind 
 As ever breathed : ' and that is true ; 
 Tve wet my path with tears like dew, 
 Weeping for him when no one knew. 
 
 My Son, if thou be humbled, poor. 
 Hopeless of honour and of gain, 
 Oh ! do not dread thy mother's doorj 
 Think not of me with grief and pain i 
 I now can see with better eyes ; 
 And worldly grandeur I despise, 
 And fortune with her gifts and lies. 
 
 Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings. 
 And blasts of heaven will aid their flight ;
 
 ?68 THE GCLDEN TREASURY 
 
 They mount — how short a voyage brings 
 The wanderers back to their delight ! 
 Chains tie us down by land and sea ; 
 And wishes, vain as mine, may be 
 All that is left to comfort thee. 
 
 Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan 
 Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men ; 
 Or thou upon a desert thrown 
 Inheritest the lion's den ; 
 Or hast been summoned to the deep, 
 Thou, thou, and all thy mates to keep 
 An incommunicable sleep. 
 
 I look for ghosts : but none will force 
 Their way to me ; 'tis falsely said 
 That there was ever intercourse 
 Between the living and the dead ; 
 For surely then 1 should have sight 
 Of him 1 wait for day and night 
 With love and longings infinite. 
 
 My apprehensions come in crowds; 
 I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
 The very shadows of the clouds 
 Have power to shake me as they pass : 
 I question things, and do not find 
 One that will answer to my mind ; 
 And all the world appears unkind. 
 
 Beyond participation lie 
 My troubles, and beyond relief: 
 If any chance to heave a sigh 
 They pity me, and not my grief. 
 Then come to me, my Son, or send 
 Some tidings that my woes may end ! 
 I have no other earthly friend. 
 
 W, Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 260 
 
 CCLXXXV 
 
 HUNTING SONG 
 
 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.* 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
 
 The mist has left the mountain gray, 
 
 Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 
 
 Diamonds on the brake are gleaming j 
 
 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 ; 
 VVe 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 baulk, 
 
 Staunch as hound and fleet as hawk ; 
 
 Think of this, and rise with day, 
 
 Gentle lords and ladies gay I 
 
 Sir W, Sroi.
 
 2 70 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 CCLXXXVI 
 TO THE SKYLARK 
 
 Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound^ 
 Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? 
 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will. 
 Those quivering wings composed, that music slih : 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond 
 
 Mount, daring warbler! — that love-prompted strain 
 
 — 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 
 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 
 
 Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing 
 
 All independent of the leafy Spring. 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; 
 
 A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
 
 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 
 Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
 
 Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — 
 
 True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCLXXXVII 
 
 TO A SKYLARK 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! 
 
 Bird thou never wert. 
 That from heaven, or near it 
 Pourest thy full heart 
 In. profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
 
 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
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 271 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 
 Of the sunken sun 
 O'er which clouds are brightening, 
 
 Thou dost float and run, 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begur 
 
 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 overflow d 
 
 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 present showers a rain of melody ; -- 
 
 Like a poet hidden 
 
 In the light of thought. 
 Singing hymns unbidden, 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not; 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower. 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower
 
 2 72 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 Like a glow-worm golden 
 
 In a dell of dew, 
 Scattering iinbeholden 
 Its aerial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass, which screen It from tn. 
 view : 
 
 Like a rose embowered 
 
 In its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflower'd, 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winger 
 thieves. 
 
 Sound of vernal showers 
 
 On the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awaken'd flowers, 
 All that ever was 
 joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass- 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird. 
 
 What sweet thoughts are thine : 
 I have never heard 
 Praise of love or wine 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 
 
 Chorus hymeneal 
 
 Or triumphal chaunt 
 Matched with thine, would be all 
 But an empty vaunt — 
 k 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 of pain? 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Languor cannot be : 
 Shadow of annoyance ■■.= 
 
 Never came near thee : 
 Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY ?.75 
 
 VVaking 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 ■* 
 
 And pine for what is not : 
 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, 
 t knew 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 1 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That thy brain must know. 
 Such harmonious madness 
 From my lips would flow, 
 The world should listen then, as I am listening now! 
 
 P. B. Shelle- 
 
 CCLXXXVIII 
 
 THE GREEN LINNET 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 
 Their snow-white blossoms on my head. 
 With brightest sunshine round me spread 
 Of Spring's unclouded weather. 
 In this sequesterd nook how sweet 
 To sit upon my orchard-seat! 
 And flowers and birds once more to greet. 
 My last year's friends together
 
 2 74 TfJE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 
 In all this covert of the blest : 
 Hail to Thee, far above the rest 
 In joy of voice and pinion! 
 Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array 
 Presiding Spirit here to-day 
 Dost lead the revels of the May ; 
 And this is thy dominion. 
 
 While birds, and butterflies, and flowerSj 
 Make all one band of paramours, 
 rhou, ranging up and down the bowerS;, 
 Art sole in thy employment ; 
 A Life, a Presence like the air, 
 Scattering thy gladness without care, 
 Too blest with any one to pair ; 
 Thyself thy own enjoyment. 
 
 Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
 That twinkle to the gusty breeze, 
 Behold him perch'd in ecstasies 
 Yet seeming still to hover ; 
 There ! where the flutter of his wings 
 Upon his back and body flings 
 Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 
 That cover him all over. 
 
 My dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
 A brother of the dancing leaves ; 
 Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves 
 Pours forth his song in gushes ; 
 As if by that exulting strain 
 He mockM and treated with disdain 
 The voiceless Form he chose to feign, 
 While fluttering in the bushes. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLXXXIX 
 TO THE CUCKOO 
 
 blithe new-comer! I have heard, 
 
 1 hear thee and rejoice : 
 
 O Cuckoo I shall I call thee Bird, 
 Or but a wandering Voice?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 27.^ 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 
 Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
 At once far off and near. 
 
 Though babbling only to the vale 
 Of sunshine and of flowers, 
 Thou bringest unto me a tale 
 Of visionary hours. 
 
 Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring S 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 
 No bird, but an invisible thing, 
 
 A voice, a mystery ; 
 
 The same whom in my school-boy days 
 I listened to ; that Cry 
 Which made me look a thousand ways 
 In bush, and tree, and sky. 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 Through woods and on the green ; 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 
 Still long'd for, never seen! 
 
 And I can listen to thee yet ; 
 Can lie upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do beget 
 That golden time again. 
 
 O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial, faery place, 
 That is fit home for Thee! 
 
 W. Wordswcntn 
 
 ccxc 
 
 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 
 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
 My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
 
 Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 
 One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk :
 
 276 7 //A GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 'Tis not tlirouij^h envy of thy happy lot, 
 
 But being too happy in thine happiness, — 
 That thou, hght-wingcd Dryad of the trees- 
 In some melodious plot 
 Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 
 
 O for a draught of vintage ! that hath been 
 
 Coord a long age in the deep-delved earth, ' 
 Tasting of Flora and the country green. 
 
 Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth 
 O for a beaker full of the warm South, 
 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
 And purple-stained mouth; 
 That I might drink, and leave the world unseen. 
 And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 
 
 Fade faraway, dissolve, and quite forget 
 
 What thou among the leaves hast never known, 
 The weariness, the fever, and the fret 
 
 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 
 Wliere palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 
 
 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies 
 Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
 And leaden-eyed despairs ; 
 Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes. 
 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 
 
 Away! away ! for I will fly to thee, 
 
 Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards. 
 But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 
 
 Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: 
 Already with thee ! tender is the night. 
 
 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 
 Clusterd around by all her starry Fays ; 
 But here there is no light, 
 Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 
 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy way 
 
 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. 
 
 Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs^
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 27) 
 
 But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweec 
 
 Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
 The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; 
 White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 
 Fast fading violets covered up in leaves ; 
 And mid-May's eldest child, 
 The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine. 
 
 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer evei 
 
 Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 
 
 I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
 Caird him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 
 
 To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
 Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 
 To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 
 While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
 In such an ecstasy ! 
 Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
 To thy high requiem become a sod. 
 
 Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 
 
 No hungry generations tread thee down ; 
 The voice I hear this passing night was heard 
 
 In ancient days by emperor and clown : 
 Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 
 
 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for horn. 
 She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 
 The same that oft-times hath 
 CharmM magic casements, opening on the foam 
 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 
 
 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 
 
 To toll me back from thee to my sole self; 
 Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
 As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 
 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
 Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
 In the next valley-glades : 
 Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 
 
 Fled is that music : — Do I wake or sleep ? 
 
 y. Keats
 
 I -J a TIJL GOLDEN TREASURy 
 
 CCXCI 
 
 UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 180: 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more f.iir : 
 Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
 A slight so touching in its majesty : 
 This City now doth like a garment wear 
 
 The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, 
 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
 Open unto the fields, and to the sky. — 
 All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
 
 Never did sun more beautifully steep 
 
 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; 
 
 Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 
 
 The river glideth at its own sweet will : 
 Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; 
 And ail that mighty heart is lying still! 
 
 iV. Wordsworth 
 
 CCXCII 
 
 To one who has been long in city pent, 
 
 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair 
 
 And open face of heaven, — to br(^athe a prayer 
 
 Full in the smile of the blue firmament. 
 
 Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, 
 Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair 
 Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair 
 And gentle tale of love and languishment? 
 
 Returning home at evening, with an ear 
 Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye 
 Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, 
 
 He mourns that day so soon has glided by : 
 E'en like the passage of an angel's tear 
 That falls through the clear ether silently. 
 
 /. Keati
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 279 
 
 CCXCIII 
 
 OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT 
 
 I met a traveller from an antique land 
 Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of stcne 
 Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, 
 Half sunk, a shatterM visage lies, whose frown 
 And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 
 Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
 Which yet survive, stampM on these lifeless things, 
 The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; 
 And on the pedestal these words appear: 
 ' My name is Ozymandias. king of kings : 
 Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' 
 Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
 Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, 
 The lone and level sands stretch far away. 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 CCXCIV 
 
 COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROP 
 ERTY OF LORD QUEENSBERRY, 1803 
 
 Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord! 
 Whom mere despite of heart could so far please 
 And love of havoc, (for with such disease 
 Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word 
 
 To level with the dust a noble horde, 
 
 A brotherhood of venerable trees, 
 
 Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these. 
 
 Beggared and outraged! — Many hearts deplored 
 
 The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain 
 
 The traveller at this day will stop and gaze 
 
 On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed 
 
 For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, 
 And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, 
 And the green silent pastures, yet remam. 
 
 IV» Wordswortn
 
 28o THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ccxcv 
 
 THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION 
 
 O leave this barren spot to me! 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
 Though bush or floweret never grow 
 My dark unwarming shade below; 
 Nor summer bud perfume tai; dew 
 Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ; 
 Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, 
 My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 
 Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
 Th' ambrosial amber of the hive ; 
 Yet leave this barren '^■pot to me : 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
 
 Thrice twenty summers I have seen 
 The sky grow bright, the forest green ; 
 And many a wintry wind have stood 
 In bloomless, fruitless solitude. 
 Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
 First spent its sweet and sportive hour; 
 Since youthful lovers in my shade 
 Their vows of truth and rapture made, 
 And on my trunk's surviving frame 
 Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
 Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound. 
 First breathed upon this sacred ground; 
 By all that Love has whisper'd here, 
 Or Beauty heard with ravishM ear ; 
 As Love's own altar honour me : 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
 
 T. Campbell 
 CCXCVI 
 
 ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER 
 
 Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye! 
 — The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook 
 Hath stirrM thee deeply ; with its own dear brook, 
 Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 28 1 
 
 But covet not the abode ; forbear to sigh 
 As many do, repining while they look ; 
 Intruders — who would tear from Nature^s book 
 This precious leaf with harsh impiety. 
 
 — Think what the home must be if it were thine, 
 
 Even thine, though few thy wants! — Roof, window, door 
 
 The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, 
 
 The roses to the porch which they entwine : 
 Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day 
 On which it should be touched, would melt away! 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCXCVII 
 
 rO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNEYDE 
 
 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 
 
 Of beauty is thy earthly dower! 
 
 Twice seven consenting years have shed 
 
 Their utmost bounty on thy head : 
 
 And these gray rocks, that household lawn. 
 
 Those trees — a veil just half withdrawn^ 
 
 This fall of water that doth make 
 
 A murmur near the silent lake, 
 
 This little bay, a quiet road 
 
 That holds in shelter thy abode ; 
 
 In truth together ye do seem 
 
 Like something fashion'd in a dream 
 
 Such forms as from their covert peep 
 
 When earthly cares are laid asleep! 
 
 But O fair Creature ! in the light 
 
 Of common day, so heavenly bright, 
 
 I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, 
 
 I bless thee with a human heart : 
 
 God shield thee to thy latest years! 
 
 Thee neither know I nor thy peers : 
 
 And yet my eyes are filPd with tears 
 
 With earnest feeling I shall pray 
 For thee when 1 am far away ;
 
 282 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 For never saw I mic-n or face 
 In which more plainly I could trace 
 Benignity and home-bred sense 
 Ripening in perfect innocence. 
 Here scatter'd, like a random seed. 
 Remote from men, Thou dost not neec 
 The embarrass'd look of shy distress, 
 And maidenly shamefacedness : 
 Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
 The freedom of a Mountaineer: 
 A face with gladness overspread ; 
 ^(.\ smiles, by human kindness bred; 
 Ana seemliness complete, that sways 
 Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
 With no restraint, but such as springs 
 From quick and eager visitings 
 Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
 Of thy few words of English speech : 
 A bondage sweetly lirook'd, a strife 
 That gives thy gestures grace and life! 
 So have I, not unmoved in mind. 
 Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — 
 Thus beating up against the wind. 
 
 What hand but would a garland cul. 
 For thee who art so beautiful? 
 O happy pleasure! here to dwell 
 L'eside thee in some heathy dell ; 
 Adopt your homely ways, and dress, 
 A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! 
 But I could frame a wish for thee 
 More like a grave reality : 
 Thou art to me but as a w^ave 
 Of the wild sea : and I would have 
 Some claim upon thee, if I could, 
 Though but of common neighbourhood 
 What joy to hear thee, and to see! 
 Thy elder brother I would be, 
 Thy father — anything to thee. 
 
 Now thanks to Heaven! that of its gract 
 Hath led me to this lonely place ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 283 
 
 Joy have I had ; and going hence 
 
 I bear away my recompense. 
 
 In spots like these it is we prize 
 
 Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: 
 
 Then why should I be loth to stir? 
 
 I feel this place was made for her; 
 
 To give new pleasure like the past, 
 
 Continued 'ong as life shall last. 
 
 Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, 
 
 Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part- 
 
 For I, methinks, till I grow old 
 
 As fair before me shall behold 
 
 As I do now, the cabin small, 
 
 The lake, the bay, the waterfall ; 
 
 And Thee, the Spirit of them all! 
 
 VV. Wordsivortk 
 CCXCVIII 
 THE REAPER 
 
 Behold her, single in the field, 
 Yon solitary Highland Lass! 
 Reaping and singing by herself; 
 Stop here, or gently pass! 
 Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
 And sings a melancholy strain ; 
 O listen! for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound. 
 
 No nightingale did ever chaunt 
 More welcome notes to weary bands 
 Of travellers in some shady haunt. 
 Among Arabian sands : 
 A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
 In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
 Breaking the silence of the seas 
 Among the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings? 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
 For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
 And battles long ago :
 
 %Z4 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 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! 
 
 Whatever the theme, the maiden sang 
 As If her song could have no ending ; 
 I saw her singing at her work. 
 And o'er the sickle bending; — 
 I listened, motionless and still ; 
 And, as I mounted up the hill. 
 The music in my heart I bore 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCXCIX 
 THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN 
 
 ,A.L the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. 
 Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three 
 
 years : 
 Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard 
 In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 
 
 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her? She sees 
 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide. 
 And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 
 
 Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale 
 Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail; 
 And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, 
 The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 
 
 She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
 The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. 
 And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes 1 
 
 W, Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 285 
 
 ccc 
 
 TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR 
 
 Ariel to Miranda : — Take 
 
 This slave of music, for the sake 
 
 Of him, who is the slave of thee ; 
 
 And teach it all the harmony 
 
 In which thou canst, and only thou, 
 
 Make the delighted spirit glow, 
 
 Till joy denies itself again 
 
 And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. 
 
 For by permission and command 
 
 Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, 
 
 Poor Ariel sends this silent token 
 
 Of more than ever can be spoken ; 
 
 Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 
 
 From life to life must still pursue 
 
 Your happiness, for thus alone 
 
 Can Ariel ever find his own. 
 
 From Prospero's enchanted cell, 
 
 As the mighty verses tell, 
 
 To the throne of Naples he 
 
 Lit you o'er the trackless sea, 
 
 Flitting on, your prow before. 
 
 Like a living meteor. 
 
 When you die, the silent Moon 
 
 In her interlunar swoon 
 
 Is not sadder in her cell 
 
 Than deserted Ariel : — 
 
 When you live again on earth. 
 
 Like an unseen Star of birth 
 
 Ariel guides you o'er the sea 
 
 Of life from your nativity : — 
 
 Many changes have been run 
 
 Since Ferdinand and you begun 
 
 Your course of love, and Ariel still 
 
 Has tracked your steps and served your will 
 
 Now in humbler, happier lot, 
 
 This is all rememberd not ;
 
 286 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 And now, alas! the poor Sprite is 
 Imprison'd for some fault of his 
 In a body like a grave — 
 From you he only dares to crave, 
 For his service and his sorrow 
 A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 
 
 The artist who this idol wrought 
 
 To echo all harmonious thought, 
 
 FelPd a tree, while on the steep 
 
 The woods were in their winter sleep, 
 
 Rock'd in that repose divine 
 
 On the wind-swept Apennine ; 
 
 And dreaming, some of Autumn past, 
 
 And some of Spring approaching fast. 
 
 And some of April buds and showers. 
 
 And some of songs in July bowers, 
 
 And all of love : And so this tree, — 
 
 Oh that such our death may be ! — 
 
 Died in sleep, and felt no pain, 
 
 To live in happier form again : • 
 
 From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, 
 
 The artist wrought this loved Guitar ; 
 
 And taught it justly to reply 
 
 To all who question skilfully 
 
 In language gentle as thine own ; 
 
 Whispering in enamoured tone 
 
 Sweet oracles of woods and dells, 
 
 And summer winds in sylvan cells: 
 
 — For it had learnt all harmonies 
 
 Of the plains and of the skies. 
 
 Of the forests and the mountains. 
 
 And the many- voiced fountains ; 
 
 The clearest echoes of the hills, 
 
 The softest notes of falling rills, 
 
 The melodies of birds and bees, 
 
 The murmuring of summer seas, 
 
 And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 
 
 And airs of evening ; and it knew 
 
 That seldom-heard mysterious sound 
 
 Which, driven on its diurnal round,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 287 
 
 As iw floats through boundless day, 
 Our world enkindles on its way : 
 — All this it knows, but will not tell 
 To those who cannot question well 
 The Spirit that inhabits it ; 
 It talks according to the wit 
 Of its companions ; and no more 
 Is heard than has been felt before 
 By those who tempt it to betray 
 These secrets of an elder day. 
 But, sweetly as its answer will 
 Flatter hands of perfect skill, 
 It keeps its highest holiest tone 
 For our beloved Friend alone. 
 
 P, B Shelley 
 
 CCCI 
 
 THE DAFFODILS 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud 
 
 That floats on high o^er vales and hills. 
 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 
 A host of golden daffodils, 
 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 
 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the milky way. 
 They stretch'd in never-ending lin* 
 Along the margin of a bay : 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 
 Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : — 
 
 A Poet could not but be gay 
 
 In such a jocund company! 
 
 I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought: 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood.
 
 288 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of soHtude ; 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 IV. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCII 
 
 TO THE DAISY 
 
 With little here to do or see 
 
 Of things that in the great world be, 
 
 Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee 
 
 For thou art worthy, 
 Thou unassuming Common-place 
 Of Nature, with that homely face. 
 And yet with something of a grace 
 
 Which Love makes for thee! 
 
 Oft on the dappled turf at ease ^ 
 
 1 sit and play with similes. 
 
 Loose types of things through all degrees, 
 
 Thoughts of thy raising ; 
 And many a fond and idle name 
 I give to thee, for praise or blame 
 As is the humour of the game, 
 
 While I am gazing. 
 
 A nun demure, of lowly port ; 
 
 Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, 
 
 In thy simplicity the sport 
 
 Of all temptations; 
 A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
 A starveling in a scanty vest ; 
 Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 
 
 Thy appellations. 
 
 A little Cyclops, with one eye 
 Staring to threaten and defy. 
 That thought comes next — and instantly 
 
 The freak is over, 
 The shape will vanish, and behold! 
 A silver shield with boss of gold
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY ^-Sq 
 
 That spreads itself, some faery bold 
 In fight to cover. 
 
 1 see thee glittering from afar — 
 And then thou art a prett)' star. 
 Not quite so fair as many are 
 
 In heaven above thee! 
 Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
 Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;- - 
 May peace come never to his nest 
 
 Who shall reprove thee! 
 
 Sweet Flower! for by that name at last 
 When all my reveries are past 
 I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 
 
 Sweet silent Creature ! 
 That breath'st with me in sun and air^ 
 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
 My heart with gladness, and a share 
 
 Of thy meek nature! 
 
 W, Worasworth 
 
 CCCIII 
 
 ODE TO AUTUMN 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
 
 Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 
 
 Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
 
 With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run \ 
 
 To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, 
 
 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; 
 
 To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
 
 With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, 
 
 And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
 
 Until they think warm days will never cease ; 
 
 For Summer has overbrimmed their clammy cells, 
 
 Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? 
 Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
 Thee sitting careless on a granary floor. 
 Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind \
 
 290 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 
 
 Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
 
 Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; 
 
 And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
 
 Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
 
 Or by a cyder-press, with patient look. 
 
 Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 
 
 Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ? 
 
 Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — 
 
 While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day 
 
 And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; 
 
 Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
 
 Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 
 
 Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 
 
 And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
 
 Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft 
 
 The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; 
 
 And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 
 
 /. Keats 
 
 CCCIV 
 
 ODE TO WINTER 
 
 Germany^ Decembej'^ 1800 
 
 When first the fiery-mantled Sun 
 His heavenly race began to run, 
 Round the earth and ocean blue 
 His children four the Seasons flew. 
 
 First, in green apparel dancing. 
 The young Spring smiled with angel-grace ; 
 
 Rosy Summer next advancing, 
 Rush'd into her sire's embrace — 
 Her bright-hair' d sire, who bade her keep 
 
 For ever nearest to his smiles, 
 On Calpe's olive-shaded steep 
 
 Or India's citron-cover'd isles : 
 More remote, and buxom-brown, 
 
 The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne ; 
 A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 
 
 A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
 
 THE GOLDEN TRt.AiiURY 29 J 
 
 But howling Winter fled atar 
 To hills that prop the polar star; 
 And loves on deer-borne car to ride 
 With barren darkness by his side, 
 Round the shore where loud Lofoden 
 
 Whirls to death the roaring whale. 
 Round the hall where Runic Odin 
 
 Howls his war-song to the gale ; 
 Save when adown the ravaged globe 
 
 He travels on his native storm, 
 Deflowering Nature's grassy robe 
 
 And trampling on her faded form : — 
 Till lighfs returning Lord assume 
 
 The shaft that drives him to his polar neid.. 
 Of power to pierce his raven plume 
 
 And crystal-cover"'d shield. 
 
 Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear 
 The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
 When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
 Implores thy dreadful deity — 
 Archangel ! Power of desolation ! 
 
 Fast descending as thou art, 
 Say, hath mortal invocation 
 
 Spells to touch thy stony heart ? 
 Then, sullen Winter! hear my prayer, 
 And gently rule the ruin'd year; 
 Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare 
 Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear : 
 To shuddering Want's unmantled bed 
 
 Thy horror-breathing agues cease to le;^d, 
 And gently on the orphan head 
 
 Of Innocence descend. 
 
 But chiefly spare, O king of clouds ! 
 The sailor on his airy shrouds. 
 When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, 
 And spectres walk along the deep. 
 Milder yet thy snowy breezes 
 
 Pour on yonder tented shores, 
 Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 
 
 Or the dark-brown Danube roars.
 
 ^y2 THE GOLDEN- TREASURY 
 
 Oh, winds of Winter ! list ye there 
 
 To many a deep and dying groan ? 
 Or start, ye demons of the midnight air. 
 
 At shrielcs and thunders louder than your own? 
 Alas ! ev^n your unhallowed breath 
 
 Mcty spare the victim fallen low ; 
 But Man will ask no truce to death, — 
 
 No bounds to human woe. 
 
 7'. Carnphel 
 
 CCCV 
 YARROW UNVISITED 
 
 1803 
 
 From Stirling Castle we had seen 
 The mazy Forth unravelPd, 
 Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay 
 And with the Tweed had travelled ; 
 And when we came to Clovenford, 
 Then said my ' winsome Marrow,' 
 ' Whatever betide, we'll turn aside, 
 And see the Braes of Yarrow.' 
 
 * Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 
 Who have been buying, selling. 
 
 Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, 
 Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
 On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 
 Hares couch, and rabbits burrow ; 
 But we ^^ill downward with the Tweed, 
 Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 
 
 * There's Gala Water, Leader Haughs, 
 Both lying right before us ; 
 
 And Dryburgh, where with chiming T wetd 
 The lintwhites sing in chorus ; 
 There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land 
 Made blithe with plough and he.rrow : 
 Why throw away a needful day 
 To go in search of Yarrow ?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 293 
 
 * What's Yarrow but a river bare 
 That glides the dark hills under ? 
 There are a thousand such elsewhere 
 As worthy of your wonder.' 
 
 — Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn : 
 My True-love sigh'd for sorrow, 
 And looked me in the face, to think 
 I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 
 
 * O green,' said I, ' are Yarrow's holms, 
 And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
 
 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
 But we will leave it growing. 
 O'er hilly path and open strath 
 We'll wander Scotland thorough; 
 But, though so near, we will not turn 
 Into the dale of Yarrow. 
 
 * Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 
 The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
 
 The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake 
 Float double, swan and shadow ! 
 We will not see them ; will not go 
 To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
 Enough if in our hearts we know 
 There's such a place as Yarrow. 
 
 * Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
 It must, or we shall rue it : 
 
 We have a vision of our own. 
 
 Ah! why should we undo it? 
 
 The treasured dreams of times long past, 
 
 We'll keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
 
 For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
 
 'Twill be another Yarrow ! 
 
 * If Care with freezing years should come 
 And wandering seem but folly, — 
 Should we be loth to stir from home, 
 And yet be melancholy ; 
 
 Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow
 
 ;«y4 ^^^^ GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 That earth has something yet to show. 
 The bonny hohns of Yarrow ! ' 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCVI 
 YARROW VISITED 
 
 September, 1814 
 
 And is this — Yarrow ? — This the stream 
 
 Of which my fancy cherished 
 
 So faithfully, a waking dream, 
 
 An image that hath perish'd? 
 
 O that some minstrel's harp were near 
 
 To utter notes of gladness 
 
 And chase this silence from the air, 
 
 That fills my heart with sadness! 
 
 Yet why? — a silvery current flows 
 
 With uncontrolled meanderings ; 
 
 Nor have these eyes by greener hills 
 
 Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 
 
 And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake 
 
 Is visibly delighted; 
 
 For not a feature of those hills 
 
 Is in the mirror slighted. 
 
 A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, 
 
 Save where that pearly whiteness 
 
 Is round the rising sun diffused, 
 
 A tender hazy brightness ; 
 
 Mild dawn of promise! that excludes 
 
 All profitless dejection ; 
 
 Though not unwilling here to admit 
 
 A pensive recollection. 
 
 Where was it that the famous Flower 
 
 Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? 
 
 His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 
 
 On which the herd is feeding : 
 
 And haply from this crystal pool. 
 
 Now peaceful as the morning, 
 
 The Water-wraith ascended thricCi 
 
 And gave his doleful warning.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 295 
 
 Delicious is the lay that sings 
 
 The haunts of happy lovers, 
 
 The path that leads them to the grove, 
 
 The leafy grove that covers : 
 
 And pity sanctifies the verse 
 
 That paints, by strength of sorrow, 
 
 The unconquerable strength of love; 
 
 Bear witness, rueful Yarrow! 
 
 But thou that didst appear so fair 
 
 To fond imagination, 
 
 Dost rival in the light of day 
 
 Her delicate creation : 
 
 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 
 
 A softness still and holy : 
 
 The grace of forest charms decayM, 
 
 And pastoral melancholy. 
 
 That region left, the vale unfolds 
 
 Rich groves of lofty stature. 
 
 With Yarrow winding through the pomp 
 
 Of cultivated nature ; 
 
 And rising from those lofty groves 
 
 Behold a ruin hoary, 
 
 The shattered front of Newark's towers, 
 
 Renown'd in Border story. 
 
 Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, 
 
 For sportive youth to stray in, 
 
 For manhood to enjoy his strength, 
 
 And age to wear away in ! 
 
 Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, 
 
 A covert for protection 
 
 Of tender thoughts that nestle there — 
 
 The brood of chaste affection. 
 
 How sweet on this autumnal day 
 
 The wild-wood fruits to gather. 
 
 And on my True-love"s forehead plant 
 
 A crest of blooming heather! 
 
 And what if I enwreathed my own? 
 
 'Twere no offence to reason .
 
 «q6 the golden treasury 
 
 The sober hilis thus deck their brows 
 To meet the wintry season. 
 
 I see — but not by sight alone, 
 
 Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 
 
 A ray of Fancy still survives — 
 
 Her sunshine plays upon thee! 
 
 Thy ever-youthful waters keep 
 
 A course of lively pleasure ; 
 
 And gladsome notes my lips can breathe 
 
 Accordant to the measure. 
 
 The vapours linger round the heights, 
 They melt, and soon must vanish ; 
 One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — 
 Sad thought! which I would banish, 
 But that I know, where'er I go, 
 Thy genuine image, Yarrow! 
 Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, 
 And cheer my mind in sorrow. 
 
 IV. Wordsworth 
 
 CCVII 
 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 Best and brightest, come away, — 
 
 Fairer far than this fair Day, 
 
 Which, like thee, to those in sorrow 
 
 Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow 
 
 To the rough year just awake 
 
 In its cradle on the brake. 
 
 The brightest hour of unborn Spring 
 
 Through the winter w^andering, 
 
 Found, it seems, the halcyon morn 
 
 To hoar February born ; 
 
 Bending from heaven, in azure mirth, 
 
 It kiss'd the forehead of the earth, 
 
 And smiled upon the silent sea. 
 
 And bade the frozen streams be free. 
 
 And waked to music all their fountains, 
 
 An^ breathed upon the frozen mountains,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY »g7 
 
 And like a prophetess of May 
 Strew'd flowers upon the barren way. 
 Making the wintry world appear 
 Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. 
 
 Away, away, from men and towns, 
 To the wild wood and the downs — 
 To the silent wilderness 
 Where the soul need not repress 
 Its music, lest it should not find 
 An echo in another's mind, 
 While the touch of Nature's arf 
 Harmonizes heart to heart. 
 
 Radiant Sister of the Day 
 Awake! arise! and come away! 
 To the wild woods and the plains, 
 To the pools where winter rains 
 Image all their roof of leaves, 
 Where the pine its garland weaves 
 Of sapless green, and ivy dun, 
 Round stems that never kiss the sun; 
 Where the lawns and pastures be 
 And the sandhills of the sea ; 
 Where the melting hoar-frost wets 
 The daisy-star that never sets, 
 And wind-flowers and violets 
 Which yet join not scent to hue 
 Crown the pale year weak and new; 
 When the night is left behind 
 In the deep east, dim and blind, 
 And the blue moon is over us, 
 And the multitudinous 
 Billows murmur at our feet. 
 Where the earth and ocean meet, 
 And all things seem only one 
 In the universal Sun. 
 
 P, B. Shelley
 
 2q8 the golden treasure 
 
 CCCVIII 
 
 THE RECOLLECTION 
 
 Now the last day of many days 
 All beautiful and bright as thou, 
 The loveliest and the last, is dead : 
 Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! 
 Up — to thy wonted work ! come, trace 
 The epitaph of glory fled. 
 For now the earth has changed its face, 
 A frown is on the heaven's brow. 
 
 We wander'd to the Pine Forest 
 
 That skirts the Ocean's foam ; 
 The lightest wind was in its nest. 
 
 The tempest in its home. 
 The whispering waves were half asleep. 
 
 The clouds were gone to play. 
 And on the bosom of the deep 
 
 The smile of heaven lay; 
 It seem'd as if the hour were one 
 
 Sent from beyond the skies 
 Which scattered from above the sun 
 
 A light of Paradise! 
 
 We paused amid the pines that stood 
 
 The giants of the waste, 
 Tortured by storms to shapes as rude 
 
 As serpents interlaced, — 
 And soothed by every azure breath 
 
 That under heaven is blown, 
 To harmonies and hues beneath^ 
 
 As tender as its own : 
 Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 
 
 Like green waves on the sea, 
 As still as in the silent deep 
 
 The ocean-woods may be- 
 How calm it was \ — The silence there 
 
 By such a chain was bound,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 299 
 
 That even the busy woodpecker 
 
 Made stiller with her sound 
 The inviolable quietness ; 
 
 The breath of peace we drew 
 With its soft motion made not less 
 
 The calm that round us grew. 
 There seem'd, from the remotest seat 
 
 Of the white mountain waste 
 To the soft flower beneath our feet, 
 
 A magic circle traced, — 
 A spirit interfused around, 
 
 A thrilling silent life ; 
 To momentary peace it bound 
 
 Our mortal nature's strife ; — 
 And still I felt the centre of 
 
 The magic circle there 
 Was one fair form that fill'd with love 
 
 The lifeless atmosphere. 
 
 We paused beside the pools that lie 
 
 Under the forest bough ; 
 Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky 
 
 Gulf 'd in a world below ; 
 A firmament of purple light 
 
 Which in the dark earth lay, 
 More boundless than the depth of night 
 
 And purer than the day — 
 In which the lovely forests grew 
 
 As in the upper air, 
 More perfect both in shape and hue 
 
 Than any spreading there. 
 There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn 
 
 And through the dark-green wood 
 The white sun twinkling like the dawn 
 
 Out of a speckled cloud. 
 Sweet views which in our world above 
 
 Can never well be seen 
 Were imaged in the water's love 
 
 Of that fair forest green : 
 And all was interfused beneath 
 
 With an Elysian glow,
 
 r^oo THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 An atmosphere without a breath, 
 
 A softer day below. 
 Like one beloved, the scene had lent 
 
 To the dark water's breast 
 Its every leaf and lineament 
 
 With more than truth exprest ; 
 Until an envious wind crept by, 
 
 Like an unwelcome thought 
 Which from the mind's too faithful eye 
 
 Blots one dear image out. 
 — Though thou art ever fair and kind, 
 
 The forests ever green, 
 Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind 
 
 Than calm in waters seen! 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 CCCIX 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 
 
 The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : 
 Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, 
 And doth with his eternal motion make 
 A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 
 
 Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, 
 If thou appear untouched by solemn thought 
 Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 
 
 Thou iiest :n Abraham's bosom all the year, 
 And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
 God being with thee when we know it not. 
 
 \V. Wordsworth 
 
 cccx 
 
 SONG TO THE EVENING STAR 
 
 Star that bringest home the bee, 
 And sett'st the weary labourer free^
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 301 
 
 If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou 
 
 That send'st it trom above, 
 Appearing when Heaven's breath and bro^ 
 
 Are sweet as hers we love. 
 
 Come to the luxuriant skies, 
 Whilst the landscape's odours rise, 
 Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard 
 
 And songs when toil is done, 
 From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd 
 
 Curls yellow in the sun. 
 
 Star of love's soft interviews, 
 Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
 Their remembrancer in Heaven 
 
 Of thrilling vows thou art, 
 Too delicious to be riven 
 
 By absence from the heart. 
 
 T. Campbel 
 
 CCCXI 
 DATUR HORA QUIETI 
 
 The sun upon the lake is low, 
 
 The wild birds hush their song, 
 The hills have evening's deepest glow, 
 
 Yet Leonard tarries long. 
 Now all whom varied toil and care 
 
 From home and love divide, 
 In the calm sunset may repair 
 
 Each to the loved one's side. 
 
 The noble dame, on turret high, 
 
 Who waits her gallant knight. 
 Looks to the western beam to spy 
 
 The flash of armour bright. 
 The village maid, with hand on brow 
 
 The level ray to shade, 
 Upon the footpath watches now 
 
 Foi Colin's darkening plaid.
 
 J02 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Now to their mates the wild swans row, 
 
 By day they swam apart, 
 And to the thicket wanders slow 
 
 The hind beside the hart. 
 The woodlark at his partner's side 
 
 Twitters his closing song — 
 All meet whom day and care divide, 
 
 But Leonard tarries long! 
 
 Sir VV. Scott 
 
 CCCXII 
 
 TO THE MOON 
 
 Art thou pale for weariness 
 Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, 
 
 Wandering companionless 
 Among the stars that have a different birth, — 
 And ever-changing, like a joyless eye 
 That finds no object worth its constancy? 
 
 P, B. Shelley 
 
 CCCXIII 
 
 TO SLEEP 
 
 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 
 One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 
 Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
 Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ; 
 
 I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 
 Sleepless ; and soon the small birds' melodies 
 Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees, 
 And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
 
 Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, 
 And could not win thee. Sleep! by any stealth: 
 So do not let me wear to-night away ; 
 
 Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? 
 Come, blessed barrier between day and day, 
 Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health I 
 
 W. Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 303 
 
 CCCXIV 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM 
 
 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, 
 And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 
 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered. 
 The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 
 
 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw 
 By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, 
 
 At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw ; 
 And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 
 
 Meth ought from the battle-field's dreadful array 
 Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track : 
 
 T^was Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 
 
 I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 
 
 In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; 
 
 I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 
 
 Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 
 
 From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 
 
 My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 
 And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 
 
 'Stay — stay with us! — rest! — thou art weary and 
 worn!' 
 And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — 
 But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn. 
 And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 
 
 T. Ca7npbell 
 
 CCCXV 
 
 A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN 
 
 dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 
 Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, 
 rind gentle odours led my steps astray, 
 Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring
 
 304 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
 
 Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
 Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
 But kiss'd it and then fled, as Thou mightest in drearo 
 
 There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 
 
 Daisies, those pearTd Arcturi of the earth, 
 The constellated flower that never sets ; 
 
 F'aint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth 
 The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets 
 Its mother''s face with heaven-collected tears, 
 When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. 
 
 And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
 
 Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd May, 
 
 And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
 Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day ; 
 
 And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 
 With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; 
 
 And flowers azure, black, and streakM with gold, 
 
 Fcx* 'er than any waken'd eyes behold. 
 
 And nearer to the river's trembling edge 
 
 There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank'd with white 
 And starry river-buds among the sedge, 
 
 And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, 
 Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
 
 With moonhght beams of their own watery light; 
 And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
 As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 
 
 Methought that of these visionary flowers 
 
 I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
 That the same hues, which in their natural bowers 
 
 Were mingled or opposed, the like array 
 Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours 
 
 Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, 
 I hastened to the spot whence I had come 
 That 1 might there present it — O! to Whom? 
 
 P, B. Shelley
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 305 
 
 CCCXVI 
 KUBLA KHAN 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubia Khan 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man 
 
 Down to a sunless sea. 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground 
 With walls and towers were girdled round: 
 And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
 Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; 
 And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
 
 But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
 Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! 
 A savage place! as holy and enchanted 
 As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
 By woman wailing for her demon-lover! 
 And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
 As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 
 A mighty fountain momently was forced : 
 Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 
 Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
 Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : 
 And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
 It flung up momently the sacred river. 
 Five miles meandering with a mazy mol'on 
 Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, 
 Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man. 
 And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : 
 And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
 Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 
 
 The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
 
 Floated midway on the waves ; 
 
 Where was heard the mingled measure 
 
 From the fountain and the caves. 
 It was a miracle of rare device, 
 A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice^
 
 3o6 THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 
 
 A damsel with a dulcimer 
 
 In a vision once I saw : 
 
 It was an Abyssinian maid, 
 
 And on her dulcimer she play'd, 
 
 Singing of Mount Abora. 
 
 Could I revive within me 
 
 Her symphony and song, 
 To such a deep delight 'twould win me 
 That with music loud and long, 
 I would build that dome in air, 
 That sunny dome! those caves of ice! 
 And all who heard should see tiiem there. 
 And all should cry. Beware! Beware! 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair! 
 Weave a circle round him thrice. 
 And close your eyes with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise. 
 
 S. T, Coleridgi 
 
 CCCXVII 
 
 THE INNER VISION 
 
 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 
 To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
 While a fair region round the traveller lies 
 Which he forbears again to look upon ; 
 
 Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene. 
 The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 
 Of meditation, slipping in between 
 The beauty coming and the beauty gone 
 
 — If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 
 Let us break off" all commerce with the Muse: 
 With Thought and Love companions of our way — 
 Whatever the senses take or may refuse, — 
 The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 
 Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 
 
 W. Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 307 
 
 CCCXVIII 
 
 THE REALM OF FANCY 
 
 Ever let the Fancy roam ; 
 
 Pleasure never is at home : 
 
 At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 
 
 Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ; 
 
 Then let winged Fancy wander 
 
 Through the thought still spread beyond her' 
 
 Open wide the mind's cage-door, 
 
 She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. 
 
 O sweet F'ancy ! let her loose ; 
 
 Summer's joys are spoilt by use, 
 
 And the enjoying of the Spring 
 
 Fades as does its blossoming ; 
 
 Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too, 
 
 Blushing through the mist and dew, 
 
 Cloys with tasting: What do then? 
 
 Sit thee by the ingle, when 
 
 The sear faggot blazes bright, 
 
 Spirit of a winter's night ; 
 
 When the soundless earth is muffled, 
 
 And the caked snow is shuffled 
 
 From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; 
 
 When the Night doth meet the Noon 
 
 In a dark conspiracy 
 
 To banish Even from her sky. 
 
 Sit thee there, and send abroad. 
 
 With a mind self-overaw'd. 
 
 Fancy, high-commission'd : — send her! 
 
 She has vassals to attend her : 
 
 She will bring, in spite of frost. 
 
 Beauties that the earth hath lost ; 
 
 She will bring thee, all together, 
 
 All delights of summer weather ; 
 
 All the buds and bells of May, 
 
 From dewy sward or tnorny spray ; 
 
 All the heaped Autumn's wealth, 
 
 With a still, mysterious stealth :
 
 ioS THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 She will mix these pleasures up 
 
 Like three fit wines in a cup, 
 
 And thou shalt quaff it : — thou shalt heat 
 
 Distant harvest-carols clear ; 
 
 Rustle of the reaped corn ; 
 
 Sweet birds antheming the morn : 
 
 And, in the same moment — hark ! 
 
 'Tis the early April lark, 
 
 Or the rooks, with busy caw, 
 
 Foraging for sticks and straw. 
 
 Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 
 
 The daisy and the marigold ; 
 
 White-plumed lilies, and the first 
 
 Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst 
 
 Shaded hyacinth, alway 
 
 Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; 
 
 And every leaf, and every flower 
 
 Pearled with the self-same shower. 
 
 Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 
 
 Meagre from its celled sleep ; 
 
 And the snake all winter-thin 
 
 Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 
 
 Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 
 
 Hatching in the hawthorn-tree. 
 
 When the hen-bird's wing doth rest 
 
 Quiet on her mossy nest; 
 
 Then the hurry and alarm 
 
 When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; 
 
 Acorns ripe down-pattering, 
 
 While the autumn breezes sing. 
 
 Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
 Everything is spoilt by use : 
 Where's the cheek that doth not fade, 
 Too much gazed at ? Where's the maid 
 Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
 Where's the eye, however blue, 
 Doth not weary ? Where's the face 
 One would meet in every place ? 
 Where's the voice, however soft, 
 One wnuld hear so very oft ?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 309 
 
 At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth 
 
 Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 
 
 Let then winged Fancy find 
 
 Thee a mistress to thy mind : 
 
 Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, 
 
 Ere the God of Torment taught her 
 
 How to frown and how to chide ; 
 
 With a waist and with a side 
 
 White as Hebe's, when her zone 
 
 Slipt its golden clasp, and down 
 
 Fell her kirtle to her feet. 
 
 While she held the goblet sweet, 
 
 And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 
 
 Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 
 
 Quickly break her prison-string, 
 
 And such joys as these she'll bring. 
 
 — Let the winged Fancy roam, 
 
 Pleasure never is at home. 
 
 J. Keat. 
 
 CCCXIX , 
 
 WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes 
 
 While in a grove I sate reclined, 
 
 In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
 
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
 To her fair works did Nature link 
 The human soul that through me ran ; 
 And much it grieved my heart to think 
 What Man has made of Man. 
 
 Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bowet 
 The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths ; 
 And 'tis my faith that every flower '^ 
 
 Enjoys the air it breathes. 
 
 The birds around me hopp'd and play'd, 
 Their thoughts I cannot measure, — 
 But the least motion which they made 
 It seem'd a thrill of pleasure.
 
 3IO THE GOLDEN- TREASURY 
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan 
 To catch the breezy air: 
 And I must think, do all 1 can, 
 That there was pleasure there. 
 
 If this belief from heaven be sent, 
 If such be Nature's holy plan, 
 Have I not reason to lament 
 What Man has made of Man ? 
 
 VV. IVordsivorth 
 
 cccxx 
 
 RUTH : OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATURE 
 
 When Ruth was left half desolate 
 Her father took another mate ; 
 And Ruth, not seven years old, 
 A slighted child, at her own will 
 Went wandering over dale and hill, 
 In thoughtless freedom, bold. 
 
 And she had made a pipe of straw. 
 And music from that pipe could draw 
 Like sounds of winds and floods ; 
 Had built a bower upon the green, 
 As if she from her birth had been 
 An infant of the woods. 
 
 Beneath her father's roof, alone 
 
 She seemed to live ; her thoughts her own? 
 
 Herself her own delight : 
 
 Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay ; 
 
 And passing thus the live-long day. 
 
 She grew to woman's height. 
 
 There came a youth from Georgia's shore - 
 
 A military casque he wore 
 
 With splendid feathers drest ; 
 
 He brought them from the Cherokees ; 
 
 The feathers nodded in the breeze 
 
 And made a gallant crest.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 317 
 
 From Indian blood you deem him sprung 
 But no! he spake the Enghsh tongue 
 And bore a soldier's name ; 
 And, when America was free 
 From battle and from jeopardy, 
 He 'cross the ocean came. 
 
 With hues of genius on his cheek. 
 In finest tones the youth could speak: 
 — While he was yet a boy 
 The moon, the glory of the sun, 
 And streams that murmur as they rua 
 Had been his dearest ioy. 
 
 He was a lovely youth ! I guess 
 
 The panther in the wilderness 
 
 Was not so fair as he ; 
 
 And when he chose to sport and play, 
 
 No dolphin ever was so gay 
 
 Upon the tropic sea. 
 
 Among the Indians he had fought; 
 
 And with him many tales he brought 
 
 Of pleasure and of fear ; 
 
 Such tales as, told to any maid 
 
 By such a youth, in the green shade, 
 
 Were perilous to hear. 
 
 He told of girls, a happy rout ! 
 
 Who quit their fold with dance and shout 
 
 Their pleasant Indian town, 
 
 To gather strawberries all day long; 
 
 Returning with a choral song 
 
 When daylight is gone down. 
 
 He spake of plants that hourly change 
 Their blossoms, through a boundless range 
 Of intermingling hues ; 
 With budding, fading, faded flowers, 
 They stand the wonder of the bowers 
 From morn to evening dews.
 
 312 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 He told of the magnolia, spread 
 High as a cloud, high overhead ! 
 The cypress and her spire ; 
 — Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam 
 Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 
 To set the hills on fire. 
 
 The youth of green savannahs spake, 
 And many an endless, endless lake 
 With all its fairy crowds 
 Of islands, that together lie 
 As quietly as spots of sky 
 Among the evening clouds. 
 
 * How pleasant,' then he said, ' it were 
 A fisher or a hunter there, 
 
 In sunshine or in shade 
 To wander with an easy mind, 
 And build a household fire, and find 
 A home in every glade ! 
 
 <What days and what bright years! Ah me 
 
 Our life were life indeed, with thee 
 
 So pass'd in quiet bliss ; 
 
 And all the while,' said he, / to know 
 
 That we were in a world of woe, 
 
 On such an earth as this ! ' 
 
 And then he sometimes interwove 
 Fond thoughts about a father's love, 
 ' For there,' said he, ' are spun 
 Around the heart such tender ties, 
 That our own children to our eyes 
 Are dearer than the sun. 
 
 * Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me 
 My helpmate in the woods to be, 
 
 Our shed at night to rear ; 
 Or run, my own adopted bride, 
 . A sylvan huntress at my side, 
 And drive the flying deer!
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 315 
 
 ' Beloved Ruth ! ' — No more he said. 
 The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed 
 A solitary tear : 
 
 She thought again — and did agree 
 With him to sail across the sea, 
 And drive the flying deer. 
 
 *■ And now, as fitting is and right, 
 We in the church our faith will plight, 
 A husband and a wife.' 
 Even so they did ; and I may say 
 That to sweet Ruth that happy day 
 Was more than human life. 
 
 Through dream and vision did she sink, 
 Delighted all the while to think 
 That, on those lonesome floods 
 And green savannahs, she should share 
 His board with lawful joy, and bear 
 His name in the wild woods. 
 
 But, as you have before been told, 
 This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, 
 And with his dancing crest 
 So beautiful, through savage lands 
 Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 
 Of Indians in the West. 
 
 The wind, the tempest roaring high, 
 
 The tumult of a tropic sky 
 
 Might well be dangerous food 
 
 For him, a youth to whom was given 
 
 So much of earth — so much o^ heaven 
 
 And such impetuous blood. 
 
 Whatever in those climes he found 
 
 Irregular in sight or sound 
 
 Did to his mind impart 
 
 A kindred impulse, seem'd allied 
 
 To his own powers, and justified 
 
 The workings of his heart.
 
 314 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, 
 The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, • 
 Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ; 
 The breezes their own languor lent ; 
 The stars had feelings, which they sent 
 Into those favoured bowers. 
 
 Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween 
 That sometimes there did intervene 
 Pure hopes of high intent : 
 For passions link'd to forms so fair 
 And stately, needs must ha.ve their share 
 Of noble sentiment. 
 
 But ill he lived, much evil saw, 
 With men to whom no better law 
 Nor better life was known ; 
 Deliberately and undeceived 
 Those wild men's vices he received, 
 And gave them back his own. 
 
 His genius and his moral frame 
 Were thus impair'd, and he became 
 The slave of low desires : 
 A man who without self-control 
 Would seek what the degraded soul 
 Unworthily admires. 
 
 And yet he with no feign'd delight 
 Had wooM the maiden, day and night 
 Had loved her, night and morn : 
 What could he less than love a maid 
 Whose heart with so much nature play'd 
 So kind and so forlorn ? 
 
 Sometimes most earnestly he said, 
 * O Ruth ! I have been worse than dead ,• 
 False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 
 Encompassed me on every side 
 When I, in confidence and pride, 
 Had cross'd the Atlantic main.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE {^\ 
 
 * Before me shone a glorious world 
 Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl'd 
 To music suddenly : 
 
 I look'd upon those hills and plains, 
 And seemM as if let loose from chains 
 To live at liberty! 
 
 * No more of this — for now, by thee, 
 Dear Ruth ! more happily set free. 
 With nobler zeal I burn ; 
 
 My soul from darkness is released 
 Like the whole sky when to the east 
 The morning doth return.' 
 
 Full soon that better mind was gone; 
 No hope, no wish remained, not one, — •. 
 They stirr'd him now no more ; 
 New objects did new pleasure give, 
 And once again he wish'd to live 
 As lawless as before. 
 
 Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared 
 They for the voyage were prepared. 
 And went to the sea-shore : 
 But, when they thither came, the youth 
 Peserted his poor bride, and Ruth 
 Could never find him more. 
 
 God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had 
 
 That she in half a year was mad 
 
 And in a prison housed ; 
 
 And there, with many a doleful song 
 
 Made of wild words, her cup of wrong 
 
 She fearfully caroused. 
 
 Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, 
 Nor w^anted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 
 Nor pastimes of the May, 
 — They all were with her in her cell ; 
 And a clear brook with cheerful knell 
 Did o'er the pebbles play.
 
 31 6 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 
 There came a respite to her pain ; 
 She from her prison fled ; 
 But of the Vagrant none took thought ; 
 And where it liked her best she sought 
 Her shelter and her bread. 
 
 Among the fields she breathed again : 
 The master-current of her brain 
 Ran permanent and free ; 
 And, coming to the banks of Tone, 
 There did she rest ; and dwell alone 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 
 • 
 
 The engines of her pain, the tools 
 .That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, 
 And airs that gently stir 
 The vernal leaves — she loved them still, 
 Nor ever tax'd them with the ill 
 Which had been done to her. 
 
 A barn her Winter bed supplies ; 
 
 But, till the warmth of Summer skies 
 
 And Summer days is gone 
 
 (And all do in this tale agree). 
 
 She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, 
 
 And other home hath none. 
 
 • 
 An innocent life, yet far astray! 
 And Ruth will, long before her day, 
 Be broken down and old. 
 Sore aches she needs must have ! but less 
 Of mind, than body's wretchedness. 
 From damp, and rain, and cold. 
 
 If she is prest by want of food 
 
 She from her dwelling in the wood 
 
 Repairs to a road-side ; 
 
 And there she begs at one steep place. 
 
 Where up and down with easy pace 
 
 The horsemen-travellers ride.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 317 
 
 That oaten pipe of hers is mute 
 Or thrown away : but with a flute 
 Her loneHness she cheers ; 
 This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, 
 At evening in his homeward walk 
 The Quantock woodman hears. 
 
 I, too, have passM her on the hills 
 
 Setting her little water-mills 
 
 By spouts and fountains wild — 
 
 Such small machinery as she turn'd 
 
 Ere she had wept, ere she had mournM, — 
 
 A young and happy child! 
 
 Farewell ! and when thy days are told. 
 Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallowM mould 
 Thy corpse shall buried be ; 
 For thee a funeral bell shall ring, 
 And all the congregation sing 
 A Christian psalm for thee. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXXI 
 
 WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLl 
 
 Many a green isle needs wiust be 
 In the deep wide sea of Misery, 
 Or the mariner, worn and wan, 
 Never thus could voyage on 
 Day and night, and night and day, 
 Drifting on his dreary way, 
 With the solid darkness black 
 Closing round his vessel's track ; 
 Whilst above, the sunless sky 
 Big with clouds, hangs heavily. 
 And behind the tempest fleet 
 Hurries on with lightning feet, 
 Riving sail, and cord, and plank, 
 Till the ship has almost drank 
 Death from the o'er-brimming deep ; 
 And sinks down, down, like that sleep
 
 3l8 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 When the dreamer seems to be 
 Weltering through eternity ; 
 And the dim low line before 
 Of a dark and distant shore 
 Still recedes, as ever still 
 Longing with divided will, 
 But no power to seek or shun, 
 He is ever drifted on 
 O'er the unreposing wave. 
 To the haven of the grave. 
 
 Ah, many flowering islands lie 
 In the waters of wide Agony : 
 To such a one this morn was led 
 My bark, by soft winds piloted. 
 — 'Mid the mountains Euganean 
 I stood listening to the paean 
 With which the legion'd rooks did hail 
 The Sun's uprise majestical : 
 Gathering round with wings all hoar, 
 Through the dewy mist they soar 
 Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven 
 Bursts ; and then, — as clouds of even 
 Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie 
 In the unfathomable sky, — 
 ' So their plumes of purple grain 
 
 Starr'd wilh drops of golden rain 
 Gleam above the sunlight woods. 
 As in silent multitudes 
 On the morning's fitful gale 
 Through the broken mist they sail j 
 And the vapours cloven and gleaming 
 Follow down the dark steep streaming 
 Till all is bright, and clear, and still 
 Round the solitary liill. 
 
 Beneath is spread like a green sea 
 The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
 Bounded by the vaporous air, 
 Islanded by cities fair ; 
 Underneath Day's azure eyes, 
 . Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, —
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 319 
 
 A peopled labyrinth of walls, 
 Amphitrite's destined halls, 
 Which her hoary sire now paves 
 With his blue and beaming waves. 
 Lo! the sun upsprings behind, 
 Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined 
 On the level quivering line 
 Of the waters crystalline ; 
 And before that chasm of light. 
 As within a furnace bright, 
 Column, tower, and dome, and spire. 
 Shine like obelisks of fire, 
 Pointing with inconstant motion 
 From the. altar of dark ocean 
 To the sapphire-tinted skies ; 
 As the flames of sacrifice 
 From the marble shrines did rise 
 As to pierce the dome of gold 
 Where Apollo spoke of old. 
 
 Sun-girt City! thou hast been 
 Ocean's child, and then his queen ; 
 Now is come a darker day, 
 And thou soon must be his prey, 
 If the power that raised thee here 
 Hallow so thy watery bier. 
 A less drear ruin then than now. 
 With thy conquest-branded brow 
 Stooping to the slave of slaves 
 From thy throne among the waves 
 Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew 
 Flies, as once before it flew. 
 O'er thine isles depopulate. 
 And all is in its ancient state, 
 Save where many a palace-gate 
 With green sea-flowers overgrown 
 Like a rock of ocean's own. 
 Topples o'er the abandon'd sea 
 As the tides change sullenly. 
 The fisher on his watery way 
 Wandering at the close of day,
 
 J20 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Will spread his sail and seize his oar 
 
 Till he pass the gloomy shore, 
 
 Lest thy dead should, from their sleep, 
 
 Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 
 
 Lead a rapid masque of death 
 
 O'er the waters of his path. 
 
 Noon descends around me now : 
 'Tis the noon of autumn's glow, 
 When a soft and purple mist 
 Like a vaporous amethyst, 
 Or an air-dissolved star 
 Mingling light and fragrance, far 
 From the curved horizon's bound 
 To the point of heaven's profound. 
 Fills the overflowing sky ; 
 And the plains that silent lie 
 Underneath ; the leaves unsodden 
 Where the infant Frost has trodden 
 With his morning-winged feet 
 Whose bright print is gleaming yet ; 
 And the red and golden vines 
 Piercing with their trellised lines 
 The rough, dark-skirted wilderness ; 
 The dun and bladed grass no less, 
 Pointing from this hoary tower 
 In the windless air; the flower 
 Glimmering at my feet ; the line 
 Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine 
 In the south dimly islanded ; 
 And the Alps, whose snows are spread 
 High between the clouds and sun ; 
 And of living things each one ; 
 And my spirit, which so long 
 Darken'd this swift stream of song, — 
 Interpenetrated lie 
 By the glory of the sky ; 
 Be it love, light, harmony, 
 Odour, or the soul of all 
 Which from heaven like dew doth fall, 
 Or the mind which feeds this verse, 
 Peoolinof the lone universe.
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 32 F 
 
 Noon descends, and after noon 
 Autumn's evening meets me soon, 
 Leading the infantine moon 
 And that one star, which to her 
 Almost seems to minister 
 Half the crimson light she brings 
 From the sunset's radiant springs : 
 And the soft dreams of the morn 
 (Which like winged winds had borne 
 To that silent isle, which lies 
 'Mid remember'd agonies, 
 The frail bark of this lone being), 
 Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, 
 And its ancient pilot. Pain, 
 Sits beside the helm again. 
 
 Other flowering isles must be 
 In the sea of Life and Agony : 
 Other spirits float and flee 
 O'er that gulf: ev'n now, perhaps, 
 On some rock the wild wave wraps. 
 With folded wings they waiting sit 
 For my bark, to pilot it 
 To some calm and blooming cove ; 
 Where for me, and those I love, 
 May a windless bower be built, 
 Far from passion, pain, and guilt, 
 In a dell 'mid lawny hills 
 Which the wild sea-murmur fills, 
 And soft sunshine, and the sound 
 Of old forests echoing round. 
 And the light and smell divine 
 Of all flowers that breathe and shine, 
 — We may live so happy there, 
 That the Spirits of the Air, 
 Envying us, may ev'n entice 
 To our healing paradise 
 The polluting multitude : 
 But their rage would be subdued 
 By that clime divine and calm. 
 And the winds whose wings rain balm
 
 322 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 On the uplifted soul, and leaves 
 Under which the bright sea heaves; 
 While each breathless interval 
 In their whisperings musical 
 The inspired soul supplies 
 With its own deep melodies ; 
 And the Love which heals all strife 
 Circling, like the breath of life, 
 All things in that sweet abode 
 With its own mild brotherhood : — 
 They, not it, would change ; and soon 
 Every sprite beneath the moon 
 Would repent its envy vain. 
 And the Earth grow young again. 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 CCCXXII 
 ODE TO THE WEST WIND 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being. 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
 Destroyer and Preserver ; Hear, oh hear ! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, 
 Angels of rain and lightning! there are spread 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
 Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge 
 Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 
 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 323 
 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
 
 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 
 Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : Oh hear! 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
 Luird by the coil of his crystalline streams, 
 Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day. 
 All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou 
 For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear 
 And tremble and despoil themselves : Oh hear! 
 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
 The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
 Than Thou, O uncontrollable! If even 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 
 As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
 Scarce seem'd a vision, — I would ne'er have striven 
 As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
 Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
 I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed I 
 A heavy weight of hours has chained and bow'd 
 One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and proud. 
 
 Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is : 
 What if my leaves are falling like its own! 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, 
 My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!
 
 324 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, 
 Like withered leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
 And, by the incantation of this verse. 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! 
 Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth 
 The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, 
 If Winter coities, can Spring be far behind? 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 CCCXXIII 
 NATURE AND THE POET 
 
 Suggested by a Picture of Peek Castle m a Storm, painted 
 by Sir George Beaumont 
 
 I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! 
 Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
 I saw thee every day ; and all the while 
 Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 
 
 So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! 
 So like, so very like, was day to day! 
 Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there ; 
 It trembled, but it never passed away. 
 
 How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep, 
 No mood, which season takes away, or brings : 
 I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 
 Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. 
 
 Ah ! then — if mine had been the painter's hand 
 To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, 
 The light that never was on sea or land. 
 The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — 
 
 I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile, 
 Amid a world how different from this ! 
 Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; 
 On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 
 
 Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house divine 
 Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; — 
 Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine 
 "''He very sweetest had to thef" been given-
 
 ■2 HE GOLDEN TREASURY 325 
 
 A picture had it been of lasting ease, 
 Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; 
 No motion but the moving tide ; a breeze ; 
 Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. 
 
 Such, in the fond illusion of my heart. 
 
 Such picture would I at that time have made; 
 
 And seen the soul of truth in every part, 
 
 A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. 
 
 So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; 
 I have submitted to a new control : 
 A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; 
 A deep distress hath humanized my soul. 
 
 Not for a moment could I now behold 
 A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 
 The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 
 This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 
 
 Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the friend 
 If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore. 
 This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; 
 This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 
 
 'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well, 
 Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 
 
 That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, 
 This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! 
 
 And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 
 
 1 love to see the look with which it braves, 
 
 — Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — 
 The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 
 
 — Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone. 
 Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! 
 Such happiness, wherever it be known. 
 
 Is to be pitied ; for 'tis surely blind. 
 
 But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer. 
 And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 
 Such sights, or worse, as are before me here : — 
 Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 
 
 VV. IVordsworth
 
 326 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 CCCXXIV 
 
 THE POET'S DREAM 
 
 On a Poet's lips I slept 
 
 Dreaming like a love-adept 
 
 In the sound his breathing kept; 
 
 Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, 
 
 But feeds on the aerial kisses 
 
 Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses. 
 
 He will watch from dawn to gloom 
 
 The lake-reflected sun illume 
 
 The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, 
 
 Nor heed nor see what things they be — 
 But from these create he can 
 Forms more real than living Man, 
 
 Nurslings of Immortality ! 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 
 CCCXXV 
 
 GLEN-ALMAIN, THE NARROW GLEN 
 
 In this still place, remote from men, 
 
 Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen ; 
 
 In this still place, where murmurs on 
 
 But one meek streamlet, only one : 
 
 He sang of battles, and the breath 
 
 Of stormy war, and violent death ; 
 
 And should, methinks, when all was past;, 
 
 Have rightfully been laid at last 
 
 Where rocks were rudely heap'd, and rent 
 
 As by a spirit turbulent ; 
 
 Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, 
 
 And everything unreconciled ; 
 
 In some complaining, dim retreat. 
 
 For fear and melancholy meet ; 
 
 But this is calm ; there cannot be 
 
 A more entire tranquillity. 
 
 Does then the Bard sleep here indeed ? 
 Or is it but a groundless creed ?
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 327 
 
 What matters it ? — I blame them not 
 
 Whose fancy in this lonely spot 
 
 Was moved ; and in such way express'd 
 
 Their notion of its perfect rest. 
 
 A convent, even a hermit's cell, 
 
 Would break the silence of this Dell : 
 
 It is not quiet, is not ease ; 
 
 But something deeper far than these : 
 
 The separation that is here 
 
 Is of the grave ; and of austere 
 
 Yet happy feelings of the dead : 
 
 And, therefore, was it rightly said 
 
 That Ossian, last of all his race ! 
 
 Lies buried in this lonely place. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 CCCXXVI 
 
 The World is too much with us ; late and soon. 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; 
 Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
 We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
 
 This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon. 
 The winds that will be howling at all hours 
 And are up-gatherM now like sleeping flowers, 
 For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
 
 It moves us not. — Great God! Pd rather be 
 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 
 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea. 
 
 Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
 Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
 Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 CCCXXVII 
 
 WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense. 
 With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plannM 
 (Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
 Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense
 
 328 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And glorious work of fine intelligence i 
 
 — Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 
 
 Of nicely-calculated less or more : — 
 
 So deemed the man who fashion'd for the sense 
 
 These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 
 Self-poised, and scoopM into ten thousand cells 
 Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
 
 Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; 
 Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
 That they were born for immortality. 
 
 W, Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXXVIII 
 ODE ON A GRECIAN URN 
 
 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, 
 Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
 
 Sylvan historian, who canst thus express 
 
 A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : 
 
 What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 
 Of deities or mortals, or of both, 
 In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? 
 
 What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? 
 
 What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape 
 
 What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? 
 
 Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
 
 Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on ; 
 Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeard, 
 
 Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone : 
 Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 
 
 Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; 
 Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss. 
 Though winning near the goal — yet, do not grieve j 
 
 She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss. 
 For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 
 
 Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed 
 Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; 
 
 And, happy melodist, unwearied, 
 For ever piping songs for ever new ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 329 
 
 More happy love! more happy, happy love! 
 For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, 
 For ever panting, and for ever young ; 
 All breathing human passion far above, 
 
 That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd. 
 A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 
 
 Who are these coming to the sacrifice? 
 
 To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
 Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies. 
 
 And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? 
 What little town by river or sea shore. 
 
 Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
 Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? 
 And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
 
 Will silent be ; and not a soul to tell 
 Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. 
 
 O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 
 
 Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 
 With forest branches and the trodden weed ; 
 
 Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 
 As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! 
 When old age shall this generation waste. 
 Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 
 Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 
 ' Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' — that is all 
 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. 
 
 J. Keat 
 CCCXXIX 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE 
 
 Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, 
 Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — 
 Both were mine ! Life went a-maying 
 With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
 When I was young! 
 When I was young ? — Ah, woful when! 
 Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then! 
 This breathing house not built with hands, 
 This body that does me grievous wrong, 
 O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands
 
 330 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 How lightly then it flash'd along: 
 
 Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
 
 On winding lakes and rivers wide, 
 
 That ask no aid of sail or oar, 
 
 That fear no spite of wind or tide! 
 
 Nought cared this body for wind or weather 
 
 When Youth and I lived in't together. 
 
 Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; 
 Friendship is a sheltering tree ; 
 O! the joys, that came down shower-like, 
 Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 
 
 Ere I was old! 
 Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere, 
 Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! 
 
 Youth ! for years so many and sweet, 
 'Tis known that Thou and I were one, 
 I'll think it but a fond conceit — 
 
 It cannot be, that Thou art gone! 
 Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd : — • 
 And tliou wert aye a masker bold ! 
 What strange disguise hast now put on 
 To make believe that Thou art gone? 
 
 1 see these locks in silvery slips. 
 This drooping gait, this alter'd size : 
 But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, 
 And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! 
 Life is but Thought : so think I will 
 That Youth and I are house-mates still. 
 
 Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 
 But the tears of mournful eve ! 
 Where no hope is, life's a warning 
 That only serves to make us grieve 
 
 When we are old : 
 — That only serves to make us grieve 
 With oft and tedious taking-leave, 
 Like some poor nigh-related guest 
 That may not rudely be dismist, 
 Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while, 
 And tells the jest without the smile. 
 
 S, T. Coleridge
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 33 j 
 
 CCCXXX 
 
 THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS 
 
 We walkM along, while bright and red 
 
 Uprose the morning sun ; 
 
 And Matthew stoppM, he looked, and said 
 
 * The will of God be done ! ' 
 
 A village schoolmaster was he, 
 With hair of glittering gray ; 
 As bJithe a man as you could see 
 On a spring holiday. 
 
 And on that morning, through the grass 
 And by the steaming rills 
 We travell'd merrily, to pass 
 A day among the hills. 
 
 * Our work,' said I, ' was well begun ; 
 Then, from thy breast what thought, 
 Beneath so beautiful a sun, 
 
 So sad a sigh has brought.'' ' 
 
 A second time did Matthew stop ; 
 And fixing still his eye 
 Upon the eastern mountain-top, 
 To me he made reply : 
 
 * Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 
 Brings fresh into my mind 
 
 A day like this, which I have left 
 Full thirty years behind. 
 
 ' And just above yon slope of corn 
 Such colours, and no other, 
 Were in the sky that April morn, 
 Of this the very brother. 
 
 ' With rod and line I sued the sport 
 Which that sweet season gave, 
 And to the church-yard come, stopped short 
 Beside my daughter's grave.
 
 532 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ' Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 
 The pride of all the vale ; 
 And then she sang, — she would have beer 
 A very nightingale. 
 
 * Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; 
 And yet I loved her more — 
 
 For so it seem'd, — than till that day 
 I e'er had loved before. 
 
 ' And turning from her grave, I met, 
 Beside the churchyard yew, 
 A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet 
 With points of morning dew. 
 
 * A basket on her head she bare ; 
 Her brow was smooth and white: 
 To see a child so very fair, 
 
 It was a pure delight! 
 
 ' No fountain from its rocky cave 
 E'er tripp'd with foot so free; 
 She seem'd as happy as a wave 
 That dances on the sea. 
 
 ' There came from me a sigh of pain 
 Which I could ill confine ; 
 I look'd at her, and look'd again : 
 And did not wish her mine!' 
 
 — Matthew is in his grave, yet now 
 Methinks I see him stand 
 As at that moment, with a bough 
 Of wilding in his hand. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXXXI 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 A Cofiversation 
 
 We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 
 Affectionate and true, 
 A pair of friends, though I was young, 
 And Matthew seventv-two-
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY .333 
 
 We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
 Beside a mossy seat ; 
 And from the turf a fountain broke 
 And gurgled at our feet. 
 
 <Now, Matthew! ' said I, Met us match 
 This water's pleasant tune 
 With some old border-song, or catch 
 That suits a summer's noon ; 
 
 ' Or of the church-clock and the chimes 
 Sing here beneath the shade 
 That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
 Which you last April made ! ' 
 
 In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
 The spring beneath the tree ; 
 And thus the dear old man replied, 
 The gray-hair'd man of glee : 
 
 'No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, 
 How merrily it goes! 
 'Twill murmur on a thousand years 
 And flow as now it flows. 
 
 * And here, on this delightful day, 
 I cannot choose but think 
 
 How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
 Beside this fountain's brink. 
 
 * My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
 My heart is idly stirr'd, 
 
 For the same sound is in my ears 
 Which in those days I heard. 
 
 ' Thus fares it still in our decay : 
 And yet the wiser mind 
 Mourns less for what Age takes away, 
 Than what it leaves behind. 
 
 * The blackbird amid leafy trees, 
 The lark above the hill. 
 
 Let loose their carols when they please 
 Are quiet when they will.
 
 334 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 *With Nature never do they wage 
 A foolish strife ; they see 
 A happy youth, and their old age 
 Is beautiful and free : 
 
 ^ But we are pressed by heavy laws ; 
 And often, sjlad no more, 
 We wear a face of joy, because 
 We have been glad of yore. 
 
 ' If there be one who need bemoan 
 His kindred laid in earth, 
 The household hearts that were his own,- 
 It is the man of mirth. 
 
 * My days, my friend, are almost gone, 
 My life has been approved, 
 
 And many love me ; but by none 
 Am I enough beloved.' 
 
 'Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
 The man who thus complains! 
 I live and sing my idle songs 
 Upon these happy plains : 
 
 'And Matthew, for thy children dead 
 
 I'll be a son to thee!' 
 
 At this he grasp'd my hand and said, 
 
 * Alas ! that cannot be.' 
 
 — We rose up from the fountain-side; 
 And down the smooth descent 
 Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; 
 And through the wood we went ; 
 
 And ere we came to Leonard's rock 
 He sang those witty rhymes 
 About the crazy old church-clock, 
 And the bewilder'd chimes. 
 
 W. Wordsworth
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 335 
 
 CCCXXXII 
 THE RIVER OF LIFE 
 
 The more we live, more brief appear 
 
 Our life's succeeding stages : 
 A day to childhood seems a year, 
 
 And years like passing ages. 
 
 The gladsome current of our youth, 
 
 Ere passion yet disorders, 
 Steals lingering like a river smooth 
 
 Along its grassy borders. 
 
 But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, 
 
 And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 
 Ye Stars, that measure life to man, 
 
 Why seem your courses quicker? 
 
 When joys have lost their bloom and breath 
 
 And life itself is vapid. 
 Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, 
 
 Feel we its tide more rapid? 
 
 It may be strange — yet who would change 
 
 Time's course to slower speeding, 
 When one by one our friends have gone 
 
 And left our bosoms bleeding? 
 
 Heaven gives our years of fading strength 
 
 Indemnifying fleetness ; 
 And those of youth, a seeming length, 
 
 Proportion'd to their sweetness. 
 
 T, Campbell 
 
 CCCXXXIII 
 
 THE HUMAN SEASONS 
 
 Four Seasons fill the measure of the year: 
 There are four seasons in the mind of man 
 He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear 
 Takes in all beauty with an easy span :
 
 336 THE GOLDEN TREASURy 
 
 He has his Summer, when luxuriously 
 Springes honey'd cud of youthful thought he loveh 
 To ruminate, and by such dreaming high 
 Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves 
 
 His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 
 He furleth close ; contented so to look 
 On mists in idleness — to let fair things 
 Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. 
 
 He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, 
 Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 
 
 /. Keat& 
 
 CCCXXXIV 
 A DIRGE 
 
 Rough wind, that moanest loud 
 
 Grief too sad for song ; 
 Wild wind, when sullen cloud 
 
 Knells all the night long ; 
 Sad storm whose tears are vain, 
 Bare woods whose branches stain, 
 Deep caves and dreary main, — 
 
 Wail for the world's wrong! 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 
 CCCXXXV 
 
 THRENOS 
 
 O World! O Life! O Time!. 
 On whose last steps I climb. 
 
 Trembling at that where I had stood before; 
 When will return the glory of your prime.? 
 No more — Oh, never more! 
 
 Out of the day and night 
 A joy has taken flight : 
 
 Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
 Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
 No more — Oh, never more ! 
 
 P. B. Shelley
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 33? 
 
 CCCXXXVI 
 
 THE TROSACHS 
 
 There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, 
 But were an apt confessional for One 
 Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 
 That Life is but a tale of morning grass 
 
 Wither^ at eve. From scenes of art which chase 
 That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
 Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, 
 Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 
 
 Untouched, unbreathed upon: — Thrice happy quest, 
 If from a golden perch of aspen spray 
 (October's workmanship to rival May), 
 
 The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 
 That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay. 
 Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXXXVII 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 A rainbow in the sky : 
 So was it when my life began, 
 So is it now I am a man, 
 So be it when I shall grow old 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The Child is father of the Man : 
 And I could wish my days to be 
 Bound each to each by natural piety. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXXXVIII 
 
 DDE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY 
 
 FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY 
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
 The earth, and every common sight 
 To me did seem
 
 338 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Appareird in celestial light, 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
 It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — 
 
 Turn wheresoe"'er I may, 
 By night or day, 
 The things which I have seen I now can see no more 
 
 The rainbow comes and goes, 
 
 And lovely is the rose ; 
 
 The moon doth with delight 
 Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
 
 Waters on a starry night 
 
 Are beautiful and fair ; 
 The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
 But yet I know, where'er I go, 
 That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 
 
 Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
 And while the young lambs bound 
 As to the tabor's sound, 
 i'o me alone there came a thought of grief: 
 A timely utterance gave that thought relief. 
 
 And I again am strong. 
 The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; — 
 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong : 
 \ hear the echoes through the mountains throng. 
 The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
 And all the earth is gay ; 
 Land and sea 
 Give themselves up to jollity, 
 
 And with the heart of May 
 Doth every beast keep holiday; — 
 Thou child of joy 
 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
 Shepherd-boy! 
 
 Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 
 
 Ye to each other make ; I see 
 The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
 
 My heart is at your festival. 
 My head hath its coronal, 
 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 33^ 
 
 Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
 While Earth herself is adorning 
 
 This sweet May-morning, 
 And the children are culling 
 
 On every side 
 In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
 Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warnr 
 And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 
 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 
 — But there's a tree, of many, one, 
 A single field which I have look'd upon, 
 Both of them speak of something that is gone: 
 The pansy at my feet 
 Doth the same tale repeat : 
 Whither is fled the visionary gleam? 
 Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 
 
 Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; 
 The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting 
 
 And Cometh from afar ; 
 Not in entire forgetful ness. 
 And not in utter nakedness, 
 But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
 
 From God, who is our home : 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
 Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
 
 Upon the growing Boy, 
 But he beholds the light, and whence it flows. 
 
 He sees it in his joy ; 
 The Youth, who daily farther from the east 
 Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 
 And by the vision splendid 
 Is on his way attended ; 
 At length the Man perceives it die away, 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
 Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
 And, even with something of a mother's mind 
 And no unworthy aim,
 
 340 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The homely nurse doth all she can 
 To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, 
 
 Forget the glories he hath known. 
 And that imperial palace whence he came. 
 
 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
 A six years' darling of a pigmy size! 
 See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
 Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
 With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
 See, at his feet, some little pi n or chart. 
 Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
 Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; 
 
 A wedding or a festival, 
 
 A mourning or a funeral ; 
 
 And this hath now his heart, 
 
 And unto this he frames his song : 
 Then will he fit his tongue 
 To dialogues of business, love, or strife; 
 
 But it will not be long 
 
 Ere this be thrown aside. 
 
 And with new joy and pride 
 The little actor cons another part ; 
 Filling from time to time his ' humorous stage 
 With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
 That life brings with her in her equipage ; 
 
 As if his whole vocation 
 
 Were endless imitation. 
 
 Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 
 
 Thy soul's immensity ; 
 Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
 Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, 
 That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
 Haunted for ever I)y the eternal Mind, — 
 
 Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! 
 
 On whom those truths do rest 
 Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
 In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave j 
 Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
 Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave,
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 34I 
 
 A Presence which is not to be put by ; 
 Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
 Of heaven-born freedom on thy being^s height, 
 Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
 Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 
 Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, 
 And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
 Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 
 
 O joy! that in our embers 
 Is something that doth live, 
 That Nature yet remembers 
 What was so fugitive ! 
 The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
 Perpetual benediction : not indeed 
 For that which is most worthy to be blest. 
 Delight and liberty, the sim.ple creed 
 Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest. 
 With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : — 
 — Not for these I raise 
 The song of thanks and praise ; 
 But for those obstinate questionings 
 Of sense and outward things. 
 Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
 Blank misgivings of a creature 
 Moving about in worlds not realized, 
 High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
 Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised : 
 But for those first affections. 
 Those shadowy recollections, 
 
 Which, be they what they may. 
 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, 
 Are yet a master-light of all our seeing ; 
 
 Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
 Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
 Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake, 
 
 To perish never ; 
 Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 
 
 Nor man nor boy 
 Nor all that is at enmity with joy.
 
 342 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURE 
 
 Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 
 
 Hence, in a season of calm weather 
 Though inland far we be, 
 Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 
 Which brought us hither ; 
 Can in a moment travel thither^ 
 And see the children sport upon the shore, 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 
 
 Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! 
 And let the young lambs bound 
 As to the tabor's sound ! 
 We, in thought, will join your throng. 
 Ye that pipe and ye that pla}'. 
 Ye that through your hearts to-day 
 Feel the gladness of the May ! 
 
 What though the radiance which was once so brigh 
 
 Be now for ever taken from my sight. 
 
 Though nothing can bring back the hour 
 
 Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; 
 We will grieve not, rather find 
 Strength in what remains behind ; 
 In the primal sympathy 
 Which having been must ever be; 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring 
 Out of human suffering ; 
 In the faith that looks through death, 
 
 In years that bring the philosophic mind. 
 
 And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
 
 Forbode not any severing of our loves ! 
 
 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
 
 I only have relinquished one delight 
 
 To live beneath your more habitual sway : 
 
 I love the brooks which down their channels fret 
 
 Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they ; 
 
 The innocent brightness of a new-born day 
 
 Is lovely yet ; 
 The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
 Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
 That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ;
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 343 
 
 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
 Thanks to the human heart by which we Uve, 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 
 To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXXXIX 
 
 Music, when soft voices die, 
 Vibrates in the memory — 
 Odours, when sweet violets sicken, 
 Live within the sense they quicken. 
 
 Rose leaves, when the rose is dead. 
 Are heap'd for the beloved's bed ; 
 And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, 
 Love itself shall slumber on. 
 
 P. B. Shelley
 
 NOTES 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 AND 
 
 mDEX OF FIRST LINES
 
 NOTES 
 
 (1861-1891) 
 
 Summary of Book First 
 
 The Elizabethan Poetry, as it is rather vaguely termed, forms the 
 b,tOstance of this Book, which contains pieces from Wyat under 
 H'inry VIII to Shakespeare midway through the reign of James I, 
 and Drummond who carried on the early manner to a still later 
 period. There is here a wide range of style, — from simplicity ex- 
 pressed in a language hardly yet broken-in to verse, — through the 
 pastoral fancies and Italian conceits of the strictly Elizabethan time, 
 --to the passionate reality of Shakespeare : yet a general uniformity 
 of tone prevails. Few readers can fail to observe the natural sweet- 
 ness of the verse, the single-hearted straightforwardness of the 
 thoughts, — nor less, the limitation of subject to the many phases 
 of one passion, which then characterized our lyrical poetry, — unless 
 when, as in especial with Shakespeare, the ' purple light of Love ' 
 is tempered by a spirit of sterner reflection. For the didactic verse 
 of the century, although lyrical in form, yet very rarely rises to the 
 pervading emotion, the golden cadence, proper to the lyric. 
 
 It should be observed that this and the following Summaries apply 
 in the main to the Collection here presented, in which (besides its 
 restriction to Lyrical Poetry) a strictly representative or historical 
 Anthology has not been aimed at. Great excellence, in human art 
 as in human character, has from the beginning of things been even 
 more uniform than mediocrity, by virtue of the closeness of its 
 approach to Nature: — and so far as the standard of Excellence 
 kept in view has been attained in this volume, a comparative 
 absence of extreme or temporary phases in style, a similarity of 
 tone and manner, will be found throughout; — something neither 
 modem nor ancient, but true and speaking to the heart of man alike 
 throughout all ages. 
 
 Page 2, no. 3. whist : hushed, quieted. 
 
 Page 2, no. 4. Rouse Memnon's mother : Awaken the Dawn from 
 the dark Earth and the clouds where she is resting. This is one of 
 that limited class of early myths which may be reasonably inter- 
 preted as representations of natural phenomena. Aurora in the old 
 mythology is mother of Memnon (the East), and wife of 1 ithonus 
 (the appearances of Earth and Sky during the last hours o\ Night). 
 
 347
 
 348 
 
 NOTES 
 
 She leaves him every morning in renewed youth, to prepare t&e wa; 
 for Phoebus (the Sun), whilst Tithonus remains in perpetual old age 
 and grayness. 
 
 Page 3, I. 8. by Peneus* streams: Phoebus loved the Nymph 
 Daphne whom he met by the river Peneus in tlie vale of Tempe. 
 Amphion's lyre : He was said to have built the walls of Thebes to 
 the sound of his music. Night like a drunkard reels : Compare 
 'Romeo and Juliet,' Act II, Scene 3: 'The grey-eyed morn smiles,' 
 etc. — It should be added that three lines, which appeared hope- 
 lessly misprinted, have been omitted in this Poem. 
 
 Page 4, no. 6. Time's chest: in which he is figuratively sup- 
 posed to lay up past treasures. So in 'Troilus,' Act III, Scene 3, 
 ' Time hath a wallet at his back,' etc. In the * Arcadia, V>4^rf is used 
 to signify tomb. 
 
 Page 4, no. 7. A fine example of the high-wrought and con- 
 ventional Elizabethan Pastoralism, which it would be unreason- 
 able to criticise on the ground of the unshepherdlike or unreal 
 character of some images suggested. Stanza 6 was perhaps inserted 
 by Izaak Walton. 
 
 Page 5, no. 8. This beautiful lyric is one of several recovered 
 from the very rare Elizabethan Song-books, for the publication of 
 which our thanks are due to Mr. A. H. Bullen (1887, 1888). 
 
 Page 8, no. 12. One stanza has been here omitted, in ac' 
 cordance with the principle noticed in the Preface. Similar omis- 
 sions occur in a few other poems. The more serious abbreviation 
 by which it has been attempted to bring Crashaw's ' Wishes ' and 
 Shelley's ' Euganean Hills,' with one or two more, within the scheme 
 of this selection, is commended with much diffidence to the judg- 
 ment of readers acquainted with the original pieces. 
 
 Page 8, no. 13. Sidney's poetry is singularly unequal; his short 
 life, his frequent absorption in public employment, hindered doubt- 
 less the development of his genius. His great contemporary 
 fame, second only, it appears, to Spenser's, has been hence ob- 
 scured. At times he is heavy and even prosaic; his simplicity is 
 rude and bare; his verse unmelodious. These, however, are the 
 
 • defects of his merits.* In a certain depth and chivalry of feeling, — 
 in the rare and noble quality of disinterestedness (to put it in one 
 word), — he has no superior, hardly perhaps an equal, amongst our 
 Poets ; and after or beside Shakespeare's Sonnets, his ' Astrophel and 
 Stella,* in the Editor's judgment, offers the most intense and power- 
 ful picture of the passion of love in the whole range of our poetry. — 
 Hundreds 0/ years : 'The very rapture of love,' says Mr. Ruskin; 
 
 * A lover like this does not believe his mistress can grow old or die.' 
 
 Page 11, no. 19. Readers who have visited Italy will be reminded 
 of more than one picture by this gorgeous Vision of Beauty, equally 
 sublime and pure in its Paradisaical naturalness. Lodge wrote it 
 on a voyage to ' the Islands of Terceras and the Canaries; ' and he 
 seems to have caught, in those southern seas, no small portion of the 
 qualities which marked the almost contemporary Art of Venice, ^ 
 the glory and the glow of Veronese, Titian, or Tintoret, — From the
 
 NOTES 349 
 
 same romance is No. 71 : a charming picture in the purest style of 
 the later Italian Renaissance. 
 
 The clear is the crystalline or outermost heaven of the old cos- 
 mography. For a fair there's fairer none : If you desire a Beauty, 
 there is none more beautiful than Rosaline. 
 
 Page 14, no. 22. Another gracious lyric from an Elizabethan 
 Song book, first reprinted (it is believed) in Mr. W. J. Linton's 
 ' Rare Poems,' in 1883. 
 
 Page 14, no. 23. that fair thou owest : that beauty thou ownest. 
 
 Page 15, no. 25. From one of the three Song-books of 'I", Cam- 
 pion, who appears to have been author of the words which he set to 
 music. His merit as a lyrical poet (recognized in his own'time. but 
 since then forgotten) has been again brought to light by Mr. PmlKn's 
 taste and research : swerving (st. 2) is his conjecture for changing 
 in the text of 1601. 
 
 Page 19, no. 31. the star Whose worth's unknown although his 
 height be taken : apparently, Whose stellar influence is uncalculated.. 
 although his angular altitude from the plane of the astrolabe or arti- 
 ficial horizon used by astrologers has been determined. 
 
 Page 20, no. 32. This lovely song appears, as here given, in 
 Puttenham's 'Arte of English Poesie,' 1589. A longer and inferior 
 form was published in the 'Arcadia' of 1590; but Puttenham's pref- 
 atory words clearly assign his version to Sidney's own authorship. 
 
 Page 22, no. ■^'j. keel : keep cooler by stirring round. 
 
 Page 23, no. 39. expense : loss. 
 
 Page 24, no. 40. prease : press. 
 
 Page 24, no. 41. Nativity, once in the main of light : when a 
 star has risen and entered on the full stream of Hght: — another of 
 the astrological phrases no longer familiar. Crooked eclipses: as 
 coming athwart the Sun's apparent course. 
 
 Wordsworth, thinking probably of the ' Venus ' and the ' Lucrece,* 
 said finely of Shakespeare : ' Shakespeare could not have written an 
 Epic; he would have died of plethora of thought.* This prodigality 
 of nature is exemplified equally in his Sonnets. The copious selec- 
 tion here given (which from the wealth of the material, re quired 
 greater consideration than any other portion of the Editor's task) 
 contains many that will not be fully felt and understood without 
 some earnestness of thought on the reader's part. But he is not 
 likely to regret the labour. 
 
 Page 25, no. 42. upon misprision growing: either, granted in 
 error, or, on the growth of contempt. 
 
 Page 25, no. 43. With the tone of this Sonnet compare Hamlet's 
 * Give me that man That is not passion's slave,' etc. Shakespeare's 
 writings show the deepest sensitiveness to passion : — hence the 
 attraction he felt in the contrasting effects of apathy. 
 
 Page 26, no. 44. grame : sorrow. Renaissance influences long 
 impeded the return of English poets to the charming realism of this 
 and a few other poems by Wyat. 
 
 Page 27, no. 45. Pandion in the ancient fable was faJher to 
 Philomela,
 
 350 NOTES 
 
 Page 28, no. 47. In the old legend it is now Philomela, now 
 Procne (the swallow), who suffers violence from Tereus. This song 
 has a fascination in its calm intensity of passion ; that ' sad earnest- 
 ness and vivid exactness ' which Cardinal Newman ascribes to the 
 masterpieces of ancient poetry. 
 
 Page 30, no. 50. proved: approved. 
 
 Page 31, no. 51. censures : ]ndgG^%. 
 
 Page 31, no. 52. Exquisite in its equably balanced metrical flow. 
 
 Page 32, no. 53. Judging by its style, this beautiful example of 
 old simplicity and feeling may, perhaps, be referred to the earliei 
 years of Elizabeth. Late forget: lately. 
 
 Page 34, no. 57. Printed in a little Anthology by Nicholas Breton, 
 1597. It is, however, a stronger and finer piece of work than any 
 known to be his. — St. i. silly : simple; dole: grief; chief: chiefly, 
 St. 3. If there be ... : obscure : Perhaps, if there be any who speak 
 harshly of thee, thy pain may plead for pity from Fate. 
 
 This poem, with 60 and 143, are each graceful variations of a long- 
 popular theme. 
 
 Page 36, no. 58. That busy archer: Cupid. Descries: used 
 actively ; points out. — ' The last line of this poem is a little obscured 
 by transposition. He means, Do they call ungratefulness there a 
 virtue?' (C. Lamb). 
 
 Page 36, no. 59. White lope : suggested, Mr. Bullen notes, by a 
 passage in Propertius (iii, 20) describing Spirits in the lower world; 
 
 Vobiscum est lope, vobiscum Candida Tyro. 
 
 Page 38, no. 62. cypres or Cyprus, — used by the old writers for 
 crape : whether from the French crespe or from the Island wlience 
 it was imported. Its accidental similarity in spelling to cypress has, 
 here and in Milton's ' Penseroso,' probably confused readers. 
 
 Page 39, no. 63. ramage : confused noise. 
 
 Page 40, no. 66. ' I never saw anything like this funeral dirge,* 
 says Charles Lamb, ' except the ditty which reminds Ferdinand of 
 his drowned father in the " Tempest." As that is of the water, watery ; 
 so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, 
 which seems to resolve itself into the element which it contemplates." 
 
 Page 42, no. 70. Paraphrased from an Italian madrigal. 
 
 . . . Non so conoscer poi 
 
 Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in vol. 
 
 Page 44, no. 72. crystal : fairness. 
 
 Page 44, no. 73. stare : starling. 
 
 Page 45, no. 74. This ' Spousal Verse ' was written in honour of 
 the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Somerset. Nowhere has Spen- 
 ser more emphatically displayed himself as the very poet of Beauty : 
 The Renaissance impulse in England is here seen at its highest and 
 purest. 
 
 The genius of Spenser, like Chaucer's, does itself justice only in
 
 NOTES 351 
 
 poems of some length. Hence it is impossible to represent it in this 
 volume by other pieces of equal merit, but of impracticable dimen- 
 sions. And the same applies to such poems as the 'Lover's La- 
 ment ' or the 'Ancient Mariner.' 
 
 Page 46, no. 74. entrailed : twisted. Feateously : elegantly. 
 
 Page 48, no. 74. shend : shame. 
 
 Page 49, no. 74. a noble peer : Robert Devereux, second Lord 
 Essex, then at the height of his brief triumph after taking Cadiz: 
 hence the allusion following to the Pillars of Hercules, placed near 
 Gades by ancient legend. 
 
 Page 49, no. 74. Elisa : Elizabeth. 
 
 Page 49, no. 74. twins of Jove : the stars Castor and Pollux: 
 baldric, belt ; the zodiac. 
 
 Page 52, no. 79. This lyric may with very high probability be 
 assigned to Campion, in whose first' Book of Airs'itappeared(i6oi). 
 The evidence sometimes quoted ascribing it to Lord Bacon appears 
 to be valueless. 
 
 Summary of Book Second 
 
 This division, embracing generally the latter eighty years of the 
 seventeenth century, contains the close of our Early poetical style 
 and the commencement of the Modern. In Uryden we see the first 
 master of the new : in Milton, whose genius dominates here as 
 Shakespeare's in the former book, the crown and consummation 
 of the early period. Their splendid Odes are far in advance of any 
 prior attempts, Spenser's excepted : they exhibit that wider and 
 grander range which years and experience and the struggles of the 
 time conferred on Poetry. Our Muses now give expression to po- 
 litical, to religious thought, to a high philosopliic statesmanship in 
 writers such as Marvell, Herbert, and Wotton : whilst in Marvell and 
 Milton, again, we find noble attempts, hitherto rare in our literature, 
 at pure description of nature, destined in our own age to be con- 
 tinued and equalled. Meanwhile the poetry of simple passion, 
 although before 1600 often deformed by verbal fancies and conceits 
 of thought, and afterwards by levity 'and an artificial tone, pro- 
 duced in Herrick and Waller some charming pieces of more 
 finished art than the Elizabethan : until in the courtly compliments 
 of Sedley it seems to exhaust itself, and lie almost dormant tor the 
 hundred years between the days of Wither and Suckling and the 
 days of Burns and Cowper. — That the change from our early style 
 to the modern brought with it at first a loss of nature and simplicity 
 is undeniable : yet the bolder and wider scope which Poetry took 
 between 1620 and 1700, and the successful efforts then made to gain 
 greater clearness in expression, in their results have been no slight 
 compensation. 
 
 Page 57, no. 85. whist : hushed. 
 
 Page 58, no. 85. than: obsolete for then. Pan : used here foi 
 the Lord of all.
 
 352 NOTES 
 
 Page 59, no. 85. consort : Milton's spelling of this word, here 
 and elsewhere, has been followed, as it is uncertain whether he used 
 it in the sense of accompanying, or simply for concert. 
 
 Page 61, no. 85. Lars and Lemur es : household gods and spirits 
 of relations dead. Flamens : Roman priests. That ttuice batter' a 
 god: Dagon. 
 
 Page 62, no. 85. Osiris, the Egyptian god of Agriculture (here, 
 perhaps by confu'^ion with Apis, figured as a Bull), was torn 
 to pieces by Typho and embalmed after death in a sacred chest. 
 This myth, reproduced in Syria and Greece in the legends of 
 Thammuz, Adonis, and perhaps Absyrtus, may have originally sig- 
 nified the annual death of the Sun or the Year under the influences 
 of the winter darkness. Horus, the son of Osiris, as the New Year, 
 in his turn overcomes Typho, unshower'd grass : as watered by 
 the Nile only, youngest-teemed: last-born. Bright harness' d: 
 armoured. 
 
 Page 64, no. 87. The Late Massacre : the Vaudois persecution, 
 carried on in 1655 by the Duke of Savoy. No more mighty Sonnet 
 than this ' collect in verse,' as it has been justly named, probably can 
 be found in any language. Readers should observe that it is con- 
 structed on the original Italian or Proven9al model. This form, in 
 a language such as ours, not affluent in rhyme, presents great diffi- 
 culties; the rhymes are apt to be forced, or the substance common- 
 place. But, when successfully handled, it has a unity and a beauty 
 of effect which place the strict Sonnet above the less compact and 
 less lyrical systems adopted by Shakespeare, Sidney, Spenser, and 
 other Elizabethan poets. 
 
 Page 65, no. 88. Cromwell returned from Ireland in 1650, and 
 Marvell probably wrote his lines soon after, whilst living at Nun- 
 appleton in the Fairfax household. It is hence not surprising that 
 (sts. 21-24) he should have been deceived by Cromwell's professed 
 submissiveness to the Parliament which, when it declined to register 
 his decrees, he expelled by armed violence : one despotism, by 
 natural law, replacing another. The poet's insight has, however, 
 truly prophesied that result in his last two lines. 
 
 This Ode, beyond doubt one of the finest in our language, and 
 more in Milton's style than has been reached by any other poet, is 
 occasionally obscure from imitation of the condensed Latin syntax. 
 The meaning of st. 5 is ' rivalry or hostility are the same to a lofty 
 spirit, and limitation more hateful than opposition.' The allusion in 
 St. II is to the old physical doctrines of the non-existence of a 
 vacuum and the impenetrability of matter: in st. 17 to the omen 
 traditionally connected with the foundation of the Capitol at Rome: 
 forced, fated. The ancient belief that certain years in life com- 
 plete natural periods and are hence peculiarly exposed to death, is 
 introduced in st. 26 by the word climacteric. 
 
 Page 68, no. 89. Lycidas : the person here lamented is Milton's 
 college contemporary, Edward King, drowned in 1637 whilst cross* 
 ing from Chester to Ireland. 
 
 Strict Pastoral Poetry was first written or perfected by the Dorian
 
 NOTES 353 
 
 Greeks settled in Sicily: but the conventional use of it, exhibited 
 more magnificently in ' Lycidas' than in any other pastoral, is ap- 
 parently of Roman origin. Milton, employing the noble freedom o! 
 a great artist, has here united ancient mythology with what may be 
 called the modern mythology of Camus and Saint Peter, — to direct 
 Christian images. Yet the poem, if it gains in historical interest, 
 suffers in poetry by the harsh intrusion of the writer's narrow and 
 violent theological politics. — The metrical structure of this glorious 
 elegy is partly derived from Italian models. 
 
 Page 69, no. 89. Sisters of the sacred well : the Muses, said to 
 frequent the Pierian Spring at the foot of Mount Olympus. 
 
 Page 70, no. 89. Mona : Anglesea, called by the Welsh poets, 
 the Dark Island, from its dense forests. Deva, tlie Dee: a river 
 which may have derived its magical character from Celtic tradi- 
 tions: it was long the boundary of Briton and English. — These 
 places are introduced, as being near the scene ot the shipwreck. 
 Orpheus was torn to pieces by Thracian women. Amaryllis and 
 Neaera, names used here for the love-idols of poets : as Damoefas 
 previously for a shepherd, the blind Fury : Atropos, fabled to cut 
 the thread of life. 
 
 Page 71, no. 89. Arethuse and Mincius : Sicilian and Italian 
 waters here alluded to as representing the pastoral poetry of 
 Theocritus and Vergil, oat: pipe, used here like Collins' oaten stop, 
 1. I, no. 186, for So)7g. Hippotades: Aeolus, god of the Winds. 
 Panope : a Nereid. Certain names of local deities in the Hellenic 
 mythology render some feature in the natural landscape, which 
 the Greeks studied and analyzed with their usual unequalled in- 
 sight and feeling. Panope seems to express the boundlessness of 
 the ocean-horizon when seen from a height, as compared with the 
 limited sky-line of the land in hilly countries such as Greece or 
 Asia Minor. Camus, the Cam : put for King's University. The 
 sanguine flower, the Hyacinth of the ancients: probably our Iris. 
 J he Pilot, Saint Peter, figuratively introduced as the head of the 
 Church on earth, to foretell ' the ruin of our corrupted clergy,' 
 as Milton regarded them, 'then in their heighth' under Laud's 
 primacy. 
 
 Page 72, no. 89. scrannel: screeching; apparendy Milton's 
 coinage (Masson). the wolf: the Puritans of the time were excited 
 to alarm and persecution by a few conversions to Roman Catholi- 
 cism which had recently occurred. Alpheus : a stream in Southern 
 Greece, supposed to flow underseas to join the Arethuse. Swart star: 
 the Dog-star, called swarthy because its heliacal rising in ancient 
 times occurred soon after midsummer: rathe : early. 
 
 Page 73, no. 89. tjioist vows : either tearful prayers, or prayers 
 for one sea. Bellerus : a giant, apparently created here by Milton 
 to personify Belerium, the ancient title of the Land's End. the 
 great Vision : the story was that the Archangel Michael had ap- 
 peared on the rock by Marazion in Mount's Bay which bears his 
 name. Milton calls on him to turn his eyes from the south home- 
 ward, and to pity Lycidas, if his body has drifted into the troubled
 
 354 NOTES 
 
 waters off the Land's End. Finisterre being the land due south o* 
 Marazion, two places in that district (then through our trade with 
 Corunna probably less unfamiliar to English ears), are named, — 
 A'amancos, now Mujio in Galicia, Dayona, north of the Minho, or 
 perhaps a fortified rock (one of the Cies Islands) not unlike Sain* 
 Michael's Mount, at the entrance of Vigo Bay. 
 
 Page 73, no. 89, 1. 12. ore : rays ot golden light. Doric lay : 
 Sicilian, pastoral. 
 
 Page 75, no. 93. The assault was an attack on London expected 
 in 1642, when the troops of Charles I reached Brentford. ' Written 
 on his door" was in the original title of this sonnet. Milton was 
 tiien living in Aldersgate Street. 
 
 Pa(;e 76, no. 93. The E7nathian conqueror : when Thebes was 
 destroyed (335 B.C.) and the citizens massacred by thousands, Alex- 
 ander ordered the house of Pindar to be spared. 
 
 PACiE 76, no. 93, the repeated air Of sad Electras poet: Plu- 
 tarch has a tale that when the Spartan confederacy in 404 B.C. took 
 Athens, a proposal to demolish it was rejected through the effect pro= 
 duced on the commanders by hearing part of a chorus from the 
 Electra of Euripides sung at a feast. There is however no apparent 
 congruity between the lines quoted (167, 168 Ed. Dindorf ) and the 
 result ascribed to them. 
 
 Page 76, no. 95. A fine example of a peculiar class of Poetry: 
 that written by thoughtful men who practised this Art but little, 
 Jeremy Taylor, Bishop Berkeley, Dr. Johnson, Lord Macaulay, have 
 left similar specimens. 
 
 Page 78, no. 98. These beautiful verses should be compared 
 with Wordsworth's great 'Ode on Immortality': and a copy of 
 Vaughan's very rare little volume appears in the list of Words- 
 worth's library. — In imaginative intensity, Vaughan stands beside 
 his contemporary Marvell. 
 
 Page 79, no. 99. Favonius : the spring wind. 
 
 Page 80, no. 100. Thetnis : the goddess of justice. Skinner was 
 grandson by his mother to Sir E. Coke : hence, as pointed on/ 
 by Mr. Keightley, Milton's allusion to the bench. Sweden was 
 then at war with Poland, and PYance with the Spanish Nether- 
 lands. 
 
 Page 82, no. 103. Sidneian showers : either in allusion to the 
 conversations in the 'Arcadia,' or to Sidney himself as a model of 
 • gentleness ' in spirit and demeanour. 
 
 Page 85, no. 105. Delicate humour, delightfully united to thought, 
 at once simple and subtle. It is full of conceit and paradox, but 
 these are imaginative, not as with most of our seventeenth century 
 poets, intellectual only. 
 
 Page 88, no. no. Elizabeth of Bohemia: Daughter to James I, 
 and ancestor of Sophia of Hanover. These lines are a fine specimen 
 of gallant and courtly compliment. 
 
 Page 89, no. in.' Lady M. Ley was daughter to Sir J. Ley, 
 afterwards Earl of Marlborough, who died March, 1629, coincidently 
 with the dissolution of the third Parliament of Charles' reign. Hence
 
 NOTES 355 
 
 Milton poetically compares his death to that of the Orator Isocrates 
 of Athens, after Philip's victory in 328 B.C. 
 
 Page 93, no. 118. A masterpiece of humour, grace, and gentle 
 feeling, all, with Herrick's unfailing art, kept precisely within the 
 peculiar key which he chose, — or Nature for him, — in his Pastorals. 
 the god unshorn : Xvnh&xhx'i K'^oXxo. St. 2. ^^arfi' .• prayers. 
 
 Page 96, no. 123, With better taste, and less diffuseness, Quarles 
 might (one would think) have retained more of that high place 
 which he held in popular estimate among his contemporaries. 
 
 Page 98, no. 127, Frotn Prison : to which his active support of 
 Charles I twice brought the high-spirited writer. 
 
 Page 99, no. 127. Gods: thus in the original; Lovelace, in 
 his fanciful way, making here a mythological allusion. Birds, 
 commonly substituted, is without authority. St. 3. committed: to 
 prison. 
 
 Page 100, no. 128, st. 2. blue-god : Neptune. 
 
 Page 103, no. 133. Waly waly : an exclamation of sorrow, the 
 root and the pronunciation of which are preserved in the word cater, 
 waul. Brae, hillside : burn, brook. 
 
 Page 104, no. 133. busk: adorn. Saint Anton's Well : below 
 Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh. Crnfuasie : crimson. 
 
 Page 105, no. 134. This beautiful example of early simplicity is 
 found in a Song-book of 1620. These stanzas are by Richard Vers- 
 tegan ( — c. 1635), a poet and antiquarian, published in his rare 
 •Odes (1601), under the title ' Our Blessed Ladies Lullaby.' and re- 
 printed by Mr. Orby Shipley in his beautiful ' Carmina Mariana' 
 (1893). The four stanzas here given form the opening of a hymn of 
 twenty-four. 
 
 Page 105, no. 135. burd, maiden. 
 
 Page 107, no. 136. corbies, crows : fail, turf: hause, neck ; theek, 
 thatch. — If not in their origin, in their present form this, with the 
 preceding poem and 133, appear due to the seventeenth century, 
 "and have therefore been placed in Book IL 
 
 Page 108, no. 137. The poetical and the prosaic, after Cowley's 
 fashion, blend curiously in this deeply-felt elegy. 
 
 Page 111, no. 141. Perhaps no poem in this collection is more 
 delicately fancied, more exquisitely finished. By placing his de- 
 scription of the Fawn in a young girl's mouth, Marvell has, as it 
 were, legitimated that abundance of ' imaginative hyperbole ' to 
 which he is always partial : he makes us feel it natural that a maid- 
 en's favourite should be whiter than milk, sweeter than sugar — 
 'lilies without, roses within.' The poet's imagination is justified in 
 its seeming extravagance by the intensity and unity with which it 
 invests his picture. 
 
 Page 112, no. 142. The remark quoted in the note to No. 65 
 applies equally to these truly wonderful verses. Marvell here throws 
 himself into the very soul of the ' Garden ' with the imaginative in- 
 tensity of Shelley in his ' West Wind.' — This poem appears also as 
 a translation in Marvell's works. The most striking verses in it, here 
 quoted as the book is rare, answer more or less to sts. 2 and 6 :
 
 ;J56 NOTES 
 
 Alma Quies, teneo te! et te, germana Quietis, 
 Simplicitas ! vos ergo diu per templa, per urbes 
 Quaesivi, regum perque alta palatia, frustra: 
 Sed vos hortorum per opaca silentia, longe 
 Celarunt plantae virides, et concolor umbra 
 
 Page 115, no. 143, st. 3. tutties : nosegays. St. 4. silly : simple, 
 
 'L'AIIegro' and 'II Penseroso.' It is a striking proof of Milton's 
 astonishing power, that these, the earliest great Lyrics of the Land- 
 scape in our language, should still remain supreme in their style for 
 range, variety, and melodious beauty. The Bright and the Thought- 
 ful aspects of Nature and of Life are their subjects : but each is 
 preceded by a mythological introduction in a mixed Classical and 
 Italian manner. — With that of 'L'AIIegro' may be compared a 
 similar myth in the first Section of the first Book of S. Marmion's 
 graceful ' Cupid and Psyche,' 1637. 
 
 Page 116, no, 144. The mountain-nymph: compare Words- 
 worth's Sonnet, No. 254. L. 38 is in apposition to the preceding, by 
 a syntactical license not uncommon with Milton. 
 
 Page 117, no. 144. Cynosure: the Pole Star. Cory don, Thyrsis, 
 etc.: shepherd names from the old Idylls. Rebeck: an elementary 
 form of violin. 
 
 Page 118, no. 144. Jonson's learned sock: his comedies are 
 deeply coloured by classical study. Lydian airs : used here to 
 express a light and festive style of ancient music. The ' Lydian 
 Mode,' one of the seven original Greek Scales, is nearly identical 
 with our ' Major,' 
 
 Page 119, no. 145. bestead: avail, starr' d Ethiop queen : Cas- 
 siopeia, the legendary Queen of Ethiopia, and thence translated 
 amongst the constellations. 
 
 Page 120, no. 145. Cynthia: the Moon: Milton seems here to 
 have transferred to her chariot the dragons anciently assigned to 
 Demeter and to Medea. 
 
 Page 121, no. 145. Hermes, called Trismegistus, a mystical 
 writer of the Neo-Platonist school. Thebes, etc.: subjects of 
 Athenian Tragedy. Buskin' d : tragic, in opposition to sock above. 
 Musaeus : a poet in Mythology. 
 
 Page 122, no. 145. him that left half-told : Chaucer in his in- 
 complete ' Squire's Tale.* 
 
 PACiK 122, no. 145, great bards : Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser 
 are here piesumably intended, frounced: curled. The Attic Boy . 
 Cephalus. 
 
 Pa(;e 123, no. 146. Emigrants supposed to be driven towards 
 America bv the government of Charles I, 
 
 Page 124, no. 146, But apples, etc. A fine example of Marvell's 
 imaginative hyperbole. 
 
 Page 125, no, 147. concent : harmony. 
 
 Pacje 127, no, 149. A lyric of a strange, fanciful, yet solemn 
 beauty: Cowley's style intensified by the mysticism of Henrjf 
 More. — St. 2. monument: the World,
 
 NOTES 357 
 
 Page 128, no. 151. Entitled 'A Song in Honour of St Cecilia's 
 Day : 1697.' 
 
 Summary of Book Third 
 
 It is more difficult to characterize the English Poetry of the 
 eighteenth century than that of any other. For it was an age not 
 only of spontaneous transition, but of bold experiment: it includes 
 not only such absolute contrasts as distinguish the ' Rape of the 
 Lock ' from the ' Parish Register,' but such vast contemporaneous 
 differences as lie between Pope and Collins, Burns and Cowper. 
 Yet we may clearly trace three leading moods or tendencies: the 
 aspects of courtly or educated life represented by Pope and carried 
 to exhaustion by his followers; the poetry of Nature and of Man, 
 viewed through a cultivated, and at the same time an impassioned 
 frame of mind by Collins and Gray; lastly the study of vivid and 
 simple narrative, including natural description, begun by Gay and 
 Thomson, pursued by Burns and others in the north, and established 
 in England by Goldsmith, Percy, Crabbe, and Cowper. Great 
 varieties in style accompanied these diversities in aim : poets could 
 not always distinguish the manner suitable for subjects so far apart : 
 and the union of conventional and of common language, exhibited 
 most conspicuously by Burns, has given a tone to the poetry of that 
 century which is better explained by reference to its historical origin 
 than by naming it artificial. There is, again, a nobleness of thought, 
 a courageous aim at high and, in a strict sense manly, excellence in 
 many of the writers: nor can that period be justly termed tame 
 and wanting in originality, which produced poems such as Pope's 
 Satires, Gray's Odes and Elegy, the ballads of Gay and Carey, 
 the songs of Burns and Cowper. In truth Poetry at this, as at all 
 times, was a more or less unconscious mirror of the genius of the 
 age: and the many complex causes which made the eighteenth 
 century the turning-time in modern European civilization are also 
 more or less reflected in its verse. An intelligent reader will fina 
 the influence of Newton as markedly in the poems of Pope, as of 
 Elizabeth in the plays of Shakespeare. On this great subject, how- 
 ever, these indications must here be sufficient. 
 
 Page 133, no. 153. We have no poet more marked by rapture, 
 by the ecstasy which Plato held the note of genuine inspiration, than 
 Collins. Yet but twice or thrice do his lyrics reach that simplicity, 
 that sinceram sermonis Attici gratiam to which this ode testifies his 
 enthusiastic devotion. His style, as his friend Dr. Johnson truly 
 remarks, was obscure; his diction often harsh and unskilfully 
 laboured ; he struggles nobly against the narrow, artificial manner 
 of his age, but his too scanty years did not allow him to reach 
 perfect mastery. 
 
 St. 3. Hybla : near Syracuse. Her whose . . . woe : the nightingale, 
 • for which Sophocles seems to have entertained a peculiar fondness ' ; 
 Collins here refers to the famous chorus in the Oedipus at Colonus. 
 
 St. 4. Cephisus : the stream encircling Athens on the north and
 
 358 NOTES 
 
 west, passing Colonus, St. 6. stayed to sing : stayed her song wher 
 Imperial tyranny was established at Rome. St, 7 refers to the Italian 
 amourist poetry of the Renaissance: in Collins' day, Dante was 
 almost unknown in England. St. 8. meeting soul : which moves 
 sympathetically towards simplicity as she comes to inspire the poet. 
 St. 9. Of these : Taste and Genius. 
 
 The Bard. In 1757, when this splendid ode was completed, so 
 very little had been printed, whether in Wales or in England, in 
 regard to Welsh poetry, that it is hard to discover whence Gray 
 drew his Cymric allusions. The fabled massacre of the Bards 
 (shown to be wholly groundless in Stephens' 'Literature of the 
 Kymry ') appears first in the family history of Sir John Wynn of 
 Gwydir (cir. 1600), not published till 1773; but the story seems to 
 have passed in MS. to Carte's History, whence it may have been 
 taken by Gray. The references to high-born Hoe I a.nd soft Llewellyn ; 
 to Cadwallo and Urien ; may, similarly, have been derived from the 
 'Specimens' of early Welsh poetry, by the Rev. E. Evans, — as, 
 although not published till 1764, the MS., we learn from a letter to 
 Dr. Wharton, was in Gray's hands by July, 1760, and m^iy have 
 reached him by 1757. It is, however, doubtful whether Gray (of 
 whose acquaintance with Welsh we have no evidence) must not 
 have been also aided by some Welsh scholar. He is one of the 
 poets least likely to scatter epithets at random: 'soft' or gentle is 
 the epithet emphatically and specially given to Llewellyn in contem- 
 porary Welsh poetry, and is hence here used with particular pro- 
 priety. Yet, without such assistance as we have suggested. Gray 
 could hardly have selected the epithet, although applied to the 
 King (pp. 140-2) among a crowd of others, in Llygad Gvvr's Ode, 
 printed by Evans. — After lamenting his comrades (sts. 2, 3) the 
 Bard prophesies the fate of Edward II, and the conquests of Edward 
 III (4) : his death and that of the Black Prince (5) : of Richard II, 
 with the wars of York and Lancaster, the murder of Henry VI {the 
 meek usurper), and of Edward V and his brother (6). He turns to 
 the glory and prosperity following the accession of the Tudors (7), 
 through Elizabeth's reign (8) : and concludes with a vision of the 
 poetry of Shakespeare and Milton. 
 
 Page 139, no. 159. Glo'ster: Gilbert de Clare, son-in-law to 
 Edward. Mortirner : one of the Lords Marchers of Wales. 
 
 Pagk 140, no. 159. Higk-l>orn Hoel, soft Llewellyn: the ' Dis- 
 sertaiio de Bardis ' of Evans names the first as son to the King 
 Owain Gwynedd : Llewellyn, last King of North Wales, was mur- 
 dered 1282. Cadwallo: Cadwallon (died 631) and Urien Rheged 
 (early kings of Gwynedd and Cumbria respectively) are mentioned 
 by Evans (p. 78) as bards none of whose poetry is extant. 
 Modred : Evans supplies no data for this name, which Gray (it 
 has been supposed) uses for Merlin (Myrddin Wyllt), held 
 prophet as well as poet. — The italicized lines mark where the 
 Bard's song is joined by that of his predecessors departed. Arvon : 
 the shores of Carnarvonshire opposite Anglesey. Whether inten* 
 tionally or through ignorance ot the real dates. Gray here seems to
 
 NOTES 350 
 
 represent the Bard as speaking of these poets, all of earlier days, 
 Llewellyn excepted, as his own contemporaries at the close of the 
 thirteenth century. 
 
 Gray, whose penetrating and powerful genius rendered him in 
 many ways an initiator in advance of his age, is probably the first of 
 our poets who made some acquaintance with the rich and admirable 
 poetry in which Wales from the sixth century has been fertile, — 
 before and since his time so barbarously neglected, not in England 
 only. Hence it has been thought worth while here to enter into a 
 little detail upon his Cymric allusions. 
 
 Page 141, no. 159. She-wolf: Isabel of France, adulterous 
 Queen of Edward II. — Towers 0/ Julius : the Tower of London^ 
 built in part, according to tradition, by Julius Caesar. 
 
 Page 142, no. 159. bristled boar: the badge of Richard III. 
 Hal/of thy heart: Queen Eleanor died soon after the conquest of 
 Wales. Arthur : Henry VII named his eldest son thus, in deference 
 to native feeling and storv. 
 
 Page 143, no. 161. The Highlanders called the battle of Cul- 
 loden, Drumossie. 
 
 Page 144, no. 162. UWmg, singing blithely ; loaning, broad lane ; 
 bughts,\>&n%\ scorni7ig,\?i\\ymg\ ^<^w/>, dreary ; daffin' 2Si6. gabbin\ 
 joking and chatting; /^^//«, milkpail ; j/^^a/vV;^, reaping; batidsters, 
 sheaf-binders; lyart, grizzled; ruiikled, wrinkled; Jieeching, coax- 
 ing ; gloaming, twilight ; bogle, ghost ; dool, sorrow. 
 
 Page 146, no. 164. The Editor has found no authoritative text 
 of this poem, to his mind superior to any other of its class in melody 
 and pathos. Part is probably not later than the seventeenth century : 
 in other stanzas a more modern hand, much resembling Scott's, is 
 traceable. Logan's poem (163) exhibits a knowledge rather of the 
 old legend than of the old verses. — Hecht, promised: the obsolete 
 hight ; mavis, thrush; ilka, every; lav rock, lark; haughs, valley- 
 meadows; twined, parted from; marroto, mate; syne, then. 
 
 Page 147, no. 165. The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst under- 
 going a partial careening at Spithead, was overset about 10 A.M., 
 August 29, 1782. The total loss was believed to be nearly 1000 
 souls. — This little poem might be called one of our trial pieces, in 
 regard to taste. The reader who feels the vigour of description and 
 the force of pathos underlying Cowper's bare and truly Greek sim- 
 plicity of phrase, may assure himself j^ valde pro/ecisse in poetry. 
 
 Page 150, no. 167. A little masterpiece in a very difficult style: 
 Catullus himself could hardly have bettered it. In grace, tender- 
 ness, simplicity, and humour it is worthy of the Ancients : and even 
 more so, from the completeness and unity of the picture presented. 
 
 Page 154, no. 172. Perhaps no writer who has given such strong 
 proofs of the poetic nature has left less satisfactory poetry than 
 Thomson. Yet this song, with ' Rule Britannia ' and a few others, 
 must make us regret that he did not more seriously apply himself 
 to lyrical writing. 
 
 Page 155, no. 174. With what insight and tenderness, yet in ho^ 
 few words, has this painter poet here hmiself told Love's Secret/
 
 360 NOTES 
 
 Page 156, no. 177. Aeolian lyre : the Greeks ascribed theorigip 
 of their Lyrical Poetry to the Colonies of Aeolis in Asia Minor. 
 
 Page 157, no. 177. Jhracid s hills : supposed a favourite resort 
 of Mars. Feather d king : the Eagle of Jupiter, admirably described 
 by Pindar in a passage here imitated by Gray. Idalia: in Cyprus, 
 where Cytherea (Venus) was especially worshipped. 
 
 Page 158, no. 177. Hyper io7i : the Sun. Sts. 6-8 allude to the 
 Poets of the Islands and Mainland of Greece, to those of Rome 
 and of England. 
 
 Page 159, no. 177. Theban eagle : Pindar. 
 
 Page 162, no. 178. chaste-eyed Queen : Diana. 
 
 Page 163, no. 179. From that wild rhapsody of mingled grandeur, 
 tenderness, and obscurity, that ' medley between inspiration and pos- 
 session,' which poor Smart is believed to have written whilst in con- 
 finement for madness. 
 
 Page 164, no. 181. the dreadful light: of life and experience. 
 
 Page 165, no. 182. Attic warbler : the nightingale. 
 
 Page 167, no. 184. sleekit, sleek; bickering brattle, flittering 
 flight; laith, loth; pattle, ploughstaff; whiles, at times; a daimen- 
 icker, a corn-ear now and then ; thrave, shock ; lave, rest ; figgage, 
 after grass ; snell, biting. 
 
 Page 168, no. 184. buthald, without dwelling-place; thole, bear; 
 cranreuch, hoar frost ; thy lane, alone ; a-gley, off the right line, awry. 
 
 Page 174, no. 188. stoure, dust storm; braiv, smart. 
 
 Page 175, no. 189. scaith, hurt; tent, guard; steer, molest. 
 
 Page 176, no. 191. drumlie, muddy; birk, birch. 
 
 Page 178, no. 192. greet, cry; daurna, dare not. — There can 
 hardly exist a poem more truly tragic in the highest sense than this: 
 nor, perhaps, Sappho excepted, has any Poetess equalled it. 
 
 Page 178, no. 193. /5«, merry with drink; rccf/, carried ; unco 
 skeigh, very proud ; gart, forced ; abeigh, aside ; Ailsa Craig, a rock 
 in the Firth of Clyde; grat his een bleert, cried till his eyes were 
 bleared; /(?w//«, leaping; //««, waterfall ; sair,sox&. 
 
 Page 179, no. 193. smoor'd, smothered; crouse and canty, blithe 
 and gay. 
 
 Page 179, no. 194. Burns justly named this 'one of the most 
 beautiful songs in the Scots or any other language.' One stanza, 
 interpolated by Beattie, is here omitted : — it contains two good 
 lines, but is out of harmony with the original poem. Bigonet, little 
 cap; probably altered from beguinette. 
 
 Page 180, no. 195. thraiv,\.\s\%\\ caller, fresh. 
 
 Page 180, no. 195. Burns himself, despite two attempts, failed 
 to improve this little absolute masterpiece of music, tenderness, and 
 simplicity; this ' Romance of a life ' in eight lines, 
 
 Pac.E 181, no. 195. Eerie: strict.y, scared; uneasy. 
 
 Page 181, no. 196. airts, quarters; row, roll; shaw, small wood 
 in a hollow, spinney; knowes, knolls. The last two stanzas are not 
 by Burns. 
 
 Page 183, no. 197. /b, sweetheart ; brent, smooth; pow, head; 
 i^Li aithfu' St. ' ''air ham"
 
 Page 183, no. 199. Henry VI founded Eton. 
 
 Page 186, no. 200. Written in 1773, towards the beginning of 
 Cowper's second attack of melancholy madness — a time when he 
 altogether gave up prayer, saying, ' For him to implore mercy would 
 only anger God the more.' Yet had he given it up when sane, it 
 would have been ' maior insania.' 
 
 Page 189, no. 203. The editor would venture to class in the 
 very first rank this Sonnet, which, with 204, records Cowper's grati- 
 tude to the Lady whose affectionate care for many years gave what 
 sweetness he could enjoy to a life radically wretched. Petrarch's 
 sonnets have a more ethereal grace and a more perfect finish ; Shake- 
 speare's more passion; Milton's stand supreme in stateliness; 
 Wordsworth's in depth and delicacy. But Cowper's unites with 
 an exquisiteness in the turn of thought which the ancients would 
 have called Irony, an intensity of pathetic tenderness peculiar to his 
 loving and ingenuous nature. — There is much mannerism, much 
 that is unimportant or of now exhausted interest in his poems; but 
 where he is great, it is with that elementary greatness which rests on 
 the most universal human feelings. Cowper is our highest master 
 in simple pathos. 
 
 Page 191, no. 205. Cowper's last original poem, founded upon 
 a story told in Anson's ' Voyages.* It was written March, 1799; he 
 died in next year's April. 
 
 Page 193, no. 206. Very little except his name appears recover- 
 able with regard to the author of this truly noble poem, which ap- 
 peared in the ' Scripscrapologia, or Collins' Doggerel Dish of AH 
 r'>VwS,' with three or four other pieces of merit, Birmingham, 1804. 
 
 'age 194, no. 206. Everlasting : used with side-allusion to a 
 clova so named, at the time when Collins wrote. 
 
 Summary of Book Fourth 
 
 It proves suflficientlythe lavish wealth of our own age in Poetry, 
 that the pieces which, without conscious departure from the Standard 
 of Excellence, render this Book by far the longest, were with very 
 few exceptions composed during the first thirty years of the nine- 
 teenth century. Exhaustive reasons can hardly be given for the 
 strangely sudden appearance of individual genius : that, however, 
 which assigns the splendid national achievements of our recent 
 poetry to an impulse from the France of the first Republic and Em- 
 pire is inadequate. The first French Revolution was rather one 
 result, — the most conspicuous, indeed, yet itself in great measure 
 essendally retrogressive, — of that wider and more potent spirit 
 which through enquiry and attempt, through strength and weakness, 
 sweeps mankind round the circles (not, as some too confidently 
 argue, of Advance, but) of gradual Transformation : and it is to this 
 that we must trace the literature of Modern Europe. But, without 
 attempting discussion on the motive causes of Scott, Wordsworth, 
 Shelley, and others, we may observe that these Poets carried to 
 <""rther Derfection the later tendsncief o* the century orecedin" '
 
 362 NOTES 
 
 simplicity of narrative, reverence for human Passion and Charactei 
 in every sphere, and love of Nature for herself: that, whilst main- 
 taining on the whole the advances in art made since the Restoration, 
 they renewed the half-forgotten melody and depth of tone which 
 marked the best Elizabethan writers: that, lastly, to what was 
 thus inherited they added a richness in language and a variety in 
 metre, a force and fire in narrative, a tenderness and bloom in feel- 
 ing, an insight into the finer passages of the Soul and the inner 
 meanings of the landscape, a larger sense of Humanity, — hitherto 
 scarcely attained, and perhaps unattainable even by predecessors of 
 not inferior individual genius. In a word, the Nation which, after 
 the Greeks in their glory, may fairly claim that during six centuries 
 it has proved itself the most richly gifted of all nations for Poetry, 
 expressed in these men the highest strength and prodigality of its 
 nature. They interpreted the age to itself — hence the manypnases 
 of thought and style they present : to sympathize with each, fer- 
 vently and impartially, without fear and without fancifulness, is no 
 doubtful step in the higher education of the soul. For purity in 
 taste is absolutely proportionate to strength — and when once the 
 mind has raised itself to grasp and to delight in excellence, those 
 who love most will be found to love most wisely. 
 
 But the gallery which this Book offers to the reader will aid h^m 
 more than any preface. It is a royal Palace of Poetry which he ts 
 invited to enter : 
 
 Adparet domus intus, et atria longa patescunt^ 
 
 though it is, indeed, to the sympathetic eye only that its treasures 
 will be visible. 
 
 Page 195, no. 208. This beautiful lyric, printed in 1783, seems to 
 anticipate in its imaginative music that return to our great early age 
 of song, which in Blake's own lifetime was to prove, — how gloriously ! 
 that the English Muses had resumed their ' ancient melody ' : Keats, 
 Shelley, Byron, — he overlived them all. 
 
 Pa(;e 1§7, no. 210, stout Cortez : history would here suggest 
 Balboa.: (A.T,). It may be noticed, that to find in Chapman's 
 Homer the 'pure serene* of the original, the reader must bring with 
 him the imagination of the youthful poet: he must be 'a Greek 
 himself,' as Shelley finely said of Keats. 
 
 Page 200, no. 212. 'I'he most tender and true of Byron's smaller 
 poems. 
 
 Page 201, no. 213. This poem exemplifies the peculiar skill with 
 which Scott employs proper names : a rarely misleading sign of 
 true poetical genius. 
 
 Page 211, no. 226. Simple as ' Lucy Gray' seems, a mere narra- 
 tive of what 'has been, and may be again,' yet every touch in the 
 child's picture is marked by the deepest and purest ideal character. 
 Hence, pathetic as the situation is, tliis is not strictly a pathetic poem, 
 such as Wordsworth gives us in 221, Lamb in 264, and Scott in his 
 'Maid of Neidpath,' — 'almost more pathetic,' as Tennyson onc«
 
 NOTES 363 
 
 remarked, 'than a man has the right to be.' And Lyte's lovely 
 stanzas (224) suggest, perhaps, the same remark. 
 
 Page 219, no. 235. In this and in other instances the addition 
 (or the change) of a Title has been risked, in hope that the aim of 
 the piece following may be grasped more clearly and immediately. 
 
 Page 225, no. 242. This beautiful Sonnet was the last word of 
 a youth, in whom, if the fulfilment may ever safely be prophesied 
 from the promise, England lost one of the most rarely gifted in the 
 long roll of her poets. Shakespeare and Milton, had their lives been 
 closed at twenty-five, would (so far as we know) have left poems of 
 less excellence and hope than the youth who, from the petty school 
 and the London surgery, passed at once to a place with them of 
 •high collateral glory.' 
 
 Page 227, no. 245. It is impossible not to regret that Moore has 
 written so little in this sweet and genuinely national style. 
 
 Page 227, no. 246. A masterly example of Byron's command of 
 strong thought and close reasoning in verse : as the next is equally 
 characteristic of Shelley's wayward intensity. 
 
 Page 236, no. 253. Bonnivard, a Genevese, was imprisoned by the 
 Duke of Savoy in Chillon on the lake of Geneva for his courageous 
 defence of his country against the tyranny with which Piedmont 
 threatened it during the first half of the seventeenth century. — This 
 noble Sonnet is worthy to stand near Milton's on the Vaudois 
 massacre. 
 
 Page 237, no. 254. Switzerland was usurped by the French under 
 Napoleon in 1800: Venice in 1797 (255). 
 
 Page 239, no. 259. This battle was fought Dec. 2, 1800, between 
 the Austrians under Archduke John and the French under Moreau, 
 in a forest near Munich. Hohenlitideti means High Limetrees. 
 
 Page 243, no. 262. After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, 
 Sir J. Moore retreated before Soult and Ney to Corunna, and was 
 killed whilst covering the embarkation of his troops. 
 
 Page 254, no. 272. The Mermaid was the club-house of Shake- 
 speare, Ben jonson, and other choice spirits of that age. 
 
 Page 254, no, 273. Afaisie : Mary. — Scott has given us nothing 
 more complete and lovely than this little song, which unites sim- 
 plicity and dramatic power to a wild-wood music of the rarest quality. 
 No moral is drawn, far less any conscious analysis of feeling at- 
 tempted : the pathetic meaning is left to be suggested by the mere 
 presentment of the situation, A narrow criticism has often named 
 this, which may be called the Homeric manner, superficial, from 
 its apparent simple facility; but first-rate excellence in it is in truth 
 one of the least common triumphs of Poetry. — This style should be 
 compared with what is not less perfect in its way, the searching out 
 of inner feeling, the expression of hidden meanings, the revelation 
 of the heart of Nature and of the Soul within the Soul, — the analyti- 
 cal method, in short, — most completely represented by Wordsworth 
 and by Shelley, 
 
 Page 259, no, 277. Wolfe resembled Keats, not only in his early 
 death by consumption and the fluent freshness of his poetical style,
 
 364 NOTES 
 
 but in beauty of character: brave, tender, energetic, unselfish, 
 modest. Is it fanciful to find some reflex of these qualities in the 
 ' Burial ' and ' Mary ' ? Out of the abundance of the heart . . . 
 
 Page 261, no. 278. correi : covert on a hillside. Cumber : 
 trouble. 
 
 Page 262, no. 280. This book has not a few poems of greater 
 power and more perfect execution than ' Agnes and the extract 
 which we have ventured to make from the deep-hearted author's 
 'Sad Thoughts' (No. 224). But none are more emphatically 
 marked by the note of exquisiteness. 
 
 Page 263, no. 281, st. 3. inch : island. 
 
 Page 266, no. 283. From ' Poetry for Children ' (1809) , by Charles 
 and Mary Lamb. This tender and original little piece seems clearly 
 to reveal the work of that noble-minded and afflicted sister, who was 
 at once fhe happiness, the misery, and the life-long blessing of her 
 equally noble-minded brother. 
 
 Page 274, no. 289. This poem has an exultation and a glory, 
 joined with an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the 
 highest rank among the many masterpieces of its illustrious Author. 
 
 Page 285, no. 300. interlunar sivoon : interval of the moon's in- 
 visibility. 
 
 Page 290, no. 304. Calpe : Gibraltar. 
 
 Page 291, no. 304. Lofoden : the Maelstrom whirlpool off the 
 N. W. coast of Norway. 
 
 Page 292, no. 305. This lovely poem refers here and there to a 
 ballad by Hamilton on the subject better treated in 163 and 164. 
 
 Page 304, no. 315. Arcturi : seemingly used for northern stars. 
 And xvild roses, etc. Our language has perhaps no line modulated 
 with more subtle sweetness. 
 
 Page 305, no. 316. Coleridge describes this poem as the frag- 
 ment of a dream-vision, — perhaps, an opium dream ? — which oom- 
 posed itself in his mind when fallen asleep after reading a few lines 
 about ' the Khan Kubia ' in Purchas' ' Pilgrimage.' 
 
 Page 309, no. 318. Ceres' daughter: Proserpine. God of Tor- 
 ment : Pluto. 
 
 Page 317, no. 321. The leading idea of this beautiful description 
 of a day's landscape in Italy appears to be — On the voyage of life 
 are many moments of pleasure, given by the sight of Nature, who 
 has power to heal even the worldliness and the uncharity of man. 
 
 Page 319, no. 321. Amphitrite was daughter to Ocean. 
 
 Page 322, no. 322. Maenad : a frenzied Nymph, attendant on 
 Dionysos in the Greek mythology. May we not call this the most 
 vivid, sustained, and impassioned amongst all Shelley's magical per- 
 sonifications of Nature ? 
 
 Page 323, no. 322. Plants under water sympathize with the 
 seasons of fhe land, and hence with the winds which affect them. 
 
 Page 324, no. 323. Written soon after the death, by shipwreck, 
 of Wordsworth's brother John. This poem may be profitably com- 
 pared with Shelley's following it. Each is the most complete ex- 
 oression of the innermost spirit of his art given by these great Poets :
 
 NOTES 365 
 
 of that Idea which, as in the case of the true Painter, (to quote 
 the words of Reynolds,) ' subsists only in the mind : The sight never 
 beheld it, nor has the hand expressed it : it is an idea residing in the 
 breast of the artist, which he is always labouring to impart, and which 
 he dies at last without imparting.* 
 
 Page 325, no. 323. the Kind : the human race. 
 
 Page 327, no. 327. the royal Saint : Henry VI. 
 
 Page 329, no. 328, st. 4. this folk: its has been here plausibly 
 but, perhaps, unnecessarily, conjectured. — Every one knows the 
 general story of the Italian Renaissance, of the Revival of Letters. — 
 From Petrarch's day to our own, that ancient world has renewed its 
 youth : Poets and artists, students and thinkers, have yielded them- 
 selves wholly to its fascination, and deeply penetrated its spirit. Yet 
 perhaps no one more truly has vivified, whilst idealizing, the picture 
 of Greek country life in the fancied Golden Age, than Keats in these 
 lovely (if somewhat unequally executed) stanzas : his quick imagina- 
 tion, by a kind of ' natural magic,' more than supplying the scholar- 
 ship which his youth had no opportunity of gaining.
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH 
 
 Alexander, William (1580-1640). number 
 
 To Aurora xxix 
 
 Barbauld, Anna Laetitia (1743-1825) . 
 
 To Life ccvii 
 
 Barnefield, Richard (i6th century). 
 
 The Nightingale xlv 
 
 Beaumont, Francis (1586-1616). 
 
 On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey xc 
 
 Blake, William (1757-1827). 
 
 Love's Secret o clxxiv 
 
 Infant joy • clxxx 
 
 A Cracfle Song » • clxxxi 
 
 To the Muses c ccvui 
 
 Burns, Robert (1759-1796). 
 
 Lament for CuUoden , clxi 
 
 A Farewell clxviii 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon. ..... . clxxvi 
 
 To a Mouse c . clxxxiv 
 
 MarvMorison clxxxviu 
 
 Bonnie Lesley clxxxix 
 
 O my Luve's like a red, red rose cxc 
 
 Highland Mary cxci 
 
 Duncan Gray cxcni 
 
 Jean cxcvi 
 
 John Anderson cxcvn 
 
 Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788-1824). 
 
 All for Love ccxii 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters ccxiv 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night ccxvi 
 
 When we two parted ccxxxiv 
 
 Elegy on Thyrza ccxlvi 
 
 On the Castle of Chillon cchn 
 
 Youth and Age • cclxvi 
 
 Elegy cclxxv 
 
 Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844). 
 
 Lord Ullin's Daughter ccxxv 
 
 367
 
 368 
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 CampBELI,, Thomas {continued). number 
 
 To the Evening Star ccxxxi 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child ccxli 
 
 Ye Mariners of England ccl 
 
 Battle of the Baltic cell 
 
 Hohenlinden » cclix 
 
 The Beech Tree's Petition ccxcv 
 
 Ode to Winter ccciv 
 
 Song to the Evening Star cccx 
 
 The Soldier's Dream ^ , . . . . . cccxiv 
 
 The River of Life o . . . . . cccxxxii 
 
 Campion, Thomas (c. 1567-1620). 
 
 Basia xxv 
 
 Advice to a Girl xxvi 
 
 In Imagine Pertransit Homo . .... . . 1 
 
 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep . „ Hi 
 
 A Renunciation Iv 
 
 O Crudelis Amor ...» .... lix 
 
 Sic Transit Ixxvi 
 
 The man of life upright Ixxix 
 
 A Hymn in Praise of Neptune ....... . ci 
 
 Fortunati Nimium ... ... cxiiii 
 
 Carew, Thomas (1589-1639). 
 
 The True Beauty cxii 
 
 Carey, Henry ( 1743). 
 
 Sally in our Alley clxvii 
 
 CiBBER, CoUey (1671-1757). 
 
 The Blind Boy civ 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849). 
 
 She is not fair to outward view ccxviii 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834). 
 
 Love (Genevieve) ccxi 
 
 Kubla Khan cccxvi 
 
 Youth and Age cccxxix 
 
 Collins, John (18th century). 
 
 To-morrow ccvi 
 
 Collins, William (1720-1756). 
 
 Ode to Simplicity cliii 
 
 Ode written in 1746 „ . . . . clx 
 
 The Passions clxxviii 
 
 Ode to Evening clxxxvi 
 
 Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667). 
 
 A Supplication . . , cxxx 
 
 On the Death of Mr. William Hervey cxxxvii 
 
 COWPER, William (1731-1800). 
 
 Loss of the Royal-George clxv 
 
 To a Young Lady clxx 
 
 The Poplar Field clxxxiii 
 
 The Shrubbery cc 
 
 The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk ocii
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 369 
 
 COWPER, William {continued). number 
 
 To Mary Unwin . . = cciii 
 
 To the Same cciv 
 
 The Castaway ^ . . . ccv 
 
 Crashaw, Richard (i6i5?-i652). 
 
 Wishes for the Supposed Mistress . . . , , c . ciii 
 Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842). 
 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea , . ccxlix 
 
 Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619). 
 
 Care-Charmer Sleep . . . , o = xlvi 
 
 Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?). 
 
 The Happy Heart . Ixxv 
 
 Devereux, Robert (Earl of Essex) (1567-1601). 
 
 A Wish c Ixxxiii 
 
 Donne, John (1573-1631). 
 
 Present in Absence xii 
 
 Drayton, Michael (1563-1631). 
 
 Love's Farewell , . . . xlix 
 
 Drummond, William (1585-1649). 
 
 Summons to Love „ iv 
 
 A Lament . . . Ixi 
 
 To his Lute » Ixiii 
 
 This Life, which seems so fair ..„,.., . . Ixxvii 
 
 The Lessons of Nature Ixxx 
 
 Doth then the world go thus ? , Ixxxi 
 
 Saint John Baptist . . . . . Ixxxiv 
 
 Dryden, John (1631-1700). 
 
 Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 . ,,.... , Ixxxvi 
 Alexander's Feast . . cli 
 
 Elliott, Jane (i8th century). 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest (Flodden) ...... clxii 
 
 Fletcher, John (1576-1625). 
 
 Melancholy ,00... cxxxii 
 
 Gay, John (1685-1732). 
 
 Black-eyed Susan ...00..,,,., . clxvi 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774). 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly clxxv 
 
 Graham, Robert (1735-1797). 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please . c . . . clxix 
 
 Gray, Thomas (1716-1771). 
 
 Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude . . clii 
 
 On a Favourite Cat . . clvi 
 
 The Bard ... clix 
 
 The Progress of Poesy clxxvii 
 
 Ode on the Spring , ... clxxxii
 
 37© INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Gray, Thomas {continued) . number 
 
 Elegy written in a Country Churchyard clxxxvii 
 
 Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College .... cxcix 
 Hymn to Adversity cci 
 
 Greene, Robert (is6i?-i592), 
 
 Sephestia's Song to her Child ... - Ix 
 
 Habington, William (1605-1645). 
 
 Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam .... o ... . cxlviii 
 
 Herbert, George (1593-1632). 
 
 The Gifts of God , xcvii 
 
 Herrick, Robert (1591-1674?). 
 
 Counsel to Girls cviii 
 
 To Dianeme cxiii 
 
 Corinna's Maying . cxviii 
 
 The Poetry of Dress, I cxix 
 
 The Poetry of Dress, n cxx 
 
 To Anthea cxxiv 
 
 To Blossoms cxxxix 
 
 To Daffodils cxl 
 
 Heywood, Thomas ( 1649?). 
 
 Give my Love good-morrow Ixxiii 
 
 Hood, Thomas (1798-1845). 
 
 Past and Present cclxviii 
 
 The Bridge of Sighs cclxxiv 
 
 The Death Bed cclxxix 
 
 JONSON, Ben (1574-1637). 
 
 The Noble Nature xcvi 
 
 Hymn to Diana cii 
 
 To Celia cxvi 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821). 
 
 Ode on the Poets ccix 
 
 On first looking into Chapman's Homer ..... ccx 
 
 Happy Insensibility ccxxxv 
 
 La Belle Dame sans Merci ccxxxvi^ 
 
 Bright Star! ccxiii 
 
 The Terror of Death ccxliii 
 
 The Mermaid Tavern cclxxii 
 
 Ode to a Nightingale ccxc 
 
 To one who has been long in city pent ccxcii 
 
 Ode to Autumn ccciii 
 
 The Realm of Fancy cccxviii 
 
 Ode on a Grecian Urn cccxxviii 
 
 The Human Seasons cccxxxiii 
 
 Lamb, Mary (1764-1847). 
 
 in Memoriam „ cclxxxlii
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 37 1 
 
 Lamb. Charles (1775-1835). number 
 
 The Old Familiar Faces cclxiv 
 
 Hester cclxxvi 
 
 On an Infant dying as soon as born . , .. . . cclxxxii 
 
 Lindsay, Anne (1750-1825). 
 
 Auld Robin Gray , . . . cxcii 
 
 Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625). 
 
 Rosaline xix 
 
 Rosalynd's Madrigal Ixxi 
 
 Logan, John (1748-1788). 
 
 The Braes of Yarrow clxiii 
 
 Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658). 
 
 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars . „ . . , . . cix 
 
 To Althea from Prison cxxvii 
 
 To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas cxxviii 
 
 Lylye, John (1554-1600). 
 
 Cupid and Campaspe Ixxii 
 
 Lyte, Henry Francis (1793-1847). 
 
 A Lost Love ccxxiv 
 
 Agnes cclxxx 
 
 Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593). 
 
 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love vii 
 
 Marvell, Andrew (1620-1678). 
 
 Horation Ode, upon Cromwell's return from 
 
 Ireland Ixxxviii 
 
 The Picture of Little T. C . „ . . cv 
 
 The Girl describes her Fawn cxli 
 
 Thoughts in a Garden ........... cxlii 
 
 Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda cxivi 
 
 MiCKLE, William Julius (1734-1788). 
 
 The Sailor's Wife cxciv 
 
 Milton, John (1608-1674). 
 
 Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity .... Ixxxv 
 
 On the late Massacre in Piedmont Ixxxvii 
 
 Lycidas Ixxxix 
 
 When the Assault was intended to the City .... xciii 
 
 On his Blindness ...» xciv 
 
 To Mr. Lawrence xcix 
 
 To Cyriack Skinner c 
 
 To the Lady Margaret Ley . . cxi 
 
 L'Allegro cxliv 
 
 II Penseroso o cxlv 
 
 At a Solemn Music cxlvii 
 
 Moore, Thomas (1780-1852). 
 
 Echoes ccxxix 
 
 At the mid hour of night .0 ccxlv 
 
 Pro Patria Mori cclxi 
 
 The Journey Onwards cclxv 
 
 The Light of other Days .... cclxix
 
 372 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Nairn, Carolina (1766-1845). number 
 
 The Land o' the Leal ....•• ^ ... . cxcviii 
 
 Nash, Thomas (1567-1601 ?). 
 
 Spring . , , i 
 
 NORRIS, John (1657-1711). 
 
 Hymn to Darkness ..u. ..••.... cxlix 
 
 Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749). 
 
 To Charlotte Pulteney clvii 
 
 Pope, Alexander (1688-1744). 
 
 Solitude cliv 
 
 Prior, Matthew (1662-1721). 
 
 The merchant, to secure his treasure clxxiii 
 
 Qua RLES, Francis (1592-1644). 
 
 A Mystical Ecstasy ...... ^ ^ ... . cxxiii 
 
 Rogers. Samuel (1762-1855). 
 
 The Sleeping Beauty clxxi 
 
 A Wish clxxxv 
 
 Scott, Walter (1771-1832). 
 
 The Outlaw ^ ccxiii 
 
 Jock o' Hazeldean ccxxvii 
 
 A Serenade . ccxxx 
 
 Where shall the Lover rest ? ccxxxvi 
 
 The Rover „ ccxxxvih 
 
 The Maid of Neidpath ccxl 
 
 Gathering Song of Donald the Black ccxiviii 
 
 The Pride of Youth . . . ^ cclxxiii 
 
 Coronach . cclxxviii 
 
 Rosabelle cclxxxi 
 
 Hunting Song cclxxxv 
 
 Datur Hora Quieti cccxi 
 
 Sedley, Charles (1639-1701). 
 
 Child and Maiden , cvi 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am ....... . . cxxvi 
 
 Shakespeare, William (1564-1616). 
 
 The Fairy Life, I „ ii 
 
 The Fairy Life, n. iii 
 
 Sonnet-Time and Love, I v 
 
 Sonnet-Time and Love, U vi 
 
 A Madrigal ^ ix 
 
 Under the greenwood tree x 
 
 It was a lover and his lass xi 
 
 Sonnet — Absence xiv 
 
 Sonnet — Absence xv 
 
 Sonnet — A Consolation xvi 
 
 Sonnet — The Unchangeable xvii 
 
 Sonnet . . , xviii
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 373 
 
 Shakespeare, William {continued). number 
 
 Sonnet — To his Love xxiii 
 
 Sonnet — To his Love % . xxiv 
 
 Love's Perjuries xxvii 
 
 Sonnet — True Love ■ ... xxxi 
 
 Carpe Diem xxxv 
 
 Winter xxxvii 
 
 Sonnet — That time of year. . . . i xxxviii 
 
 .Sonnet — Memory xxxix 
 
 Sonnet — Revolutions xli 
 
 Sonnet — Farewell! xlii 
 
 Sonnet — The Life without Passion xliii 
 
 Frustra — Take, O take those lips away xlviii 
 
 Sonnet — Blind Love li 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind Ivi 
 
 Dirge of Love Ixii 
 
 Fidele — Fear no more the heat Ixiv 
 
 A Sea Dirge Ixv 
 
 Sonnet— Post Mortem Ixvii 
 
 Sonnet — The Triumph of Death Ixyiii 
 
 Young Love Ixix 
 
 Sonnet — Soul and Body Ixxviii 
 
 Sonnet — The World's Way Ixxxii 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822). 
 
 The Indian Serenade ccxy 
 
 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ccxix 
 
 Love's Philosophy ccxxviii 
 
 To the Night ccxxxii 
 
 The Flight of Love ccxxxix 
 
 One word is too often profaned ccxlvii 
 
 Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples cclxx 
 
 To a Skylark cclxxxvii 
 
 Ozymandias of Egypt ccxciii 
 
 To a Lady, with a Guitar ccc 
 
 The Invitation cccvii 
 
 The Recollection cccviii 
 
 To the Moon cccxii 
 
 A Dream of the Unknown cccxv 
 
 Written among the Euganean Hills c( ^xxi 
 
 Ode to the West Wind ccl <\\ 
 
 The Poefs Dream , .... cccxxiv 
 
 A Dirge cccxxxiv 
 
 Threnos cccxxxx 
 
 Music, when soft voices die cccxxxix 
 
 Shirley, James (1596-1666). 
 
 The Last Conqueror xci^ 
 
 Death the Leveller • cxii 
 
 Sidney, Philip (1554-1586). 
 
 Via Amoris ••••••••••• xiii 
 
 A Ditty XMii
 
 374 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Sidney, Philip (<:t7«//««^^). numbbb 
 
 Sleep xl 
 
 The Nightingale xlvii 
 
 The Moon Iviii 
 
 Smart, Christopher (1722-1770). 
 
 The Song of David clxxix 
 
 SOUTHEY, Robert (1774-1843). 
 
 After Blenheim cclx 
 
 The Scholar cclxxi 
 
 Spenser, Edmund (1553-1598-9). 
 
 Prothalamion Ixxiv 
 
 Suckling, John (1608-9-1641). 
 
 Encouragements to a Lover cxxix 
 
 Sylvester, Joshua (1563-1618). 
 
 Love's Omnipresence xxxiv 
 
 Thomson, James (1700-1748). 
 
 Rule Britannia clviii 
 
 For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove clxxii 
 
 Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695) . 
 
 The Retreat xcviii 
 
 Friends in Paradise cxxxviii 
 
 A Vision cl 
 
 Verstegan, Richard (c. 1635). 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits . cxxxiv 
 
 Waller, Edmund (1605-1687). 
 
 Go, lovely Rose cxv 
 
 On a Girdle cxxii 
 
 Webster, John ( 1638?). 
 
 A Land Dirge Ixvi 
 
 WiLMOT, John (1647-1680). 
 
 Constancy , cvii 
 
 Wither, George (1588-1667). 
 
 The Manly Heart cxxxi 
 
 Wolfe, Charles (1791-1823). 
 
 The Burial of Sir John Moore cclxii 
 
 To Mary cclxxvu 
 
 WOOTTON, Henry (1568-1639). 
 
 Character of a Happy Life xcv 
 
 Elizabeth of Bohemia , ... ex 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). 
 
 She was a phantom of delight ccxvii 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways ccxx 
 
 I travell'd among unknown men ........ ccxxi 
 
 The Education of Nature ccxxii 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal ccxxiii 
 
 Lucy Gray ccxxvi 
 
 To a distant Friend. ,. .^t*. ccxxxiii
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 375 
 
 Wordsworth, William {continued). number 
 
 Desideria ccxliv 
 
 Ode to Duty cclii 
 
 England and Switzerland, 1802 ccliv 
 
 On the extinction of the Venetian Republic .... cciv 
 
 London, 1802 . cclvi 
 
 London, 1802 cclvii 
 
 When I have borne in memory cclviii 
 
 Simon Lee ccixiii 
 
 A Lesson cclxvn 
 
 The Affliction of Margaret cclxxxiv 
 
 To the Skylark cclxxxvi 
 
 The Green Linnet cclxxxviit 
 
 To the Cuckoo cclxxxix 
 
 Upon Westminster Bridge ccxci 
 
 Composed at Neidpath Castle ccxciv 
 
 Admonition to a Traveller . . . . , ccxcvi 
 
 To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde ccxcvii 
 
 The Reaper ccxcviii 
 
 The Reverie of poor Susan ccxcix 
 
 The Daffodils ccci 
 
 To the Daisy cccii 
 
 Yarrow Unvisited, 1803 cccv 
 
 Yarrow Visited, 1814 cccvi 
 
 By the Sea .• cccix 
 
 To Sleep cccxiii 
 
 The Inner Vision cccxvii 
 
 Written in Early Spring cccxix 
 
 Ruth, or the Influences of Nature cccxx 
 
 Nature and the Poet cccxxiii 
 
 Glen-Almain, the Narrow Glen .,..,... cccxxv 
 
 The World is too much with us cccxxvi 
 
 Within King's College Chapel, Cambridge .... cccxxvii 
 
 The Two April Mornings cccxxx 
 
 The Fountain cccxxxi 
 
 The Trossachs o . . cccxxxvi 
 
 My heart leaps up cccxxxvii 
 
 Ode on Intimations of Immortality cccxxxvii' 
 
 iVYAT, Thomas (1503-1542). 
 
 A Supplication xxviii 
 
 The Lover's Appeal xliv 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 Omnia Vincit viii 
 
 Colin XX 
 
 A Picture «••...••. xxi 
 
 A Song for Music o xxii 
 
 In Lacrimas !•••••• .. xxx 
 
 Love's Insight •••o xxxiii 
 
 An honest Autolycus •.•••••...•• xxxvi
 
 376 
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Anonymous {continued). .^.V"^^^* 
 
 The Unfaithful Shepherdess h" 
 
 Advice to a Lover j^X. 
 
 A sweet Lullaby j^'i 
 
 A Dilemma ''F^ 
 
 The Great Adventurer . _ civ 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair Maid cxiv 
 
 Cherry Ripe cxvii 
 
 My Love in her attire cxxi 
 
 Love not me for comely grace ^^^^... 
 
 Forsaken cxxxill 
 
 Fair Helen • cxxxv 
 
 The Twa Corbies cxxxv. 
 
 Willie Drowned in Yarrow clxiv 
 
 Absence ,,».... c^f-C^
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGfi 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands bound . 209 
 
 A child's a plaything for an hour 266 
 
 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 302 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal 208 
 
 A sweet disorder in the dress 95 
 
 A weary lot is thine, fair maid 222 
 
 A wet shee^t and a flowing sea 231 
 
 Absence, h'ear thou this protestation J 
 
 Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit S8 
 
 Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh 21; 
 
 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd i^^ 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights I97 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true I79 
 
 And is this — Yarrow? — This the Stream 294 
 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair 227 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus 26 
 
 Ariel to Miranda:— Take 285 
 
 Art thou pale for weariness 3^2 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers 50 
 
 As it fell upon a day 27 
 
 As I was walking all alane 107 
 
 As slow our ship her foamy track 247 
 
 At the comer of Wood Street, when daylight appears ... 284 
 
 At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly . . . 227 
 
 Avenge, O Lord ! Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones ... 04 
 
 Awake, Aeolian lyre, awak* iS^ 
 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre . « . c . loi 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth ... . - ^95 
 
 Beauty sat bathing by a spring , . . . 13 
 
 Behold her, single in the field .....■■»' 5>.8? 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend . w . •. . I 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed .....*. 273 
 
 Best and brightest, come away 29<i 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live 9l 
 
 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 124 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 34 
 
 Bright Star I would I were steadfast as thou art 225 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren ^ 
 
 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air ^ 
 
 377
 
 378 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 FAGS 
 
 Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 75 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the Sable Night 28 
 
 Come away, come away, Death 38 
 
 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me 50 
 
 Come little babe, come silly soul 34 
 
 Come live with me and be my Love 4 
 
 Come, Sleep : O Sleep ! the certain knot of peace 24 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands 2 
 
 Crabbed Age and Youth 6 
 
 Cupid and my Campasp6 play'd 44 
 
 Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 80 
 
 Daughter of Jove, relentless power 186 
 
 Daughter to that good Earl, once President 89 
 
 Degenerate Douglas ! oh, the unworthy lord 279 
 
 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ...... 53 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 146 
 
 Drink to me only with tliine eyes 91 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo 178 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child , 225 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more fair 278 
 
 E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks 96 
 
 Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 236 
 
 Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky 270 
 
 Ever let the Fancy roam 307 
 
 Fain would I change that note 5 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we wet'p to see no 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree no 
 
 Farewell 1 thou art too dear for my possessing 25 
 
 Fear no more the iieat o' the sun 40 
 
 Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new ... 22 
 
 Follow thy fair sliii, unhappy shadow 30 
 
 For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 154 
 
 Forget not yet the tried intent 17 
 
 Four Seasons fill the measure of the year 335 
 
 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony .... . . 62 
 
 From Stirling Castle we had seen 292 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies 40 
 
 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 87 
 
 (jem of the crimson-colour'd Even 215 
 
 Get up, get up, for shame ! The blooming mom 93 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 152 
 
 Go, lovely Rose 91 
 
 Hail thou most sacred venerable thing 127 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit 270 
 
 Happy the man, whose wish and care 135
 
 INDEX OF FIRST UNES 379 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Happy those early days, when I 78 
 
 Happy were he could finish forth his fate 54 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek 90 
 
 He is gone on the mountain 260 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights 103 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy . 115 
 
 Hence, vain deluding Joys 119 
 
 He sang of God, the mighty source * 163 
 
 High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be 8 
 
 How happy is he born and taught , 76 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 9 
 
 How sleep the brave who sink to rest 143 
 
 How sweet the answer Echo makes 214 
 
 How vainly men themselves amaze 112 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey 188 
 
 I arise from dreams of Thee 203 
 
 I cannot change, as others do 87 
 
 I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 303 
 
 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 205 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had companions 247 
 
 1 have no name 163 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes 309 
 
 I meet thy pensive, moonlight face 208 
 
 I met a traveller from an antique land . 279 
 
 I remember, I remember 250 
 
 I saw Eternity the other night 127 
 
 I saw her in childhood 262 
 
 I saw my Lady weep 19 
 
 I saw where in the shroud did lurk . 264 
 
 I travell'd among unknown men 206 
 
 I wander'd lonely as a cloud 287 
 
 I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile 324 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies 105 
 
 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 169 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please 152 
 
 If I had thought thou couldst have died 259 
 
 If Thou survive my well-contented day 41 
 
 If to be absent were to be 99 
 
 I'm wearing awa*, Jean 182 
 
 In a drear-nighted December 219 
 
 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining 193 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan 244 
 
 In this still place, remote from men 326 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Ktian 305 
 
 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 300 
 
 It is not growing like a tree . . c 77 
 
 It was a dismal and a fearful night 107 
 
 It was a lover and his lass 7
 
 380 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGB 
 
 It was a summer evening 240 
 
 I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 144 
 
 Jack and Joan, they think no ill . 114 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John 182 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting ........ 42 
 
 Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son 79 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 19 
 
 Life ! I know not what thou art 194 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore .... 24 
 
 Like to the clear in highest sphere 11 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee 43 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise 90 
 
 Love not me for comely grace 98 
 
 Lo I where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 164 
 
 Many a green isle needs must be 317 
 
 Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings 189 
 
 Milton I thou shouldst be living at this hour 238 
 
 Mine be a cot beside the hill 168 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear 74 
 
 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 306 
 
 Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold 197 
 
 Music, when soft voices die 343 
 
 My days among the Dead are past 253 
 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 275 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 337 
 
 My Love in her attire doth shew her wit 95 
 
 My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 39 
 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife 38 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his 20 
 
 Never love unless you can 16 
 
 Never seek to tell thy love 155 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 41 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 243 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 98 
 
 Now the golden Morn aloft 132 
 
 Now the last day of many days 298 
 
 O Vjlithe new-comer ! I have heard 274 
 
 O Brignall banks are wild and fair c 201 
 
 O Friend! I know not which way I must look ...... 238 
 
 O happy shades ! to me unblest 186 
 
 O if tliou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm 18 
 
 O leave this barren spot to me 280 
 
 O listen, listen, ladies gay 263 
 
 O lovers' eyt-s are sharp to see 224 
 
 O Mary, at tliy window be , , 174
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 38 1 
 
 rAGB 
 
 O me! what eyes hath love put in my head ....... 31 
 
 O Mistress mine, where are you roaming 21 
 
 O my Luve's like a red, red rose 175 
 
 O never say that I was false of heart 10 
 
 O saw ye bonnie Lesley I75 
 
 O say what is that thing call'd Light 135 
 
 O talk not to me of a name great in story 200 
 
 O Thou, by Nature taught 133 
 
 O waly waly up the bank 103 
 
 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms sai 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being .... 322 
 
 O World ! O Life ! O Time 336 
 
 Obscurest night involved the sky , 191 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart 150 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw c . 181 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 233 
 
 Of Neptune's empire let us sing 8* 
 
 Of this fair volume which we World do name 55 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 2H 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 251 
 
 Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom , . 258 
 
 On a day, alack the day 17 
 
 On a Poet's lips I slept 326 
 
 Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 237 
 
 One more Unfortunate '. 255 
 
 One word is too often profaned 229 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low 239 
 
 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd . . . 303 
 
 Over the mountains 84 
 
 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 44 
 
 Phoebus, arise 2 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 230 
 
 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 51 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood 254 
 
 Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair • . . 81 
 
 Rough Wind, that moanest loud 336 
 
 Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 139 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 289 
 
 See with what simplicity 85 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ........ 14 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair 102 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways ......... 206 
 
 She is not fair to outward view 205 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 204 
 
 She was a Phantom of delight 204
 
 382 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 rAGB 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea .... 4 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part 29 
 
 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me , . 31 
 
 Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile 153 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 164 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone 254 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king .... i 
 
 Star that bringest home the bee 300 
 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 235 
 
 Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind 226 
 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 90 
 
 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 281 
 
 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory 13 
 
 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade 153 
 
 Swiftly walk over the western wave 216 
 
 Take, O take those lips away 29 
 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 327 
 
 Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind 88 
 
 Tell me where is Fancy bred „ . . . 42 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 23 
 
 That which her slender waist confined 96 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 170 
 
 The forward youth that would appear 65 
 
 The fountains mingle with \\\& river 214 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 75 
 
 The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King 54 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness 143 
 
 The man of life upright 52 
 
 The merchant, to secure his treasure 154 
 
 The more we live, more brief appear 335 
 
 The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 28 
 
 The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade 166 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters 202 
 
 There is a flower, the lesser Celandine 249 
 
 There is a garden in her face 92 
 
 There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away . 248 
 
 There's not a nook within this solemn Pass 337 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream .... 337 
 
 The sea hath many thousand sands 33 
 
 The sun is warm, the sky is clear 252 
 
 The sun upon the lake is low 301 
 
 The twentieth year is well-nigh past 190 
 
 The world is too much with us; late and soon 3(27 
 
 They are all gone into the world of light 109 
 
 They that have power to hurt, and will do none 25 
 
 This is the month, and this the happy morn 56 
 
 This Life, which seems so fair 51 
 
 Though others may her brow adore 20
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 383 
 
 FAGB 
 
 Thou are not fair, for all thy red and white .......' 33 
 
 Thou stili unravish'd bride of quietness 328 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower 207 
 
 Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream I45 
 
 Timely blossom, Infant fair 137 
 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry 53 
 
 Toll for the Brave I47 
 
 To me, fair Friend, you never can be old n 
 
 To one who has been long in city pent „ . . 278 
 
 Turn back, you wanton flyer 15 
 
 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 128 
 
 'Twas on a lofty vase's side 136 
 
 Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea 237 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 7 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 105 
 
 Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying 329 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 74 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay 269 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie 167 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee 37 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains 14 
 
 Were I as base as is the lowly plain 21 
 
 We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 332 
 
 We walk'd along, while bright and red 331 
 
 We watch'd her breathing thro' the night 261 
 
 Whenas in silks my Julia goes 95 
 
 When Britain first at Heaven's command 138 
 
 When first the fiery-mantled Sun 290 
 
 When God at first made Man 78 
 
 When he who adores thee has left but the name 242 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall 22 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 76 
 
 When I have borne in memory what has tamed ... 239 
 
 When I have fears that I may cease to be 226 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced ... 3 
 
 When I survey the bright 125 
 
 When I think on the happy days iSo 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 10 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 15 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly . 155 
 
 When Love with unconhned wings 98 
 
 When maidens such as Hester die 258 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young 160 
 
 When Ruth was left half desolate c . . . . 3^0 
 
 When the lamp is shatter'd 223 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame . . 177
 
 ^4 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 When thou must home to shades of underground 36 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 23 
 
 When we two parted 218 
 
 Where art thou, my beloved Son 266 
 
 Where shall the lover rest 220 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I • . . . . i 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 123 
 
 Whether on Ida's shady brow 195 
 
 While that the sun with his beams hot 32 
 
 Whoe'er she be 82 
 
 Why art thou silent ? !s thy love a plant 217 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover 100 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 213 
 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ... 36 
 
 With little here to do or see 288 
 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first iii 
 
 Ye banks and braes and streams around . . . . ^ . . . 176 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 156 
 
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 183 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 232 
 
 Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ........ 2C0 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more - , . , . 68 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night .. r ...... , 88
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 B 000 016 561 3 
 
 
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 1175 
 I*17g 
 1891
 
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