\ /)'*> fj> ■t u r^ THE % Blue ^goETRY .-Book Croivii Svo. 6s. gilt edges. THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. Edited by Anleew Lang. With 8 Plates and 130 Illustrations in the Text by H. J. $'oid and G. P. Jacomb Hood. Crow7i Svo. 6s. gilt edges. THE RED FAIRY BOOK. Edited by Andrew L.wg. With 4 Plates and 96 Illustrations in the Text by H. J. Ford and Lancelot Si^eed. London : LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. .Sec i>. Vol TO BEHOLD THE WAXDERIXG MOON RIDING NEAR HER HIGHEST NOON THE ;Blue .'Eoetry Book EDITED BY ANDREW LANG 117/7/ MilEROCS ILLUSTRATluy.-i BY 11. .1. FORD AXD LAyC£LoT Hl'EEU * ^ * » I > J O • ** * • »«• * -'» » • » > a LONDON L N c; ^r a n s, (\\\ \\ v. n. and c o. AM) NEW YUHK ; V, KAST Hi"' STREET 1H!»1 108754 Atl rlffhli rfitrvfd • • 9 « ft • • I'lilNI'KI) l;Y SrOTTIPWeiOriE AND fO., M-;W-S'JUEKT S^fAKK J. ON 11 OX 'K V H I ^ INTRODUCTION N ^The purpose ot this Collection is to put before children, and nV^k young people, poems which are good in themselves, and espe- cially fitted to live, as Theociitus says, * on the lips of the young.' The Editor has been guided to a great extent, in making his choice, by recollections of what particularly pleased himself in youth. As a rule, the beginner in poetry t* .likes what is calleo ' objective ' art — verse with a story in it, v^ the more vigorous the story the better. The old ballads satisfy this taste, and the Editor would gladly have added more of them, but for two reasons. First, tlie'^e are parents who would see harm, whore children see none, in ' Tamlane ' and * Clerk Saunders.' Next, there was reason to dread that the volume might become entirely too Scottish. It is certainly a curious thing that, in ]\Ir. Palgrave's Golden Treasiinj, where some seventy poets are represented, scarcely more than a tenth 1^ if the number were born north of Tweed. In this book, how- ever, intended for lads and lassies, the poems by Campbell, by Sir Walter Scott, by Burns, by the Scottisli song-writers, and the Scottish minstrels of the ballad, are in an unexpectedly large proportion to the poems by English authors. The Editor believes that this predominance of Northern verse is not due to any exorbitant local patriotism of his own. Tlie singers of the NortJi, for some reason or other, do excel in poems of action and of adventure, or to him they seem to excel. lie is acquainted with no modern ballad by a Southern I'mglish- man, setting aside ' Clnistabel ' and tlie ' Ancient Mariner — ' poems hardly to be called halhids— w liidi equals ' The Eve of viii THE BLUE POETRY BOOK St. Jolin.' For spirit-stirring martial strains few Englishmen since Drayton have been rivals of Campbell, of Scott, of Burns, of Hogg with his song of ' Donald McDonald.' Two names, indeed, might be mentioned here : the names of the late Sir Francis Doyle and of Lord Tennyson. But the scheme of this book excludes a choice from contemporary poets. It is not necessary to dwell on the reasons for this decision. But the Editor believes that some anthologist of the future will find in the poetry of living English authors, or of English authors recently dead, a very considerable garden of that kind of verse which is good both for young and old. To think for a moment of this abundance is to conceive more highly of Victorian poetry. There must still, after all, be youth and mettle in the nation which could produce ' The Ballad of the Kevenge,' 'Lucknow,' 'The Eed Thread of Honour," 'The Loss of the Birkenhead,' ' The Forsaken Merman,' ' The Bringing of the Good News to Ghent,' 'The Pied Piper of Llamelin,' and many a song of Charles Kingsley's, not to mention here the work of still later authors. But we only glean the fields of men long dead. For this reason, then — namely, because certain admirable contemporary poems, like ' Lucknow ' and ' The Red Thread of Honour,' are unavoidably excluded — the poems of action, of war, of adventure, chance to be mainly from Scottish hands. Thus Campbell and Scott may seem to hold a pre- eminence which would not have been so marked had the works of living poets, or of poets recently dead, been available. Yet in any circumstances these authors must have occupied a great deal of the field : Campbell for the vigour which the unfriendly Leyden had to recognise ; Scott for that Homeric quality which, since Homer, no man has displayed in the same degree. Extracts from his long poems do not come Avithin the scope of this selection. But, estimated even by his lyrics, Scott seems, to the Editor, to justify his right, now occasionally disdained, to rank among the great poets of his country. He has music, speed, and gaiety, as in ' The Hunting Song ' or in ' Nora's Vow : ' INTEODUCTION ix For all tlie gold, for all the pjear, For all the lands both far and near That ever valour lost or won, 1 wuuld not wed the Earlie's son ! Lines like these sing themselves naturally in a child's memory, while there is a woodland freshness and a daring note in O, Brifjnall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green. ' Young Lochinvar ' goes ' as dauntingly as wantonly ' to his bridal, as the heir of Macpherson's Rant to his death, in a wonderful swing and gallop of verse ; while still, out of dim years of childhood far away, one bears how- all the bells are ringing in Dunfermline town for the wedding of Alice Brand. From childhood, too, one remembers the quietism of Lucy Ashton's song, and the monotone of the measure — Vacant heart and hand and eye, Easy live and quiet die. Tlie wisdom of it is as perceptible to a child as that other lesson of Scott's, which rings like a clarion : To all the sensual world proclaim One glorious hour of crowded life Is worth an age without a name. Then there are his martial pieces, as the ' Gathering Song of Donald Dim ' and ' The Cavalier,' and there is the inimit- able simplicity and sadness of ' Proud Maisie,' like the dirge for Clearista by Meleager, but with a deeper tone, a stronger magic ; and there is the song, whicli the Fates might sing in a Greek chorus, the song which Meg Merrilies sang, Twist ye, twine ye, even so I Tliese lire but a few examples of Scott's variety, his spontaneity, his hardly conscious mastery of his art. Like Phemius of Ithaca, he migiit say ' none has taught me but myself, ami the (lod has put into my heart all iiimiuh r of lays'- all but the conscious and elaborate 'manner of lays," X THE BLUE POETRY BOOK which has now such power over some young critics that they talk of Scott's redeeming his bad verse by his good novels. The taste of childhood and of maturity is simpler and more pure. In the development of a love of poetry it is probable that simple, natiu^al, and adventurous poetry like Scott's comes first, and that it is followed later — followed but not superseded — by admiration of such reflective poetry as is plain and even obvious, like that of Longfellow, from whom a number of examples are given. But, to the Editor at least, it seems that a child who cares for poetry is hardly ever too young to delight — in mere beauty of words, in the music of metre and rhyme, even when the meaning is perhaps still obscure and little considered. A child, one is convinced, would take great pleasure in Mr. Swinburne's choruses in ' Atalanta,' such as Before the beginning of j-ears, and in Shelley's ' Cloud ' and his ' Arethusa.' For this reason a number of pieces of Edgar Poe's are given, and we have not shrunk even from including the faulty ' Ulalume,' because of the mere sound of it, apart from the sense. The three most famous poems of Coleridge may be above a child's full comprehension, but they lead him into a world not realised, ' an unsubstantial fairy place,' bright in a morning mist, like our memories of childhood. It is probably later, in most lives, that the mind wakens to delight in the less obvious magic of style, and the less ring- ing, the more intimate melody of poets* like Keats and Lord Tennyson. The songs of Shakespeare, of course, are for all ages, and the needs of youth comparatively mature are met in Dryden's ' Ode on Alexander's Feast,' and in ' Lycidas' and the ' Hymn for the Nativity.' It does not appear to the Editor that poems about children, / or especially intended for children, are those which a child / likes best. A child's imaginative life is much spent in the unknown future, and in the romantic past. He is the con- temporary of Leonidas, of Agincourt, of Bannockburn, of the INTRODUCTION xi '45 ; he is living in an lieroic age of his own, in a Phivacia where the Gods walk visibly. The poems written for and about children, like Blake's and some of Wordsworth's, rather appeal to the old, whose own childhood is now to them a distant fairy world, as the mans life is to the child. The Editorcan remember having been more mystified and puzzled by 'Lucy Gray ' than by the ' Eve of St. John,' at a very early age. He is convinced that Blake's ' Nurse's Song,' for example, which brings back to him the long, the endless evenings of the Northern summer, when one had to go to bed while the hills beyond Ettrick were still clear in the silver light, speaks more inti- mately to the grown man than to the little boy or girl. Hood's ' I remember, I remember,' in the same way, brings in the burden of reflection on that which the child cannot possibly retlectupon — namely, a childhood which is past. There is the same tone in Mr. Stevenson's ' Child's (iarden of Verse,' which can hardly be read without tears — tears that do not come and should not come to the eyes of childhood. For, beyond the child and his actual experience of the world as the ballads and poems of battle are, he can forecast the years, and anticipate the passioiis. What he cannot anticipate is his oAvn age, himself, his pleasures and griefs, as the grown man sees them in memory, and with a sympathy for the thing that he has been, and can never be again. It is his excursions into the '^ untravelled world which the child enjoys, and this is what makes Shakespeare so dear to him — Shakespeare Avho has written so little on childhood. In Th^c Midsunnncr NiiiJit's Dream the child can lose himself in a world famil'a" to him, in the fairy age, and can derive such pleasure from Puck, or from Ariel, as his later taste can scarce recover in tlie same measure. Falstaff is his playfellow, ' a child's Falstaff. an innocent creature,' as Dickens says of Tom Jones in Diicnl Capper field. A boy prefers the wild Prince and Poins to r.ailniru Lewthwaite, the little girl who moralised to the lamh. We make a mistake when we * write down ' to children ; still more do we err when we tell a child not to read tliis or that xii THE BLUE POET BY BOOK because he cannot understand it. He understands far more than we give him credit for, but nothing that can harm him. The half-understanding of it, too, the sense of a margin be- yond, as in a wood full of unknown glades, and birds, and flowers unfamiliar, is great part of a child's pleasure in reading. For this reason many poems are included here in which the Editor does not suppose that the readers will be able to pass an examination. For another reason a few pieces of no great excellence as poetry are included. Though they may appear full of obviousness to us, there is an age of dawning reflection to which they are not obvious. Longfellow, es- pecially, seems to the Editor to be a kind of teacher to bring readers to the more reflective poetry of Wordsworth, while he has a sort of simple charm in which there is a foretaste of the charm of Tennyson and Keats. But everyone who attempts to make such a collection must inevitably be guided by his. own recollections of childhood, of his childish likings, and the development of the love of poetry in himself. We have really no other criterion, for children are such kind and good- natured critics that they will take pleasure in whatever is given or read to them, and it is hard for us to discern where the pleasure is keenest and most natural. The Editor trusts that this book may be a guide intO' romance and fairyland to many children. Of a child's en- thusiasm for poetry, and the life which he leads by himself in poetry, it is very difficult to speak. Words cannot easily bring back the pleasure of it, now discerned in the far past like a dream, full of witchery, and music, and adventure. Some children, perhaps the majority, are of such a nature that they weave this dream for themselves, out of their own imaginings,, with no aid or with little aid from the poets. Others, possibly less imaginative, if more bookish, gladly accept the poet's help, and are his most flattering readers. There are moments in that remote life which remain always vividly present to memory, as when first we followed the chase with Fitz- James, or first learned how ' The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day/ or first heard how IXTEODVCTION xiii All day long the noise of battle roU'd Among the moxmtains by tlie winter sea. Almost the liappiest of such moments were those lulled by the sleepy music of ' The Castle of Indolence,' a poem now perhaps seldom read, at least by the young. Yet they may do worse than visit the drowsy ca.stle of him who wrote So when a shepherd of the Hebrid isles Placed far amid the melancholy main. Childhood is the age when a love of poetry may be bora and strengthened — a taste which grows rarer and more rare in our age, when examinations spring up and choke the good seed. 15y way of lending no aid to what is called Education, very few notes have been added. The child does not want everything to be explained ; in the unexplained is great pleasure. Nothing, perhaps, crushes the love of poetry more surely and swiftly than the use of poems as school-books. They are at once associated in the mind with lessons, with long, with endless hours in school, with puzzling questions and the agony of an imperfect memory, with grammar and etymology, and everything that is the enemy of joy. We may cause children to hate Shakespeare or Spenser as Byron hated Horace, by inflicting poets on them, not for their poetry, but for the valuable information in the notes. This danger, at least, it is not difficult to avoid in the Blue Poetry Book. CONTENTS NritsE's Song A Bovs Song I ReMEMHER, I KEMEMHEr. The Lamii Night .... On a Sl-ANIEL CALLED ' Be.U" ' KlLLIN( A YocxG Bird LrcY Gray ; or, Solituhe HrxTixG Song Lord Ullln's LUcghteh The Chimxey-kweepeu . N'dra's Vow . Ballad of Agixcoukt Ye Mariners of Esgl.\xd The Girl Descriues her Fawx The Soldier's Dream John GiLiis . HoHEXLIXDEN . ^^'£hk. Village Blacksmith Elegy on the Death oe a Mad Dog The Outlaw . Battle of the IUltic YotXG LoCHIXVAII . The Wreck of the Hesperus 'I'lIK I)(»G AND THE WaTEU-LILY To Flush, my Dog Alice Brand . O, WERT Thou in the Cauld Blast PAGK . Blake . 1 Hogg 2 . Hood . ■^ . Blake . 4 . Blake . 5 . Coivper . (> Wordsivoi'th . 8 . Scott 12 . Campbell 13 . Blake . U\ . Scott 17 . Drayton IS Campbell 22 . Marvell . 25 . Campbell 27 . Coirpcr . 2H . Campbell HC) Luugfellow ■M (li>l(lsinilli 38 . Scott 40 . Campbell 43 . Scott 4-> Limgfellow •ll'> ( 'oirpcr . .')() . Mrs. Brou'itiiiij r.i . Scott r,r> liitniH (>i XVI THE BLUE POETRY BOOK 1 Love my Jean .... . Burns There'll never be Pe.\ce till Jamie COMES Hame .... Burns The Banks o' Doon . Burns . As slow our Ship Moore A Eed, Red Eose .... Bannockburn .... Burns The Minstrel-Boy Moore The Farewell .... Burns 'The Hakp that once through Tara'f IL\lls ..... Moore Stanzas Byron A Sea Dirge Shakespeare Rose Aylmer Landor . Song SJiahespeare liUCY Ashton's Song Scott ^Evening Scott ;SoNG Shakespeare The Twa Corbies ' To One in Paradise .... Poe. Hymn to Diana .... . Jonsmx . •County Guy Scott Gathering Song of Donald Dhu . Scott 'The Destruction of Sennacherib Byron 'The Cavalier .... Scott ■On First Looking into Chapman's Homer . ' . . Keats 'Song Hood ■Ode Written in mdccxlvi. . Collins . To Daffodils Her rick . The Solitary Reaper . Wordsworth To Blossoms Herrick . Proud Maisie . . . . Scott Sleep Sidney . Hymn for the Dead .... Scott The Poplar Field .... Cowpcr . Winter Shakcs2:icarc PAGE , 62 CONTENTS xvu Annabel Lee ...... To Maby Twist ye, T\^^NE ye ... . To LCCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WaBS The Demon Loveb .... The Lawl.\nds of Holland . The Valley of Unbest The Bcblvl of Sir John Moore at Corcnna . St. Swithin's Chair St.vnz.\s written on the Eo.ad between Florence and Pisa Babthbam's Dibge . To THE CCCKOO Helen of Kibkconnel To Altuea from Prison * I Wandered Lonely ' Hester . To Evening . The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill The Wife of Usher's Well .\llen-a-Dale ..... The Beleaguebed City Alex.vnder's Feast ; ob, the Power of Music The P.kssionate Shephebd to his Love, The Flowebs o' the Poorest Ulalume . KuuLA Khan . L".\LLE Cowper . . 278 Scott . 280 Minstrel Burn . . 28& Coivper . . 287 Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border . 288 Milton . . 29a Gray . . 300 Milton . . 805 Keats . 3ia Coleridge . 314 Woi'dsu-orth . 325 WordszcortJi . 327 Anonymous . 329 . 333 Praed . 334 Couper . . 344 Wordsworth . 34G XX THE BLUE POETRY BOOK LIST OF PLATES FAGB To BEHOLD THE WANDEBING MoON KiDING NEAR HEK HIGHEST NOON . FrOlltispieCe And the Stab of Peace ketukn 23 ' And if there's blood upon his hand, 'Tis BUT the blood of deer ' .... 59 Orpheus with his Lute 76 And the Idols are broke in the Temple of Baal . . .84 To shut her up in a sepulchre, In this kingdom by the sea . . . . ' . 97 Why weep ye by the tide, Ladie? ' . . . •. . . 157 Syne, in the cleaving of a craig 165 The beard and the hair Of the Kiver-god were Seen through the torrent's sweep . . • 190 The death-fires danced at night 220 And nothing else saw all day long 267 So half-way from the bed she rose, And on her elbow did recline To LOOK at the Lady Geraldine .... 323 THE Blue Poetry Book NURSE'S SONG "When* the voices of children are heard on the green .Vnd hiughinfj is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within ui}'^ breast, And everything else is still. Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise ; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away Till the morning ajjpears in the skies. No, no, let ub play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep ; I'csides in the sky the little birds fly, And tlic hills arc all covered with sheep. Well, well, go and play till the li^'lit lades away, And then go honje to bed. The little ones leap'd and shouted and laugh'd ; And (ill the hills echoed. W. P>r.AKF. II A BOY'S SONG Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the grey trout lies asleep, Up the river and o'er the lea. That's the way for Billy and me. Where the blackbird sings the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest. Where the nestlings chirp and flee. That's the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest, Wliere the hay lies thick and greenest ; There to trace the homeward bee. That's the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest. Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nnts fall free. That's the way for Billy and me. Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play. Or love to banter and fight so well. That's the thing I never could tell. But this I know, I love to play, Through the meadow, among the haj' ; Up the water and o'er the lea. That's the way for Billy and me. Hogg. I BEMEMBER, I REMEMBER I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The httle 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 wisli tlie night Had borne my breath away ! II I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The viiets, and the hl\ -cups, Those flowers made of hght ! The hlacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, — The tree is living yet ! Ill I remember, I remember Wliere I was used to swing. And thought the air nuist rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, Tliat is so heavy now, And Hiumnor pools could liardly cool Tlie fever on my brow ! 11*2 I BEMEMBER, I BEMEMBER IV 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, Bnt now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off fi-om heav'n Than when I was a boy. Hood. THE LAMB Little Lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who niade thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice Making all the vales rejoice ; Little Lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb : — He is meek and He is mild ; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb. We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee ; Little Lamb, God bless thee. W. Blake. NIGHT Thk siui descending,' in the west, The evening star does shine ; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. NIGHT The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have ta'en delight ; Where lambs have nibbled, silent inoves The feet of angels bright ; Unseen, they pour blessing. And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom. They look in every thoughtless nest. Where birds are cover'd warm. They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm : — If they see any weepmg That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed. W. Blake. ON A SPANIEL CALLED 'BEAU' KILLING A YOUNG BIBD A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you. Well fed, and at his ease. Should wiser be than to piursue Each trifle that he sees. But you have killed a tiny bird. Which flew not till to-day, Against my orders, whom j'ou heard Forbidding you the prey. ON A SPANIEL CALLED • BEAU ' Nor did you kill that you uiight eat, And ease a dogfish pain, For him, though chased with furious heat, You left where he was slain. Nor was he of the thievish sort, Or one whom blood allures. But innocent was all his sport ^Vhom vou have torn for yours. r% y.--A iV, "'•'»-. My dog! what remedy remains. Since, teach you all I can, I see yoa, after all my pains, bo much resemble man ? beau's RKl'LY Sir, when I flew to seize the bird In spite of your command, A louder voice than yours I heard, And harder to withstand. You cried—' Forbear ! '—but in my breast A mightier cried ' Proceed ! ' - 'Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest JiiipeU'd me to the deed. 8 ON A SPANIEL CALLED 'BEAU' Yet much as Nature I respect, I ventured once to break (As you perhaps may recollect) Her precept for your sake ; And when 3'our linnet on a day, Passing his prison door, Had flutter' d all his strength away, And panting pressed the floor ; Well knowing him a sacred thing, Not destined to my tooth, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing. And lick'd the feathers smooth. Let my obedience then excuse My disobedience now, Nor some reproof yourself refuse From your aggrieved Bow-wow ; If killing birds be such a crime, (Which I can hardly see), What think you, sir, of killing Time With verse address' d to me '? COWPER, LUCY GBAY; OR, SOLITUDE Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray : And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; She dwelt on a wide moor, — The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door ! LUCY GRAY; OB, SOLITUDE You yet may spy the fawn at plaj', The hare upon the preen ; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. ' To-ni- It wax'd more white and sweet than they. It liad 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 tlie land ! It is a wond'rous thing how fleet 'Twas on those little silver feet : W"\\.\\ what a pretty skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race ; And when 't had left me far away 'Twould staj', and run again, and stay. For it was nindder much than hinds; And trod us if on the four winds. I have a garden of my own, But BO with roses overgrown. And lilies, that you would it giiess To be a little wildcnieHs, 26 THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER EAWN And all the springtime 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 seem'd to bleed; ^^ fem,*;"^*' And then to me 'twould boldly trip. And pi'int 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, i-oses within. A. Marvell. 27 THE SOLDIERS DREAM Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands liad sunk on the groiuid overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. AVlien 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. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track : 'Twas Autunm, — 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-goals bloating 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 tlioiifand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd uloud in Jier fulness of heart. ' Stay stay with us ! — rest ! — thou art weary and worn ! ' — And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — I'ut sorrow return'd witli the dawning of morn. And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. CAMPniiLij. 28 JOHN GILPIN John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band Captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No hoUday have seen. To-morrow is our wedding-day. And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton, All in a chaise and pair. My sister and my sister's child, Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride On horseback after we. He soon replied, — I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done. I am a linendraper bold, As all the world doth know. And my good friend, the Callender, Will lend his horse to go. Quoth Mistress Gilpin,— That's well said; And for that wine is dear, We will be furnish'd with our own, Which is both bright and cleaur. JOHN GILPIN 29 John Giljiin kiss'tl his loviiifj wife ; D'erjov'd was he to find That though on pleasure she was bent, She had a fnigal mmd. The niorninfir came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow'd To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors oil' the chaise was stay'd, \Vhere they did all get in, Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. Smack went the wliii), round went the wheels ; AVere never folks so glad. The stones did rattle miderneath, As if Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin at his horse's side, Seized fast the Howing mane. And up he got in haste to ride. But soon came down again. "n^ For saddle-tree scarce reacli'd l:ad he. His journey to begin. When turning round his head he saw Three customers come in. So down he came, for loss of time Althou<,']i it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trtjublc Iiim miicli more. 'Twas long Itefore the customers Were suited to their mind, Wlicn JSetty Kcreaminj,' came downstairs, 'J'lic wine is left behind. 30 JOHN GILPIN Good lack ! qtiotli he, yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise. Now Mistress Gilpin, careful soul, Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved, And keep it safe and sound. Each bottle had a curling ear. Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side To make his balance true. Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe. His long red cloak well-brush'd and neat. He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Fvdl slowly pacing o'er the stones, With caution and good heed. But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet. The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in his seat. So, Fair and softly ! John he cried. But John he cried in vain ; That trot became a gallop soon. In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright. He grasp'd the mane witli both his hands And eke with all his might. JOHN GILPIN 31 His horse, who never m that sort Had liaudled been before, What thui^ upon liis back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin neck or nought, Away went hat and wig ; He hllle dreamt, when he set out. Of rmmiug such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay. Till, loop and button failing both. At last it Mew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung ; A bottle swinging at each side As hath been said or sung. The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, Up flew the windows all, And every soul cried out, Well done ! As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin who but ho ? Ilis fame soon sjjread around, He carries weight, he rides a race, 'Tis for a thousand pound. And still as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view llnw in a trice the tmiipike-nien Their gates wide open tluew. And now as h(! went bowing down His reeking head fidl low, The bottles twain luhiiid his back Were Hliatter'd at a lilow. 3'2 JOHN GILPIN Down ran the wine into the road Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he seem'd to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced, For all might see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist. Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, And till he came unto the W^ash Of Edmonton so gay. And there he threw the Wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild-goose at play. At Edmonton his loving wife From the balcony spied Her tender husband, wondering nuicli To see how he did ride. Stop, stop, John Gilpin !— Here's tlie house- They all at once did ci-y, The dinner waits, and we are tired ; Said Gilpin — So am I ! But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there. For why ? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. '^i So like an arrow swift he flew Shot by an archer strong, So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. JOHN a I WIN 83 Away went Gilpin, out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the Callender's His horse at last stood still. The Callender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, tlew to the gate, And thus accosted him — What news ? what news ? 3-our tidings tell, Tell me you must and shall — Saj-, why bareheaded you are come. Or why you come at all '? Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke. And thus unto the Callender In merrj- guise he spoke — I came because your horse would come : And if I well forbodo, ^fy hat and wig will soon be here. They are upon the road. The Callender, right glad to find His frieiid in merry pin, Return'd him not a single word, But to the house went in. Whrnce straight he came witli hat and wig, A wig that flow'd beliind, A hat not much the worse for wear, Each comely in its kind. lit- lull! llicin up, and in liis turn 'I'hus show'd liis ready wit. My head is twice us big as yours, They therefore needs must fit. 34 JOHN GILPIN But let me scrape the dirt away, That hangs upon your face ; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case. Said John — It is my wedding-day. And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton And I should dine at Ware. So, turning to his horse, he said, I am in haste to dine, 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine. All, hickless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid fall dear. For while he spake a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear. Whereat his horse did snort as he Had heard a lion roar, And gallop'd off with all his might, As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first, For why ? they were too big. Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her hixsband posting down Into the country far away. She pull'd out half-a-crown ; And thus unto the youth she said. That drove them to the Bell, This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well. JOHN GILPIN 35 The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain, WTiom in a trice he tried to stop By catching at his rein. But not performing what he meant, And ghidly would have done, The frighten'd steed he frighten'd more And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away "Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels. Six gentlemen upon the road Tlius seeing Gilpin tly, "With postboy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry. Stop thief!— stop thief !— a highwayman! Not one of them was mute, And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space. The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race. And 80 he did and won it too, For he got first to town, Nor stop])'d till where he had got up He did again get down. —Now let us sing. Long live the king, And Gilpin long livo he, And when ho next doth ride abroad. May I be there to see ! W. CoWI'KR. i>2 36 EOHENLINDEN On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight. When the drum beat, at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast array'd Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelrj-. Tlien shook the hills with thunder riven ; Then rush'd the steed to battle di'iven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven, Far flash'd the red artillerj-. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidlj-. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shoiit in their sulph'rous 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. Campbell. 37 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH Undkk a spreadintr chestnut tree Tlie villa>,'e smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, ^\'ith hxrge and sinewy hands ; And the nmsclcs of his brawny arms Ai"e strong as ii'ou bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat. He earns whate'er he can. And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week ont, from morn till night. You can hear his bellows blow ; Yon can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow. Like a sexton ringing the village bell. When the e\ening sun is low. And children coming Jiume I'lcuu bcliool Look in at the open door ; They love to see the Haming forge. And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sj)arks that fly Like chair from a threshing- Hoor. He goes on Sunday to the chiDcli, And sits among his l)()ys ; Ho hears tiie parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Siriging in llir sill.i;,'c clioir. And it iiiukes his heart rejoice. 108754 38 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, roiigh hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done. Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. For the lesson thou hast taught ! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought ! Longfellow. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A 31 AD DOG Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song ; And if you find it wondrous short. It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a Man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes, The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 39 And in that town a Dofj was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongx-el, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low dejn-ee. ■^^^ \. VV^->!^ This Dog and Man at first were friends ; iiut when a picjuc began. The Dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the Man. Around from all the iiciglil)ouring streets 'I be woiidring neighbours ran, And swore the Dog had lost his wits. To bite HO good u Man. 40 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye ; And while they swore the Dog was mad, They swore the Man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied The Man recover' d of the bite, The Dog it was that died. O. Goldsmith. THE OUTLAW O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green. And you may gather garlands tiiere 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, — THE OUTLAW • (). Brij^nall banks are fiesli and lair, Ai\i\ Ureta woods are green ; I'd rather rove with Ednuind there, Than reign our EngHsh (iiicen.' — ' If, Maiden, thou wouklst wend with nie, To leave botli tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we. Tliat dwell bv dale and down ? 41 And if tliou canst that riddle read. As read full well von may. Then to tiie greenwood slialt thou speed As blithe as Queen of Ma}'.' Yet sung slie, ' lirignall banks arc fair, And Greta woods an- green ; I'd rather rove with Ivhnund there Than reign our Kii^,'ii.'~h (inccii.' 42 THE OUTLAW ' I read you by your bugle horn And by yoiu" palfrey good, I read you for a Ranger sworn, To keep the king's greenwood.' — ' A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peej) 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 wovild I were with Edmund there, To reign his Queen of May ! '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 nnist 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. Scott. 43 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC Of Nelson and the North, Sin^' the f^jlorious ilay's renown, AVlien to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And lier arms along the deep proudly shone ; By each gxm the liglited 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, Tliere was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath For a time. — But tlie might of England flusli'd To anticipate the scene ; And her van the fleeter nish'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 liavoc did not slack, Till a feeble clieer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ; — Their shots along tlie deep slowly boom ; — Then ceased — and all is wail, As they strike tlic sliatter'd sail ; Or, in conflagration pale, Liglit tlie gloom. 44 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd 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 fi'om the day. AVhile 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 ! While the billow mournful rolls. And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing Glory to the souls Of the brave ! T. Campbell. 4;-) YOUNG LOCH INVAR 0, YOUNG Lochinvar is come ont of the \\'est ! Tliroup:li all the wide Bonier his steed was the best ; Aiid save his ^ood broadsword, he weapons had none ; He rode all nnarni'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in w'ar, There never was knight like the 3'oung Lochinvar. He stay'd not for brake and lie stojip'd not for stone ; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he enter'd tlie Netherbj' Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ;- Then spoke the bride's fiither, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), ' O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochin^•ar ? ' I long woo'd your daughter, my suit j'ou denied ; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; — And now am I come with this lost Love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine, Tiiere are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar ! ' The bride kiss'd the goblet : the knight took it U]i, He (juaird oir the wine and he tbr<'W down the cup. Slie look'd rlown to lilush, and slic look'd uji to sigh, With u smile on lior lij)s, und a tciu- in her eye. He look her soft hand, ere her mollier could bar, — • .Now irejid we ;i iiiejisure ! ' said young [iochinvar. 46 YOUNG LOCHINVAB So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliarcl did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fimie. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bride-maidens whispered, ' 'Twere better by far, To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar ! ' One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall door ; and the charger stood near ; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! ' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan, Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie lea. But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? Sir W. Scott. THE WBECK OF THE HESPERUS It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter. To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax. Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds. That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the hehu. With his pipe in his mouth, And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 47 Then up and spake an old sail6r, Had sail'd the Spanish Main, ' I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I feai" a hurricane. ' Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-niglit no moon we see ! ' The skipper, he blew a whiti' from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the North-east ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain Tlie vessel in its strength ; • She shudder'd and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leap'd her cable's length. ' Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow.' He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat Against tlie stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken si)ar, And bound her to the mast. 'O father! I hear the church-bells ring, ' (J say, what may it bo ? ' "Tis a fog-bell, on a rock-bound coast I ' — And he steer'd for the open sea. 'O fatlier! I hfar tlio sound of gmis, O say, what may it be ? ' ' Some ship in diutress tliat cannot live In Huch an angry sea ! ' 48 THE WEECK OF THE HESPEEU8 ' father ! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be ? ' But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark. With his face to the ski^s. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fix'd and glassy eyes. Then the maiden clasped her hands and pra3'ed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves On tlie Lake of Galileo. THE WBECK OF THE HESPEBUS 49 Aiiil fast through the midnight dark and ihoar. Through the whisthng sleet and ^now. Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling sm-f. On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, yhe drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where tlic white and fleecy waves Look'd soft as carded wool. But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiilen fair Lashed close to a drifting mast. 'n The salt sea was frozen on her breast. The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair like the brown sea-wccd On the billows fall and rise. ISuch was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this. On the reef of Norman's Woe ! li. W. LONGFKLLOW. B 50 THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY The noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ctise's silent tide, When, 'scaped from literary cares, I wander'd on his side. My spaniel, prettiest of his race, Anel high in pedigree, — (Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace That spaniel found for me,) Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds. Now, starting into sight, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads With scarce a slower flight. It was the time when Ouse display'd His lilies newly blown ; Their beauties I intent survey'd, And one I wish'd my own. With cane extended far I sought To steer it close to land ; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escaped my eager hand. Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains With fix'd considerate face, And puzzling set his puppy brains To comprehend the case. But with a cherup clear and strong Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and foUow'd long The windings of the stream. THE DOG AXD THF. WATER-LILY 61 My ramble ended, 1 return'il ; Bitiit, tiMttiiip; far lietore. The Hoiitiiij^ wivatli aj^ain discernd. And iilunf^in;,' left the shore. I saw liini with that lily eropp'd Impatient swim to meet My ijuick approacli, and soon he dropp'd The treasure at my feet. Charm'd with the sight, ' The world,' I cried, Shall hiar of this thy deed ; My dog shall mortify the pride Of man's superior breed ; ' But chief myself I will enjoin, Awake at duty's call, To show a love as prompt as thine To Ilim who gives nic all.' W. COWPER. ro FLUSH, MY DOG LoviNi; friend, tlic gift of one. Who her own true faith hath rim Through thy lower nature ; Be my benediction said With my hand upon thy head, Gentle fellow-creature I Like a lady's ringlets brown, I'low thy silken ears adown Either side demurely, Of thy silver-suited lircast Shining out from all the rest Oi thy body purely. a2 52 TO FLUSH, MY DOG Darkly bi'own thy body is, Till the sunshine, striking this, Alcheniise its dulness, — When the sleek curls manifold Flash all over into gold, "With a burnished fulness. Underneath my stroking hand, Startled eyes of hazel bland Kindling, growing larger, — Up thou leapest with a spring, Full of prank and curvetting, Leaping like a charger. Leap ! thy broad tail waves a light ; Leap ! thy slender feet are bright. Canopied in fringes. Leap — those tasselled ears of thine Flicker strangely, fair and fine, Down their golden inches. Yet, my pi^ettj' sportive friend, Little is't to such an end That I praise thy rareness ! Other dogs may be thy peers Haply in these drooping ears, And this glossy fairness. But of tliee it shall be said, This dog watched beside a bed Day and night unweary, — Watched within a curtained room. Where no sunbeam brake the gloom Eound the sick and dreary. Roses, gathered for a vase, In that chamber died apace. Beam and breeze resigning — This dog only, waited on, Knowing that when light is gone, Lo\e remains for shining. TO FLUSH, MY DOG 63 Otliei- cloj^s in thyiuy Jew Tracked the hares and followed tlu'ongli Sunny moor or meadow— This dog only, crept and crept Next a lan^'iiid cheek that slept, Sharini,' m tlie shadow. Other do, 'TIH I!I;T IIIK IlI.OOli IIK KKKU.' ALICE BRAND 61 She crossd him once — she cross'd hiin twice — That lady was so brave ; The fouler f^jrcw his f,'ol»lin hue, The darker irrew the cave. She cross'd liiui thrice, that lad.v bold ! — He rose beneath her hand The fairest knight on Scottish uioidd. Her brother, Ethert Brand ! — Merry it is in good greenwood, When tliu mavis and merle are singing ; But merrier were they in Dumformline gray AVhen all the bells were ringing. Sin W. Scott. 0, WEUT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST O, WERT thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. Or did misfortune's bitter storms Ai-ound thee blaw. around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom. To share it a', to share it a'. Or were I in the wildest waste Of earth and air, of earth and air, The desart were a paradise. If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, Tlie oidy jewel in my crown Wad be my (jueen, wad be my queen. BuitNS, 62 I LOVE MY JEAN Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi" uiy 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 bonie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green ; There's not a bonie bird that sings. But minds me o' my Jean. Burns. 63 THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES IIAME A SONG By yon castle wa", at the close of the dav, I heaiil a man sinjj. tho' his heail it was yrey : And as ho was singing, the tears last down came — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hauie. The church it- in ruins, the state is in jars, Delusions, oppressions, and nnuilerous wars ; W'l dare na weel say't but we ken whas to blame— There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hanie. My seven braw sons tor .Jamie drew suord, And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd ; It brak the sweet heart o' my raithfu" auld dame — There'll never be peace till Jiimii- cuiiieh hame. 64 THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE Now life is a burden that bows me down, Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown ; But till my last moment my words are the same — There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. Burns. THE BANKS 0' BOON Ye Howery banks o' bonie Doon, How can ye bluiue sae fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care. Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonie bird, That sings upon the bough ; Thou minds me o' the happy days, When my fause luve was true. Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonie bird. That sings beside thy mate ; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate. Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, To see the woodbine twine, Anc^ ilka bird sang o' its love. And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose Frae oft" its thorny tree ; And my fause luver staw the rose. But left the thorn wi' me. Burns. 65 AS SLOW OUR SHIP As slow our sliip lior foamy track Against the wind was clcavin?. Her trembliufT pennant still looked back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all wo love, I'Vom all the links that hind UK ; So turn our hearts, where'er we rove, To those we've left behind us ! F 66 AS SLOW OUB SHIP When, round the bowl, of vanished years "We talk, with joj'Oiis 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 sweet, And nought but love is wanting ; We think how great had been oi;r 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 consigned us, We turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that's left behind us. Moore. A BED, BED BOSE O, MY luve's like a red, red rose. That's newly sprung in June : O, 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. .4 BED, BED BOSE 67 Till a' the seas gaiig dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun : I will luvo thee still, my dear. While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Inve, And fare thee weel awhile ! And I will come again, my lu\ e, Tho' it were ten thousand mile. BANNOCKBUBN EGBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY Scots, wha hae wi' "Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie. Now's the day, and now's the hour ; See the front o' battle lower ; See approach proud Edward's power- Edward ! chains and slaverie ! Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wlia can till a coward's grave'? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor ! coward ! turn and tlee ! Wha for Scotland's King and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or frte-man fa' ? Caledonian ! on wi' me ! I3y oppression's woes and pains ! ]5y your sons in servile chains ! Wo will drain om* dearest veins, Lut they shall tliey shall bo free ! k 2 68 BANNO CKB UBN Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blovi^ ! Forw^ard ! let us do, or die ! Burns. THE MINSTBEL-BOY The Minstrel-boj' to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him ; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him. — ' Land of song ! ' said the warrior-bard, ' Though all the world betrays thee, One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee ! ' The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under ; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, ' No chains shall sully thee. Thou soul of love and bravery ! Thy songs were made for the brave and free. They shall never sound in slavery ! ' MOOEE. THE FA BE WELL It was a' for our rightfu' King, We left fair Scotland's strand ; It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear ; We e'er saw Irish land. THE FAEEWELL G9 Now a' is done that men can ilo, And a' is done in vain ; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear ; For I maun cross the main. • U ' «f^^ 70 THE F ABE WELL He turn'd him right and round about Upon the Irish shore ; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear ; With adieu for evermore. The sodger from the Vfars returns, The sailor £rae the main ; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear ; Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come. And a' folk bound to sleep ; I think on him that's far awa', The lee-lang night, and weep. My dear ; The lee-lang night, and weep. Burns. THE HABP THAT ONCE THBOUGH T ABA'S HALLS The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed. Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er. And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tar a swells : The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS 71 Thus Frociloin now so seldoiu wakes, Tlie only throb she {ifives Is when some heart indifj^nant breaks, To show that still she Hves. Moore. STANZAS Could Love for ever Eun like a river. Anil Time's endeavour Be tried in vain — No other pleasure Witli this could measure ; And like a treasure We'd liUfT the chain. But since our sighing Ends not in dying, And. form'd for Hying, Love phmies his wing ; Then for this reason Let's love a season ; But let that season be only Spring. When lovers parted Feel broken-hearted. And, all hopes thwarted Expect to die ; A few years older, Ah ! how much colder They might behold her For whom they sigh ! ByroNo A SEA DIRGE Full fathom five thy father lies : Of his bones are coral made ; Tliose are pearls that were his eyes : NotliiiH,' of liii" tliat doth fade, But doth sulfer a sea-change Into fioiiiething rich and strange. Sea-nympliH liourly ring liis kiiill ; Hark ! now I hear them — L)ing, Dong, Bell. SlIAKKSI'KAni: 72 BOSE AYLMEB Ah ! what avails the sceptred race, Ah ! what the form divme ! What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Ayhner, all were thine. Eose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee. Landor, 73 SONG "Who is Silvia ? wliat is she, That all our swains counnend her '? Hol\-, fair and wise is she ; The hea\en such jxiaoe did lend her That she nii-'ht aduuied be. Is she kind, as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of hi.s bHiidncss ; And, being help'd, inhabits tliere. Then to Silvia let us sing. That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thinsr Upon the dull earth dwelling ; To her let us garlands bring. Shakespeare. LUCY ASIITONS SONG Look not thou on beauty's charming, Sit thou still when kings are arming, — TuHte not wlien tlie wine-cup ghstens,— Speak not wlien the people listens,— Stop thine ear against the sniger, — From the red gold kcip thy fnigcr, — Vacant heart, and Jiand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die. Scott, 74 EVENING The sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush theix* 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. ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE. EVENING 77 The noble dame on tiu-iet liish, Wlio waits her <;allant knijjjht, 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 footi)ath watclies now For Colin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day thej' swam apart ; And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart. The woodlark at his partner's side Twitters his closing song — -Vll meet whom day and care divide, — But Leonard tarries long ! Sir W. Scott. SONG OiU'HEUs witli his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze. Bow themselves when he did sing To his music, plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Everything that heard him iilay. Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art. Killing care and grief of lieart Fall asleej), or, liearing, die. SllAKKSlKAnL. 78 THE TWA CORBIES As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane luito the t'other say, ' Whar sail we gang and dine the day ? ' ' 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 make our dinner sweet. ' Ye'll sit on his white liause bane, And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en : Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair. We'll theck our nest when it grows bare. ' Mony a one for him makes mane. But nane sail ken whae he is gane : O'er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sail blaw for evermair.' ' Fail, ' turf.' 79 TO ONE IN PARADISE Thou wast all to me, love, For which my soul did pine — A green isle in the sea, love, A foimtain and a shrine. All wi-eathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. II Ah, dream, too bright to last ! Ah, starry Hope ! that didst arise But to be overcast ! A voice from out the Future cries, ' On ! on ! '—but o'er the Past (Dun gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast ! Ill For, alas ! alas ! with me The light of Life is o'er ! 'No more — no more — no more ' — (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thimder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar ! IV And all my days arc trances, And all my niglitly dreams Are whore tliy dark e,\o glances, And whore thy footstep gleams ; In what ethereal dances. By what eternal streams. TOK. 80 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 thy light, Goddess excellently bright. HYMN TO DIANA 81 Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's sliininj? orh was made Heav'n to clear, wlicn day did close : Bless us then with wished sif,'ht, Goddess excellently briglit. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crj-stal shining quiver ; Give unto the tlying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : ThoTi that niak'st a day of ni»ht, Goddess excellently bright. JONSON. COUNTY GUY Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange HoMer perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who trill'd 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, Iler shepherd's suit to hear ; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars abovo, Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; And high and low the influence know — But vvhoro is County Guy ? SiK W. Scott o 82 GATHERING SONG OF DONALD DHU Pibroch of Donxiil Dhu, Pibroch of Doniiil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Coniiil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons ! Come in your war-array. Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rock}', The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse iminterr'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 : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster. Chief, vassal, page and groom. Tenant and master. Fast the}' come, fast they come ; See how the}' gather ! Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather. Cast yoiar plaids, draw your blades. Forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhn Knell for the onset ! Sir W. Scott. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither' d and strown. ( u -2 AND THE IDOLS AKE BROKE IN THE TEMPLE OF BAAL. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 85 For the An^el of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; And the eves of the sleepers wax'd deadly and cliill, Ai\(\. then- hearts but once heaved, and for ever gr*w still ! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, Bnt throup:h it there roll'd not the breath of his pride ; And tlie foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, Witli the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail : And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, imsmote by the sword. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! Byron. THE CAVALIER While the dawn on the mountain was nristy and gi'ay. My true love lias mounted his steed, and away Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down, — Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown ! Ho lias dotrd the silk doublet the breastjilate to bear, He has placed the steel cap o'er his lung-Howing hair. From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down, — Heaven shield the brave Gallant that tights for the Crown ! For tlie rights of fair ]"'.ngland that broadsword he dniws ; Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ; His wutcliword is honour, his pay is renowji, — God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown ! 86 THE CAVALIER They may boast of their Fau-fax, their Waller, and all The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town, That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ; There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose ! Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown ? Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear, Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown, In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown. Sir W. Scott. ON FIBST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN S HOMEB Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Wliich bards in fealty to Apollo liold. 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. J. Keats. 87 FOR MUSIC A LAKi; and a fairy boat To sail in the moonlight clear, — And merrily wo would Hoat From the dragons that watcli ns here ! Tliy gown should be snow-white silk, And strings of orient pearls, Like gossamers dipi)ed in milk. Should twine with thy raven curls I'lcd nibies should deck thy liands, And diamonds sliould be tliy dower — lint Fairies have broke their wunds, And wislung has lost its power ! lloou. 88 ODE WBITTEN IN MDCCXLVI How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes bless'd ! "When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Eettirns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. )' f ODE WRITTEN IN MDCCXLVI By foiry hands their knell is run^' ; l\v forms unseen their tlirp:e is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall a while repair To dwell a weeping hermit there ! W, 81) COLLIWS. TO DAFFODILS Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste awaj' so soon : As yet the early-rising Smi Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run Rut to the e\eii-Koi)g ; And, having pray'd together, wo Will go with you along. 90 TO DAFFODILS We have short tune to stay, as you, We have as short a Sprmg ; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you, or any thing. We die, As your Iiours 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. Herrick. THE SOLITARY BEAPEB 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 chaxint ]\Iore welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady hamit, 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-ofi' things, And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay. Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. That has been, and may be again ? THE SOLITAIiY UKAPER 91 "NVhate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her sonj^ coiihl have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; — h:s :^ I hstened, motionless and still ; And, as I niountod up tlio liill Tlie music in my lioart I bore, Long after it was hoard no more. WOUDHWOUTII. 0'2 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 a while, To blush and gently smile ; And go at last. What, were ye born to be An hour or halfs 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, a while : they glide Into the grave. E. Herrick. PBOUD MAISIE Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early ; 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 grey-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. PEOUD MAISIE 93 ' The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady. The owl from the eteople sing, " Welcome, proud huly." ' SiH W. Scott. 94 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' indifferent judge between the high and low ; With shield of proof shield me i'rom ont the press Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw : make in me those civil wars to cease ; I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf 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 me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. Sir Philip Sidney. HYMN FOB THE DEAD That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away ! What power shall be the sinner's stay ? How shall he meet that dreadful day ? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread. Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day. When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! Sir W. Scott. 95 THE POPLAR FIELD The poplars are fell'd ; farewell to the shade. And the whisperinj^ sound of tlie cool colonnade ! The winds play no Ioniser and sinji: hi the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view Of my favom-ite field, and the bank where they grew ; And now in the grass behold they are laid, .\nd the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! The blackbird has tied to another retreat, AVhere the hazels afford him a screen from the heat. And the scene where liis melody charm'd me before Resounds with liis 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 anotlier such grove shall arise in its stead. 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can. To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Short-lived as we are. our pleasures, I see Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. W. COWPER. 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, \\lien blood is nipt, and ways be foul. Then nij,'litly sings the staring owl, Tuwlioo ! Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note I While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 96 WINTER Wlien all around the wind doth blow, 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 Tuwhoo ! Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! Wliile greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Shakespeare. ANNABEL LEE It was many and many a year ago. In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee ; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child, and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea ; But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and nay Annabel Lee ; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee ; So that her high-born kinsmen came And bore her away from me. To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. TO KlUr III It n- IN A HKPUIX;iIRE IN 11(18 KIXUKOM IIY Till-: HKA. ANNABEL LEE 99 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying lier ami lue ; Yes ! — that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the winil came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. -t^ iJut our love it was stronger by far Uiaii tliu lovo Of those who were obUr than we — Of many far wiser tlian wi' ; And neither the angels in heaven above. Nor the demons down mider the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from thu sold Of the beautiful .Vmiabel Lee. JOO ANNABEL LEE For the moon never beams, without brmging me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; And the stars never rise, but I see the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of luy darling — my darling — my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea. In her tomb by the somidiug sea. POE. TO MABY If I had thought thoii couldst have died, I might not weep for thee ; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou coiddst mortal be : 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 nnist look in vain ! But when I speak — thou dost not say, AVhat 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 — I still might press thy silent heart. And where thy snriles have been ! "While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, Thou seemcst still mine own ; But there I lay thee in thy grave — And I am now alone ! TO MABY 101 I do not thiiik, where'er thou art, Thou hast forp^otton me ; And I, perhaps, may sootlie this heart, In thinking too of thee : Yet there was i-ound thee such a dawn 01" hght ne'er seen before. As fivnc.v never could have drawn. And never can restore ! C. WOLKK. TWIST YE, TWINE YE Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, Min<,'le shades of joy and woe, Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, In the thread of Iuuikui Hfc. "While the mystic twist is spinning, And the infant's life 1)oginning, Dindy seen through twilight bending, Lo, what varied shapes attendmg ! Passions wild, and follies vain. Pleasures soon exchanged for )>fiiii ; Poubt, and jealousy, and fear, In the magic dance appear. Now they wax, and now they dwindle, Whirling with tiic whirling spindle. Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, Mingle human bliss and woe. ScoiT. 102 TO 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 I chase. The tirst foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such. As you too shall adore ; I could not love thee. Dear, so much, Lov'd I not Honour more. Colonel Lovelace. THE DEMON LOVEB ' where have you been, m^' long, long love. This long seven j^ears and mair ? ' ' I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before.' ' O hold your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife ; O hold your tongue of your former vows. For I am become a wife.' He turned him right and round about, And the tear blinded his e'e : ' I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground If it had not been for thee. THE DEMON LOVER 103 ' I might hae hatl a king's daughter, Far, far beyoiul the sea ; I might have had a king's daughter, Had it not been for love o' thee.' ' If ye might have had a king's daughter, Yer sel ye had to blame ; Ye might have taken the kmg's daughter. For ye kend that I was nane.' ' faulse are the vows o' womankind, But fair is their faulse bodie ; I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground. Had it not been for love o' thee.' ' If I was to lea\ e my husband dear, And my two babes also, O what have you to take me to. If with you I should go ? ' • I hae seven ships upon the sea, The eighth brought me to land ; With four-and-twenty bold mariners. And music on every hand.' She has taken up hor two litl'lo babos, Kissed thorn baith chock and chin ; ' O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes. For I'll never see you again.' Slie set licr foot upon the sliip. No mariners could she behold ; But the sails were o' the talfetio And the masts o' the l)oaten gold. She had not sailed a kaguo, a league, A league but barely three, When dismal grew his countenance, Anil drundie grew his e'e. 104 THE DEMON LOVEB The masts, that were hke the beaten gold, Bent not on the heaving seas ; But the sails, that were o' the taffetie, Fill'd not in the east land breeze. THE DEMON LOVER 105 They had not sailed a loaj^ie, a leajrue, A Icaf^^ue but barely three. Until she espied his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterlie. ' O hold your tongue of your weeping,' sajs he, ' Of yom* weeping now let me be ; I will show you how the lilies gi-ow On the banks of Italy.' ' O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, That the sun shines sweetly on ? ' ' O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said, ' Where you will never win.' ' whaten a mountain is yon, she said, ' All so dreary wi' frost and snow ? ' ' yon is the mountain of hell,' he cried, ' Where you and I will go.' And aye when she turn'd her round aboiit. Aye taller he seemed to be ; Until that the tops o' the gallant ship Nae taller were than he. The clouds grov/ dark, and the wind gi-ew loud. And the loven filled her o'e ; And waesome wail'd tlie snow-white sprites Upon the gurlic sea. lie Htraek the tapniast wi' his hand, 'llic foremast wi' his knee ; And lie liriikc tliut gallant ship in twain. And sank her in liu' sea. Mi.NSTicKLHV (11 rni: S< ornsir UoitDr.u. 106 THE LAWLANDS OF HOLLAND The Love that I have chosen I'll therewith be content ; The salt sea shall be frozen Before that I repent. Eepent it shall I never Until the day I dee ! But the Lawlands of Holland Have twinn'd my Love and me. My Love he built a bonny ship, And set her to the main ; With twenty-fom- brave mariners To sail her out and hame. But the weary wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my Love and his bonny ship Turn'd withershins about. There shall no mantle cross my back, No comb go in my hair, Neither shall coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower mair ; Nor shall I choose another Love Until the day I dee, Since the Lawlands of Holland Have twinn'd my Love and me. ' Now hand your tongue, my daughter dear. Be still, and bide content ! There's other lads in Galloway ; Ye needna sair lament.' — O there is none in Galloway, There's none at all for me : — I never loved a lad but one, And he's drown'd in the sea. Unknown. 107 THE VALLEY OF UNBEST Once it smiled a silent dell "Where the people did not dwell : They had gone unto the wars, Trusting to the mild-eyed stars, Nightly from their azure towers To keep watch above the Howers, In the midst of which all day The red sunlight lazily lay. Nojv each visitor shall confess The sad valley's restlessness. Nothing there is motionless — Nothing save the airs that brood Over the magic solitude. Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees That palpitate like the chill seas Around the misty Hebrides ! Ah, by no wind those clouds arc driven That rustle through the lanquiet heaven Unceasingly, from morn till even. Over the violets there tliat lie In myriad tj'pes of the human eye — Over the lilies there that wave And weep above a nameless grave ! They wave —from out their fragrant tops Eternal dews come down in drops ; They weep— from off their delicate stems Perennial tea^s descend in gems. Toe. 108 THE BUBIAL OF SIB JOHN MOOBE AT COBUNNA Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharo;ed his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hei'o we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor 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. We thought, as we hollow' d his narrow bed. And smoothed down his lonely pillov/. 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. But half of our heavy task was done Wlien the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That tlie foe was sullenly firing. BURIAL OF SIB JOHN MOOIiE AT COBUNNA 109 Slowly ami sadly wo laid him down, From the field of his lame fresh and pory ; "NVe carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — Lut we left him alune with his glory ! r. AVoLFE. ST. SWITHIN'S CIIAIU On ILiUow-Mass Eve, ere you bomie ye to rest, Ever beware that your couch be bless'd ; Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. For on Hallow- Mass Eve the Night-IIag will ride. And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side, ^Vhether the wind sing lowly or loud, Sailuig through moonshine or swath'd in the cloud. The Lady she sate in St. Swithin's Chair, The dew of the night has damp'd her hair : Her cheek was pale— but resolved and high ^Vas the word of her lip and the glance of her eye. She niutter'd the spell of Swithin Ijold. ^Vhen his naked foot traced the midnight wolil. When he stopp'd the Hag as she rode the night. And bade her descend, and her promise plight. He that dure sit on St. Swithin's Chair, AVhen the Night-Hag wings the troubled air. Questions three, when he speaks the spell. He may ask, and she nuist tell. The Baron has been with King Kobert his liege, These three long years in battle and siege ; News arc there none of his weal or his woe And fain the Ladv his fate would know. no ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIB She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ;- Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? Or is that soimd, betwixt laughter and scream, The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, And the roaring torrent had ceased to How ; The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form ! Scott. Ill STANZAS WRITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA Oh, 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. AVhat are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ? 'Tis but as a dead Hower with May-dew besprinkled. Then away with all such from the head that is hoary I ^Vhat care I for the wreaths that can onJi/ 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, yhe thought that 1 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 sjiarklcd o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. Byron. BARTIIRAM'S DIRGE They shot him dead on the Nine- Stone Rig, Beside the Headless Cross, And thoy left him lying in his blood, Upon the moor and moss. They made a bier of the broken bough. The sauch and tlie as|)iii gray, And they bore him to the Lady Cliapel, And waked him there all day. 112 BARTHBAM'S DIBGE A lady came to that lonely bower And threw her robes aside, She tore her ling (long) yellow hair, And knelt at Barthram's side. BAETHBAM'S DIRGE 113 She bath'il him in the Laily-'Well His wounds so deep and sair, And she plaited a garland for his breast, And a garland for his hair. They rowed him in a lily-sheet, Aiid bare him to his earth, (And the Grey Friars sung the dead man's mass, As they passed the Chapel GarthK They buried him at (the mirk) midnight, (When the dew fell cold and still, "When the aspin gray forgot to play. And the mist clung to the hill). They dug his grave but a bare foot deep, By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn, And they covered him (o'er with the heather-flower) The moss and the (Lady) fern. A Grey Friar staid upon the grave. And sang till the morning tide, And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, While Headless Cross shall bide. SURTEES. TO THE CUCKOO O BLITHE New-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice. O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird. Or lint a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear, From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far oil", and near. 114 TO THE CUCKOO Though babbHng only to the Vale, Of sunshme and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hoiu's. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet tliou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery ; TO THE CrCKOn 115 The same whom in my schoolboy clays I hstencd to ; tliat Cry ^Vhich made me look a thousand waj's In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Throuj^h woods and on the gi-een ; And tiiou wert still a hope, a love ; Still longed 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. blessed Bird ! the eartli we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place : That is fit home for Thee 1 Wordsworth. HELEN OF KIRKCONNEL I WISH I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; O that I were where Helen lies. On fair Kirkconnel Lee I Curst be the heart that thought the thought ^\jid curst the hand, that hreil the sliut. When in my arms burd Helen dropt. And died to succour me ! () tliink na ye niy heart was sair, \\ lull my love dropt down and spak' nao niair ! There did she swoon wi' im iUle care. On fair Kirkcoiuicl Lee. I 2 116 HELEN OF KIBKCONNEL As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirkconnel Lee, I lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him into pieces sma', I hacked him into pieces sma', For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, bej-ond compare ! I'll make a garland of thj' hair. Shall bind my heart for evermair, Untill the day I die. that I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries ; Out of my bed she bids me rise. Says, ' Haste, and come to me ! ' O Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! If I were with thee, I were blest, "Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest. On fair Kirkconnel Lee. HELEN OF KIIiKCONNEL 117 I wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn owor my cen, And I in Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirkconnel Lee. I wish I were where Helen lies ! Niuht and dav on me she cries, And I am weary of the skies. For her sake that died for me. Unknown. TO ALTIIEA FBOM PIUSON ^VIIEN Love with uncontiiied wings Hovers within my gates ; And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates : ^Vhen I lie tangled in her hair. And fetter'd to her eye ; The Gods that wanton in the air. Know no such libertj'. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Tliamcs. Our careless heads with roses bomiJ, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When tliirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and dranglits go free, Fislies that tipi)lc in tlic deep, Know no sucli liberty. When, likf rommittcil linnets. I Witli shrillr-r tliroat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my KiNrinking is the soldier's pleasure : k2 132 ALEXANDER'S FEAST Rich the treasure Sweet the pleasiire, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the soiuid, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain ! The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; And while he Heaven and Earth defied Changed his hand and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood ; Deserted, at his utmost need. By those his former bounty fed ; On the bare earth exposed he lies With not a friend to close his eyes. — ^Yith downcast looks the joyless victor sate. Revolving in his alter' d soul The various turns of Chance below ; And now and then a sigh he stole. And tears began to flow. The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble. Honour but ail empty bubble. Never ending, still beginning ; Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think, it worth enjoying: ALEXAXDEIi'S FEAST 133 Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee ! — The many rend tlie skies \\itli loud applause ; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair "Who caused his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : At length with love and wine at once opprest The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. Xow 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, liark ! the horrid sound lias raised up his head : As awaked from the dead •And amazed he stares around, lievenge, revenge, Timothcus cries. See the Furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear How they hiss in their hair. And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a ghastly band Each a torch in his hand ! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : Give the vengeance duo To the valiant crew ! Behold how they tosfi their torches on high, How they point to the Persian al)odes And glittering temples of their hostile gods. - Tlie princes applaud with a furious joy : .\nd the King seized a fland^eau with zeal to destroy Tliais led tiio way Tf) litrht him to his prey. And like another Helen, lireil another Troy I 134 ALEXANDER'S FEAST — Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were unite, Timotheus, to his breathing flute ^ ^s p--^ And sounding lyre Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; ALEXANDERS FEAST 135 The sweet enthusiast from her sacreil store Enhu-f^ed the former nai-row bounds, And added lenj^th to solemn sounds, ^Vith Nature's mother-wit, and arts unkno\Yn before. — Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an lUigel down ! J. Dryden. THE PASSIONATE SHEPUEBD TO HIS LOVE Come live with me and be my love. And we will all tlie pleasures prove That hiUs and vallies, dales and fields, And woods or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeinj? the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sin" niadri''als. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. A fjown made of the finest wool. Which from our j)retty lambs we pull, Fair-liiit"d slippers for the cold. With buckles of the purest ffold. 136 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE A belt of straw and ivy-buds "With coral clasps and amber studs , An' if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precioiis as the gods do eat. Shall on an ivory table be Prepar'd 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. Marlowe. 137 THE FLOWEBS 0' THE FOBEST I'vK heanl tlieiu liltinj^, at the owe-inilkinjj:. Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day ; But now thej' are moaning, on ilka greon loaning ; The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede aw ae. At bnghts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning ; Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae ; Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing ; Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae. In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, Bandsters are lyart, and rnnklod, and gray ; At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae llceching ; The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae. At e'en, in the gloaming, nae yonnkors are roaming 'Bout stacks, wi" the lasses at bogles to play; But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her dearie — Tiie Flowers o' the Forest are weded awae. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the 1 '.order '. The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers o' the Forest, that foiight aye the foremost, Tlic iirimc of our land, are canld in tlie clay. W'l- H hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe-milking; Women and baii'iis arc heartless and wae : Sighing and moaning, on ilka green loaning The Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede awae. I-'lliott. 138 ULALUME The skies they were ashen and sober ; The leaves they were crisped and sere,— The leaves they were withering and sere ; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year ; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir, — It was down by the dank tarn of Anber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. II Here once, through an alley Titanic Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul, — Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriae rivers that roll, — As tlie lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole, — That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Ill Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sei'e, Our memories were treacherous and sere ; For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) We noted not the dim lake of Auber — (Though once we had journej'ed down here), Eemembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of AVeir. ULALUME 18'J IV And now, as the ni<,'lit was senescent. And star-dials pointed to morn, As the sun-dials hinted of morn, At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn, — Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said, ' She is warmer than Dian : She rolls throu<,di an ether of sif,'hs, — She revels in a repfion of sip:hR : She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, .And has come past tlie stai's of the Lion : To point us the path to the skies— To the liCtliean peace of the skies ; Come up in despite of the Lion. To shine on us with her bripjht eyes ; Come up throuf^h the lair of the Lion, AVitli love in her luminous eyes.' VI But Psyche, uplifting' her finp;er, Said — ' Sadly, this star I mistrust — Her pallor I strangely mistrust — Oh, hasten !— oh. let us not liiifrer! Oh. fly !— let UK fly !— for we must.' In terror she spoke, lettiu',' sink her Wintjs until they trailed in the dust - In agonj' Bobl)ed, letting' sink her rinmes till they trailed in llio dust — Till tliev sdrrowfidly trailed in iIh' dust. 140 ULALUME VII I replied — ' This is nothing but dreaming : Let us on by this tremiilous hght ; Let us bathe in this crystalhne hght : Its sibylhc splendour is beaming With hope and in beauty to-night : — See ! — it flickers up the sky through the night ; ULALUME Ml All. we safely may trust to its gleaming, Ainl be sure it will lead us ari-^ht — "We safely may trust to a f,'leaniin^' That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.' VIII Thus I iiacifiod I'sychc and kissed her. And tempted her out of her gloom — And conquered her scruples and gloom ; .And we passed to tlie end of a vista, But were stopped by the door of a luinb By the door of a legended tomb ; Ajid I said, ' What is written, sweet sister, (^n tlie door of this legended tomb ? ' She replied:-' Ulalume — Ulalumc — 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalmne ! ' IX Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere, As the leaves that were withering and sere ; And I cried — ' It was surely October On this very night of last year, Tliat I journeyed I journeyed down here — Tliat I brought a dread burden down here ! On tins night of all nights in the year; Ah. what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— This misty mid region of Weir — Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Aubcr, This ghoul-haunted wooiUund of Wiir." I'OK 142 KUBLA KHAN A VISION IN A DREAM In Xanadu did Kubla 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 blossom'd 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 tui'moil 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 motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran. Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tuunilt to a lifeless ocean : And 'mid this tmnult 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 tlie caves. KUBLA A'if.4A' 143 ll was a mirucle of rare (le\"ice, A sminv pleasiu'e-cloiue with caves of ice ! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw : It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played. 144 KUBLA KHAN Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within nie Her symphony and song, To such a deeji dchght 'twould win me That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! Those ca%es of ice ! And all who heard should see them there And all should cry. Beware ! Beware ! His hashing ej'es, his floating huir ! 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. CoLERIDGEo UALLEGBO Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerbervis and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell "Where 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, Whom 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 L'ALLECrliO Zepiiyr, with Auroni playing, As lie met her once a- Maying — There on beds of violets bine And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew ij; \rtr~jrxr V w sr x r j r t r wv wv x ^ x r v ~vrs^-r-x .v;,t •* FillM her with tliop, a daughter lair. So liiixoiii, blitlic, and debonair. Haste ihoc, Nynipli, and bring with ihco Jest, and youthful jollity, 146 L'ALLEGBO 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 both his sides : — Come, and trip it as 3'ou go On the light fantastic toe ; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ; And if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew. To live with her, and live with thee In unreproved pleasures free ; To hear the lark begin his flight And singing startle the dull night From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow Througli the sweetbriar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock with lively dm Scatters the rear of darkness thin. And to the stack, or the barn-door. Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft listenmg 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 iinseen. By hedge -row elms, on hillocks green. Right against the eastern gate 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, LWLLEGRO 14^ Ami every shepherd tells his tale Umler tlie hawthorn in the dale. Straij,'ht mine eye hath caiij,'ht new pleasures ^Vhilst the landscape round it measures ; liusset lawns, and fallows gray, AVhere the nibbling; flocks do stray ; ^lountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest ; IMeadows trim w-ith daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, AVhere perhaps some Beauty lies, The C\nosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, AVhere Corydon and ThyTsis, met. Arc at their savomy diinier set Of herbs, and other country messes ^Vhich the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; And then in haste her bower she leaves AVith Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; Or, if tlie earlier season lead, To the tann'd haycock in the mead. Sometimes with secure delight The ujjland handets will invite. When the merry bells ring round. And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid. Dancing in the cho