ISBC 1 1!' ; ^.- ■ 11 f illtii; W-^^A Uv 1 ^U'V pi Iff! 1 1. ^^;U^^(^(j^ /J •^ 1 _. . __ ' fe 1 lllilllllll ,,„ , 'l! -1 ^^-'- ISAAC FOOT i !| € Merle's (Xlasstcs CXXXIII TnS. C- OLDEN TREASURY diy o :iaT THE GOliDEN TREASURY loo '\SJ . 'V ^'the 6est songs and lyrical poems •m .. in the english language SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE WITH ADDITIONAL POEMS HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPETOWN BOMBAY CALCUTTA AND MADRAS FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVB'i 'A^ Born, Great Yarmouth, September 28, 1821 - Died, South Kensington, October 24, 1897 ^ ( * j ' The Golden Treasury of the best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English language ' loas first published in 1861. In 'The World'' s Classics' it was first published, with additional Poems, in 1907, and re- printed in 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, 1912, and 1918. Nciv edition, 1914, reprinted 1914, 1916 (tic/cc), 1917 (twice), 1918 (thrice), 1919 (twice), 1920. '.J Pott 8vo, cloth Text with Notes by C. B. Wheeler, com- plete in one volume (766 pages), 3s. net, j Text only (536 pages), from 2s. net. Notes onlj'^ (256 pages). Is. 9d. net. r ftV? .J i NT - "S wis CONTENTS FAOa Dedication , . . . - vii Preface ix Book I 1 Book II . . . 42 Book III . 109 Book IV . 169 Additional, Poems . 317 Notes . 477 Index of Writers . 503 Index of First Li> rES . 517 Ets Tov \eifj.Qva KaOlaai, alobfievoi dypevfi avd^div [Eurip. frag. 754.] [' He sat in the meadow and plucked with glad heart the spoil of the flowers, gathering them one by one.'] TO ALFRED TENNYSON POET LAUREATE This book in its progress has recalled often to my memory a man with whose friendship we were once honoured, to whom no region of English Literature was unfamiliar, and who, whilst rich in all the noble gifts of Nature, was most eminently distinguished by the noblest and the rarest, — ^just judgement and high-hearted patriotism. It would have been hence a peculiar pleasure and pride to dedicate what I have endeavoured to make a true national Anthology of three centuries to Henry Hallam. But he is" beyond the reach of any human tokens of love and reverence ; and I desire therefore to place before it a name united with his by associations which, whilst Poetry retains her hold on the minds of Englishmen, are not likely to be forgotten. Your encouragement, given while traversing the wild scenery of TrerjTi Dinas, led me to begin the work ; and it has been completed under your advice and assistance. For the favour now asked viii TO ALFRED TENNYSON I have thus a second reason : and to this 'I may add, the homage which is your right as Poet, and the gratitude due to a Friend, whose regard I rate at no common value. Permit me then to inscribe to yourself a book which, I hope, may be found by many a lifelong fountain of innocent and exalted pleasure ; a source of animation to friends when they meet ; and able to sweeten solitude itself with best society, — with the companionship of the wise and the good with the beauty which the eye cannot see, and the music only heard in silence. If this Collection proves a storehouse of delight to Labour and to Poverty, — if it teaches those indifferent to the Poets to love them, and those who love them to love them more, the aim and the desire entertained in framing it will be fully accomplished. F. T. P. May, 1861. PREFACE This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others in the attempt made to include in it ail the best original Lyrical pieces and Songs in our language, by writers not living, — and none beside the best. Many familiar verses will hence be met with ; many also which should be familiar : — the Editor will regard as his fittest readers those who love Poetry so well, that he can offer them nothing not already known and valued. The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive definition of Lyrical Poetry ; but he has found the task of practical decision increase in clear- ness and in facility as he advanced with the work, whilst keeping in view a few simple principles. Lyrical has been here held essentially to imply that each Poem shall turn on some single thought, feeling, or situation. In accordance with this, narrative, descriptive, and didactic poems, — unless accompanied by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the colouring of human passion, — have been excluded. Humorous poetry, except in the very unfrequent instances where a truly poetical tone pervades the whole, with what is strictly personal, occasional, and religious, has been considered foreign to the idea of the book. Blank verse and the ten-syllable couplet, with all pieces markedly dramatic, have been rejected as alien from what is commonly understood by Song, and rarely conforming to Lyrical conditions in treatment. But it is not anticipated, nor is it possible, that all readers shall think the line accur- ately drawn. Some poems, as Gray's ' Elegy,' the ' AUegro ' and ' Penseroso,' Wordsworth's 'Ruth' or Campbell's 'Lord UUin,' might be X PREFACE claimed with perhaps equal justice for a narrative or descriptive selection : whilst with reference especially to Ballads and Sonnets, the Editor can only state that he has taken his utmost pains to decide without caprice or partiality. This also is all he can plead in regard to a point even more liable to question ; — what degree of merit should give rank among the Best. That a Poem shall be worthy of the writer's genius, — that it shall reach a perfection commensurate with its aim, — that we should require finish in proportion to brevity, — that passion, colour, and originality cannot atone for serious imperfections in clearness, unity, or truth, — that a few good lines do not make a good poem, — that popular estimate is serviceable as a guidepost more than as a compass, — above all, that Excellence should be looked for rather in the Whole than in the Parts, — such and other such canons have been always steadily regarded. He may however add that the pieces chosen, and a far larger number rejected, have been carefully and repeatedly considered ; and that he has been aided throughout by two friends of independent and exercised judgement, besides the distinguished person addressed in the Dedication. It is hoped that by this procedure the volume has been freed from that onesidedness which must beset individual decisions : — but for the final choice the Editor is alone responsible. It would obviously have been invidious to apply the standard aimed at in this Collection to the Living. Nor, even in the cases where this might be done without offence, docs it appear wise to attempt to anticipate the verdict of the Future on our contemporaries. Should the book last, poems by Tennyson, Bryant, Clare, Lowell, and others, will no doubt claim and obtain their place among the best. But the Editor trusts that this will be effected by other hands, and in days far distant. PREFACE xi Chalmers' vast collection, with the whole works of all accessible poets not contained in it, and the best Anthologies of different periods, have been twice systematically read through : and it is hence improbable that any omissions which may be regretted are due to oversight. The poems are printed entire, except in a very few instances (specified in the notes) where a stanza has been omitted. The omissions have been risked only when the piece could be thus brought to a closer lyrical unity : and, as essentially opposed to this unity, extracts, obviously such, are excluded. In regard to the text, the purpose of the book has appeared to justify the choice of the most poetical version, wherever more than one exists : and much labour has been given to present each poem, in disposition, spelling, and punctuation, to the greatest advantage. For the permission under which the copyright pieces are inserted, thanks are due to the respective Proprietors, without whose liberal concurrence the scheme of the collection would have been defeated. In the arrangement, the most poetically-effective order has been attempted. The English mind has passed through phases of thought and cultivation so various and so opposed during these three centuries of Poetry, that a rapid passsage between Old and New, like rapid alteration of the eye's focus in looking at the landscape, will always be wearisome and hurtful to the sense of Beauty. The poems have been therefore distributed into Books corresponding, I to the ninety years closing about 1616, II thence to 1700, III to 1800, IV to the half century just ended. Or, looking at the Poets who more or less give each portion its distinctive character, they might be caUed the Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray, and Words- worth. The volume, in this respect, so far as the limitations of its range allow, accurately reflects the natural growth and evolution of our Poetry. xii PREFACE A rigidly chronological sequence, however, rather fits a collection aiming at instruction than at pleasure, and the Wisdom which comes through Pleasure : — within each book the pieces have there- fore been arranged in gradations of feeling or subject. The development of the symphonies of Mozart and Beethoven has been here thought of as a model, and nothing placed without careful con- sideration. And it is hoped that the contents of this Anthology will thus be found to present a certain unity, ' as episodes,' in the noble language of Shelley, ' to that great Poem which all poets, like the co-operating thoughts of one great mind, have built up since the beginning of the world.' As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may add without egotism, that he has found the vague general verdict of popular Fame more just than those have thought, who, with too severe a criticism, would confine judgements on Poetry to ' the selected few of many generations.' Not many appear to have gained reputation without some gift or performance that, in due degree, deserved it : and if no verses by certain writers who show less strength than sweetness, or more thought than mastery in expression, are printed in this volume, it should not be imagined that they have been excluded without much hesitation and regret, — far less that they have been slighted. Throughout this vast and pathetic array of Singers now silent, few have been honoured with the name Poet, and have not possessed a skill in words, a sympathy with beauty, a tenderness of feeling, or seriousness in reflection, which render their works, although never perhaps attaming that loftier and finer excellence here required, — better worth reading than much of what fills the scanty hours that most men spare for self -improvement, or for pleasure in any of its more elevated and permanent forms. — And if this be true of even mediocre poetry, for PREFACE xiii how much more are we indebted to the best 1 Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, but with a more various power, the magic of this Art can confer on each period of life its appropriate blessing: on early years Experience, on maturity Calm, on age Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures ' more golden than gold,' leading us in higher and healthier ways than those of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of Nature. But she speaks best for herself. Her true accents, if the plan has been executed with success, may be heard throughout the following pages : — wherever the Poets of England are honoured, wherever the dominant language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that they wUl find fit audience. F. T. P. NOTE Samuel Rogers, who died in 1855, was the last poet included in The Golden Treasury. In this reprint additional poems are given representing the latter half of the nineteenth century. None but Mr. Palgrave could have grouped the newer poems in ' the most poetically-effective order,' as he conceived it, so they have been added in the chronological order of their authors. A few dates in the original selection have been corrected. With regard to copyright poems, Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons have kindly per- mitted the inclusion of George Eliot's ' O may I join the choir invisible ' ; Messrs. George Bell & Sons, Mr. Coventry Patmore's ' The Toys ' ; Messrs. Chatto &, Windus, Mr. Arthur O'Shaughnessy's ode ; and Mrs. Henley and Mr. Nutt, Mr. W. E. Henley's ' Out of the night that covers me.' Advantage has been taken of a new impression to include four of Mr. Swinburne's poems, by the kind permission of Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton. THE GOLDEN TREASURY BOOK FIRST 1 SPRING Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing. Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay, 6 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear ay birds time this merry lay. Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, 10 In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! Spring ! the sweet Spring ! T. Nash, 2 SUMVIONS TO LOVE Phoebus, arise ! And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red : Rouse Menuion's mother from her Tithon's bed That she thy career may with roses spread : 5 The nightingales thy coming each -where sing : 133 B 2 DRUMMOND OF ITAWTIIORNDEN Make an eternal spring, Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; Spread forth thy golden hair In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 10 And emperor-like decore With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : Chase hence the ugly night ^Vhich serves but to make dear thy glorious light. — This is that happjr morn, 15 That day, long-wished day Of all my life so dark, (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn And fates my hopes betray). Which, purely white, deserves 20 An everlasting diamond should it mark. This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love, to hear and recompense my love. Fair King, who all presei'ves. But show thy blushing beams, 25 And thou two sweeter eyes Shalt see than those which by PeneUs' streams Did once thy heart surprise. Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise : If that ye, winds, would hear 30 A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre. Your furious chiding stay ; Let Zephyr only breathe. And with her tresses play. — The winds all silent are, 35 And Phoebus in his chair Ensaffroning sea and air Makes vanish every star : Night like a drunkard reels Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels : 40 The fields with (lowers are deck'd in every hue. The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue ; Here is the pleasant place — And nothing wanting is, save She, alas! W. DUUMMOND OF HaWTHORNDEN. / SHAKESPEARE 8 3 TIME AND LOVE I When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced ^- The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age ; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 5 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main. Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; When I have seen such interchange of state. Or state itself confounded to decay, lo Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — That Time wiU come and take my Love away : — This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. W. Shakespeare. ,, /'' II Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea. But sad mortality o'ersways their power. How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out 5 Against the wreckful siege of battering days. When rocks impregnable are not so stout Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? O fearful meditation ! where alack ! 9 Shall Time's best jewel fi-om Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back. Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? O ! none, unless this miracle have might. That in black ink my love may still shine bright. W. Shakespeare. MARLOWE 5 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field. And all the craggy momitains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks 5 And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, 10 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest woo]. Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, 15 With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move. Come live with me and be my Love. 20 Thy sflver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 25 For thy delight each May-morning : If these (leliglits thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love. C. Marlowe. SHAKESPEARE A MADRIGAL Crabbed Age and Youth Cannot live together : Youth is full of pleasanee, Age is fuU of care ; Youth like summer mom, 5 Age like winter weather, Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare : Youth is full of sport. Age's breath is short, 10 Youth is nimble. Age is lame : Youth is hot and bold. Age is weak and cold, Youth is wUd, and Age is tame : — Age, I do abhor thee, 15 Youth, I do adore thee ; O ! my Love, my Love is young ! Age, I do defy thee — O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long. 20 W. Shakespeare. % Under the greenwood tree / Who loves to lie with me, y And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 5 Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, 10 SHAIiESPEARE Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets — Come hither, come hither, come hither I Here shall he see No enemy 15 But winter and rough weather. W. Shakespeare. 8 It was a lover and his lass With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino ! That o'er the green cornfield did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding ding : 5 Sweet lovers love the Spring. Between the acres of the rye These pretty country folks would lie : This carol they began that hour, How that a life was but a flower : 10 And therefore take the present time With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino ! For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding ding : Sweet lovers love the Spring, 16 W. Shakespeare. 9 PRESENT IN ABSENCE Absence, hear thou my protestation Against thy strength, Distance, and length ; Do what thou canst for alteration : SHAKESPEARE 7 For hearts of truest mettle 5 Absence doth join, and Time doth settle. Who loves a mistress of such quality. He soon hath found Affection's ground Beyond time, jilace, and aU mortality. 10 To hearts that cannot vary Absence is Present, Time doth tan-y. By absence this good means I gain. That I can catch her. Where none can watch her, 15 In some close corner of my brain : There I embrace and kiss her ; And so I both enjoy and miss her. Anon, 10 ABSENCE Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire ? ^ \ I have no precious time at all to spend i Nor sei-vices to do, till you require : \ Nor dare I chide the world -without-end hour 5 I Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, / Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu : Nor dare I question with my jealous thought WTiere you may be, or your affairs suppose, lO But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those ; — / So true a fool is love, that in your will, Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. . W. Shakespeare SHAKESPEARE 11 How like a winter hath my absence been From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, \Vlaat old December's bareness everywhere ! And yet this time removed was summer's time ; 5 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. Bearing the wanton burden of the prime Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 10 For summer ^nd his pleasures wait on thee. And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; Or if they sing, 'tis with so duU a cheer. That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near W. Shakespeake. 12 A CONSOLATION Wlien in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state. And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries. And look upon myself, and curse my fate ; Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 5 Featured like him, like him with friends possest, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope. With what I most enjoy contented least ; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. Haply I think on Thee — and then my state, 10 Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; For thy sweet love rememberM such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings. Wo Shakespeare. /- SHAKESPEARE ^ THE UNCHANGEABLE / ^ O never say that I was false of heart. Though absence seem'd my fiame to quahfy : As easy might 1 from myself "depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie ; That is my home of love ; if I have ranged, 5 ; Like him that travels, I return again, \ Just to the time, not Avith the time exchanged, So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe, though in my nature reign'd All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 10 That it could so preposterously be stain'd To leave for nothing all thy sum of good r For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou J my rose ; in it thou art my all. W, Shakespeakk. 14 To rne, fair Friend, you never can be old. For as you were when first yoiu- eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still. Three Avinters cold Have from the forests shook three sununers' | pride ; I Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn tum'd 5 | In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; lo i So your sweet hue, v/hich methinks still doth stand, - Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : For fear of which, hear this, thou age imbred, — Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. | W, Shakespeare. 133 B a 10 CONSTABLE 15 DIAPHENIA Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly, White as the sun, fair as the lily, Heigh ho, how I do love thee I I do love thee as my lambs Are beloved of their dams ; 6 How blest were I if thou would'st prove me. Diaphenia like the spreading roses, That in thy sweets all sweets encloses. Fair sweet, how I do love thee I I do love thee as each flower 10 Loves the sun's life-givmg power ; For dead, thy breath to Ufe might move me. Diaphenia like to all things blessed When all thy praises are expressed. Dear joy, how I do love thee 1 15 As the birds do love the spring, Or the bees their careful king : Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me ! H. Constable. 16 ROSALYNDE Like to the clear in highest sphere Where all imperial glory shines. Of selfsame colour is her hair Wliether unfolded, or in twines : Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde ! 5 Her eyes are sapphires set m snow, Resembling heaven by every wink ; The Gods do fear whenas they glow. And I do tremble when I think lleigh ho, would she were mine I lo LODGE 11 Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud That beautifies Aurora's face, Or like the silver crimson shroud That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace ; Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde I 15 Her lips are like two budded roses Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, Within which bounds she balm encloses Apt to entice a deity : Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 20 Her neck is like a stately tower Where Love himself imprison'd lies. To watch for glances every hour From her divine and sacred eyes : Heigh ho, for Rosalynde ! 25 Her paps are centres of delight, Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, Where Nature moulds the dew of light To feed perfection with the same : Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 30 With orient pearl, with ruby red, With marble white, with sapphire blue Her body every way is fed. Yet soft in touch and sweet in viev/ : Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde I 35 Nature herself her shape admires ; The Gods are wounded in her sight ; And Love forsakes his heavenly fires And at her eyes his brand doth light : Heigh ho, would she were mine 1 40 Then muse not. Nymphs, though I bemoan The absence of fair Rosalynde, Since for a fair there's fairer none. Nor for her virtues so divine : Heigh ho, fair Rosalynde ; 45 Heigh ho, my heart ! would God that she were °^^ ' T. Lodge. 12 TPIE SHEPHERD TONY 17 COLIN Beauty sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her ; The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, The cool streams ran beside her. My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 5 To see what was forbidden : But better memory said, fie ! So vain desire was chidden : — Hey nonny nonny O 1 Hey nonny nonny I 10 Into a slumber then I fell, When fond imagination Seem'd to see, but could not tell Her feature or her fashion. But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, 15 And sometimes fall a-weeping, So I awaked, as wise this while As when I fell a-sleeping : — Hey nonny nonny O ! Hey nonny nonny I 20 The Shepherd Tony. 18 TO HIS LOVE Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date : Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 5 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd : And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, un- triram'd. SHAKESPEARE 13 But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; lo Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest : j So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. W. Shakespeare. , 19 y TO HIS LOVE / Wlien in the chronicle of wasted time / \ I see descriptions of the fairest wights, ' ( And beauty making beautiful old rhjone In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; \ Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best 5 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have exprest Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this om- time, all you prefiguring; 10 And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing : ; For we, which now behold these present days, / Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. \ VV. Shakespeare. 20 LOVE'S perjuries' On a day, alack the day 1 Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air : Through the velvet leaves the wind, AU unseen, 'gan passage find ; 14 SHAKESPEARE That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; Air, would I might triumph so ! 10 But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me 15 That I am forsworn for thee : Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were. And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. 20 W. Shakespeare. 21 A SUPPLICATION Forget not yet the tried intent Of such a truth as I have meant ; My great travail so gladly spent. Forget not yet I Forget not yet when first began 5 The weary life ye know, since whan The suit, the service none tell can ; Forget not yet ! Forget not yet the great assays, The ci'uel wrong, the scornful ways, 10 The painful patience in delays. Forget not yet ! Forget not ! O, forget not this. How long ago hath been; and is The mind that never, meant amiss — 15 Forget not yet I EARL OF STERLINE • 15 Forget not then thine own approved The which so long hath thee so loved, Whose steadfast faith yet never moved — Forget not this ! 20 Sir T. Wyatp. 22 TO AURORA O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest ; Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. O if thy pride did not our joys controul, 5 What world of loving wonders should'st thou see ! For if I saw thee once transfoi'm'd in me. Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul ; Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine, And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan u Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ; No, I would have my share in what were thine : And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, This happy harmony would make them none. W. Alexander, Earl of Sterling. 23 TRUE LOVE Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove : — O no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 5 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark. Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken- 16 SIR P. SIDNEY Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 10 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom : — If tliis be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. W. Shakespeare. 24 A DITTY My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for another, given : I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. There never was a better bargain driven : My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 5 His heart in me keeps him and me in one. My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides : My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. lo Sir p. Sidney. 25 LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above. Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 5 And you, my Love, as humble and as low As are the deepest bottoms of the main, ■Wliereso'er you were, with you my love should go. SHAKESPEARE 17 Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, . My love should shine on you like to the sun, 10 And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven* wax'd blind, and till the world were done. Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, WlieresO'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. • J. Sylvester. 26 CARPE DIEM O Mistress mine, where are you roaming ? O stay and hear ! your true-love's coming That can sing both high and low ; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers' meeting — 5 Every wise man's son doth know. What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; . Present mirth hath present laughter ; What's to come is still unsure : In delay there lies no plenty, — 10 Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. W. Shakespeare. 27 WINTER When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall. And milk comes frozen home in pail ; When blood is nipt, and ways be foul. Then nightly sings the staring owl Tuwhoo ! Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! . A merry note ! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. / 18 SHAKESPEARE When all aloud the wind doth blow, lo And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red &.nd raw ; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl — Then nightly sings the staring oWl 15 Tuwhoo ! Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! While greasy Joarfdoth keel the pot. W. Shakespeare. 28 That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 5 As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest; In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 10 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish' d by : — This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong. To love that well which thou must leave ere long. W. Shakespeare. 29 • ^ REMEMBRANCE When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste ; SHAKESPEARE 19 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 10 The sad accovmt of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before : — But if the while I think on thee, dear friend. All losses are restored, and sorrows end. W. Shakespeare. 30 REVOLUTIONS Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,' So do our minutes hasten to their end ; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, 5 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 10 Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand W. Shakespeare. 31 X Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing. And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; My bonds in thee are all determinate. 20 SHAKESPEARE For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 5 And for that riches where is my deserving ? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 9 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgement making. Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter ; In sleep, a king ; but waking, no such matter. VV. Shakespeare. / 32 ^ THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION They that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, — They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces, 5 And husband nature's riches from expense ; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others, but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die ; 10 But if that flower with base infection meet. The basest weed outbraves his dignity : For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. W. Shakespeare. SIR T. WYATT 21 33 THE LOVER'S APPEAL And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay I say nay ! for shame ! To save thee from the blame Of all my grief and grame. And wilt thou leave me thus ? 6 Say nay I say nay 1 And wilt thou leave me thus. That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among ? And is thy heart so strong 10 As for to leave me thus ? Say nay 1 say nay ! And wQt thou leave me thus, That hath given thee my heart Never for to depart 15 Neither for pain nor smart ? And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay ! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pity 20 Of him that loveth thee ? Alas 1 thy cruelty I And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay ! Sib T. Wyatt. 34 THE NIGHTINGALE As it fell upon a day In the merrj' month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, 22 BARNFIELD Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 6 Trees did grow and plants did spring, Every thing did banish moan Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 10 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry ; Tereu, tereu, by and by : That to hear her so complain 15 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. — Ah, thought I, thou mourn' st in vain. None takes pity on thy pain : 20 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee ; King Pandion, he is dead. All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : All thy fellow birds do sing 25 Careless of thy sorrowing : Even so, poor bird, like thee None alive will pity me. R. Babnfield. 35 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born. Relieve my languish, and restore the light ; With dark forgetting of my care return. And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn. Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires. To model forth the passions of the morrow ; DRAYTON 23 Never let rising Sun approve you liars To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain. S. Daniel. 36 AIADRIGAL Take, O take those lips away That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day. Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, 5 Bring again — Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, Seal'd in vain ! W. Shakespeare. 37 LOVE'S FAREWELL Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, — ' Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; And I am glad, yea, glad with aU my heart. That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 5 And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath. When, his puise faUing, passion speechless lies, 10 When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, — Now if thou would' st, when all have given him over. From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! M. Drayton. 24 SHAKESPEARE 38 TO HIS LUTE My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodJous winds but made thee move. And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. Since that dear Voice which did thy soimds approve, 5 Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above. What art thou but a harbinger of woe ? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear ; 10 Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear ; For which be silent as in woods before : Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, Like widow' d turtle still her loss complain. Wc Drummond. 39 BLIND LOVE O me I what eyes hath love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight : Or if they have, where is my judgement fled That censures falsely what they see aright ? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 5 What means the world to say it is not so ? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's : No, How can it ? O how can love's eye be true, 9 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? No marvel then though I mistake my view : The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. O cunning Love ! with^tears thou kcep'st me blind. Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find ! W SUAKESPEAHE. ANONYMOUS 25 40 THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS WTiile that the sun with his beams hot Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon the shepherd, late forgot, Sitting beside a crystal fountain, In shadow of a green oak tree 5 Upon his pipe this song play'd he : Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; Your mind is hght, soon lost for new love. So long as I was in your sight lo I was your heart, your soul, and treasure ; And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd Burning in flames beyond all measure : — Three days endured your love to me. And it was lost in other three ! 15 Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Another Shepherd you did see To whom your heart was soon enchained ; Full soon your love was leapt from me, 21 Full soon my place he had obtained. Soon came a third, your love to win. And we were out and he was in. Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, 25 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Sure you have made me passing glad That you your mind so soon removed, Before that I the leisure had 30 To choose you for my best beloved : 26 E. VERE, EARL OF OXFORD For all your love was past and done Two days before it was begun : — Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; 35 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Anon. 41 A RENUNCIATION If women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, I would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will ; But when I see how frail those creatures are, 5 I muse that men forget themselves so far. To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan ; Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range. These gentle birds that fly from man to man ; 10 Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist. And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both. To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them to our lure with subtle oath, 15 Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease ; And then we say when we their fancy try, To play with fools, O what a fool was I ! E. Vere, Earl, of Oxford. f«K. V-' 4.2 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen Because thou art not seen., ^Vltbough thy breath be rudCc DRUMMOND 27 Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : Then, heigh ho ! the hoUy ! This life is most jolly, 10 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp 15 As friend remember'd not. Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere foUy : Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! Tliis life is most jolly. 20 W. SnAKESPEABE, 43 MADRIGAL My thoughts hold mortal strife* I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize : 5 — But he, grim grinning King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. W. Drummond. 44 DIRGE OF LOVE Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypres let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am sJain by a fair cruel maid. 28 SHAKESPEARE My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 5 O prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown ; 10 Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O where Sad true lover never find my grave, 15 To weep there. W. Shakespeare. 45 FIDELE Fear no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done. Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, 5 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; Care no more to clothe and eat ; To thee the reed is as the oak : 10 The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash Nor the all -dreaded thunder-stone ; Fear not slander, censure rash ; 15 Thou hast finish'd joy and moan : All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. W. Shakespeabe. WEBSTER 46 '^'^-' i^^ ^ A SEA DIRGE Full fathom five thy father lies : Of his bones are coral made ; Those are pearls that were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change 5 Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark ! now I hear them, — Ding, dong, bell. W. Shakespeare. 47 A LAND DIRGE Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, ' Since o'er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole 5 The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole. To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm ; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again. lo J. Webster. 48 POST MORTEM If thou survive my well-contented day When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude Imes of thy deceased lover ; ^ 30 SIIAKESPPIARE Compare them with the bettering of the time, 5 And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve thenf for my love, not for their rhyme Exceeded by the height of happier men. » O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — ' Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age, 10 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage : But since he died, and poets better prove. Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.' W. Shakespeare. 49 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH No longer mourn for me when I am dead f I Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell • Give warning to the world, that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell ; Nay, if you read this line, remember not 5 The hand that writ it : for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. O if, I say, you look upon this verse Wlien I perhaps compounded am with clay, 10 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay ; 1 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, I And mock you with me after I am gone. W. Shakespeare. 50 MADRIGAL Tell mc where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished ? Reply, reply. LYLY 31 It is engender'd in tlie eyes, 5 With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies In the cradle where it hes : Let us all ring Fancy's knell ; I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. — Ding, dong, bell. 10 W. Shakespeare. 51 CUPID AND CAMPASPE Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows. His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; Lpses them too ; then down he throws 5 The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win : 10 At last he set her both his eyes — She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love ! has she done this to thee ? Wliat shall, alas ! become of me ? J. Lyly. 52 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow ; Sweet air blow soft, mount lark aloft To give my Love good-morrow ! W^ings from the wind to please her mind 5 Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing. To give my Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them all I'll borrow. 10 32 HEYWOOD Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, Sing birds in every furrow ; And from each bill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow ! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 15 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow 1 To give my Love good-morrow Sing birds in every furrow ! 20 T. Heywood. 53 PROTHALAMION Calm was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair ; When I (whom sullen care, 5 Through discontent of my long fruitless stay In princes' court, and expectation vain Of idle hopes, which still do fly away Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain) Walk'd forth to ease my pain 10 Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames ; Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, Was painted all Avith variable flowers, And all the meads adorn' d with dainty gems Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 15 And crown their paramours Against the bridal day, which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. There in a meadow by the river's side A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 20 All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untied As each had been a bride : SPENSER 33 And each one had a little wicker basket Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, 25 In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket, And with fine fingers cropt full feateously The tender stalks on high. Of every sort which in that meadow grew They gather'd some ; the violet, pallid blue, 30 The httle daisy that at evening closes, The virgin lily and the primrose true. With store of vermeil roses. To deck their bridegrooms' posies Against the bridal day, which was not long : 35 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the lee ; Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 40 Did never whiter show, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, 44 Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near ; So purely white they were. That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare To wet their silken feathers, lest they might Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, 50 And mar their beauties bright, That shone as Heaven's light Against their bridal day, which was not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill. Ran all in haste to see that silver brood 66 As they came floating on the crystal flood ; Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still Their wondering eyes to fiU ; Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair CO Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 133 c 34 SPENSER Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team ; For sure they did not seem To be begot of any eartlily seed, 65 But rather angels, or of angels' breed ; Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, In sweetest season, when each flower and weed The earth did fresh array ; So fresh they seera'd as day, 70 Even as their bridal day, which was not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. Then forth they all out of their baskets drew Great store of flowers, tlie honour of the field, That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, 75 All which upon those goodly birds they threw And all the waves did strew, That like old Peneus' waters they did seem When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, 80 That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store. Like a bride's chamber-floor. Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found. The which presenting all in trim array, 85 Their snoAvy foreheads therev/ithal they crown'd ; Whilst one did sing this lay Prepared against that day, , Against their bridal day, which was not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 90 ' Ye gentle birds ! the world's fair ornament. And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, Joy may you have, and gentle heart's content Of your love's couplemeiit ; 95 And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, With her heart-quelling son upon you smile. Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile For ever to assoil. 100 SPENSER 35 Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, And blessed plenty wait upon your board ; And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, That fruitful issue may to you afford Which may your foes confound, 105 And make your joys redound Upon your bridal day, which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.' So ended she ; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her imdersong, no Wliich said their bridal day should not be long : And gentle Eclio from tlie neighbour ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous birds did pass along lu Adown the lee that to them murmur'd low, As he would speak but that lie lack'd a tongue. Yet did by signs his glad affection show, Making his stream run slow. And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 120 The rest, so far as Cynthia doth sliend The lesser stars. So they, enranged well. Did on those two attend. And their best service lend 124 Against their wedding day, which was not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. At length they all to merry London came. To merry London, my most kindly nurse, That to me gave this life's first native source. Though from another place I take my name, 130 An house of ancient fame : There when they came whereas those bricky towers The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride. Where now the studious la%vyers liave their bowers. There whilome wont the Templar-kniglits to bide, 135 Till they decay'd through pride ; Next wherevmto there stands a stately place, WTiere oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 36 SPENSER Of that ^eat lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feels my friendless case ; But ah ! here fits not well 141 Old woes, but joys, to tell Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 145 Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder. Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder, And Hercules' two pillars standing near Did make to quake and fear : Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry ! iso That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame, Joy have thou of thy noble victory, And endless happiness of thine own name That promiseth the same ; That through thy prowess and victorious arms 155 Thy country may be freed from foreign harms, And great Eliza's glorious name may ring Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms, Which some brave Muse may sing To ages following, 160 Upon the bridal day, which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. From those high towers this noble lord issiiing Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 1G5 Descended to the river's open viewing With a great train ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to be seen Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature. Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 170 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature. Fit for so goodly stature. That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight Which deck the baldric of the Heavens briglit ; DEKKER 37 They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 175 Received those two fair brides, their love's delight ; Which, at th' appointed tide, Each one did make his bride Against their bridal day, which is not long : 179 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. E. Spenser. 54 THE HAPPY HEART / Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? O sweet content ! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? O punishment ! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 5 To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ? O sweet content 1 O sweet, O sweet content ! Work apace, apace', apace, apace ; Honest labour bears a lovely face ; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 10 Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? O sweet content ! Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears ? O punishment I Then he that patiently want's burden bears 15 No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; Honest labour bears a lovely face ; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny 1 20 T. Dekkek. 38 SHAKESPEARE 65 This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath, Who chase it eveiywhere 4 And strive who can most motion it bequeath. And though it sometime seem of its own might, Like to an eye of gold, to be flx'd there, And firm to hover in that empty height, That only is because it is so light. 9 — But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; For, when 'tis most admired, in a thought. Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. W. Drurimond. 56 SOUL AND BODY Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, [Fool'd by] those rebel powers that thee array. Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 5 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 10 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; Within be fed, without be rich no more : — So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then. W. ShAK£SF£AXIK. LORD BACON 39 57 LIFE The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man Less than a span : In his conception wretched, from the womb So to the tomb ; Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years With cares and fears. 6 Who then to frail mortality shall trust, But Umns the water, or but writes in dust. Yet since with sorrow here we live opprest, What hfe is best ? lo Courts are but only superficial schools To dandle fools • The rural parts are tm-n'd into a den Of savage men : And Where's a city from all vice so free, 13 But may be term'd the worst of all the three ? Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, Or pains his head : Those that hve single, take it for a curse, Or do things worse : 20 Some would have children : those that have them moan Or wish them gone : What is it, then, to have, or have no wife, But single thraldomj or a double strife ? , Our own affections still at home to please 25 Is a disease r To cross the sea to any foreign soU, Perils and toil s Wars with their noise affright us ; when they cease, We are worse in peace ; — 30 What then remains, but that we still should cry Not to be born, or, being born, to die ? LoEc Bacon. 40 DRUMMOND 58 THE LESSONS OF NATURE Of this fair volume which we World do name If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame, We clear might read the art and wisdom rare : Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, 5 His providence extending everyw^here. His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, In every page, no period of the same. But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with colour'd veUum, leaves of gold, Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best, 11 On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold ; Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, It is some picture on the margin wrought. W. Drummond. 59 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ? Is this the justice which on Earth we find ? Is this that firm decree which aU doth bind ? Are these your influences. Powers above ? 4 Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove; And they who thee, poor idol. Virtue I love. Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. All ! if a Providence doth sway this all, Why should best minds groan under most dis- tress ? 10 Or why shoidd pride humility make thrall, And injuries the innocent oppress ? Heavens 1 hinder, stop this fate ; or grant a time When good may have, as well as bad, their prime. W. Dbummond. DRUMMOND 41 60 THE WORLD'S WAY /^ Tired with all these, for restful death I cry — , As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, 5 | And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted. And right perfection wrongfully disgraced. And strength by limping sway disabled, ; And art made tongue-tied by authority, { And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 10 | And simple truth miscaU'd simplicity, \ And captive Good attending captain 111 : — s — Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, / Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. W. Shakespeare. 61 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, ^ Among that savage brood the woods forth bring. Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. 4 His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. There burst he forth : ' All ye whose hopes rely On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, Repent, repent, and from old errors turn ! ' il — Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry ? Only the echoes, which he made relent. Rung from their flinty caves. Repent I Repent 1 W. Drummond. 133 ca THE GOLDEN TREASURY BOOK SECOND 62 ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY This is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King Of wedded maid and virgin mother born. Our great redemption from above did bring ; For so the holy sages once did sing 5 That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high comicil- table 10 To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day. And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shaU not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God ? lb Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome Him to this His new abode. Now while the heaven, by the sun's team tin- trod. Hath took no print of the approaching light, 20 And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright ? See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : O run, prevent them with thy humble ode And lay it lowly at His blessed feet ; 25 42 MILTON 43 Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire From out Ilis secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. The Hymn It was the winter wUd While the heaven-born Child 30 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to Him Had doff' d her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize ; It was no season then for her 35 To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ; And on her naked shame, 40 Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But He, her fears to cease, 45 Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger. With tmtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand, 51 She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; 55 The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat stUl with awful eye. As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 60 44 MILTON But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began : The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, 65 Whispering new joys to the mild ocean — Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand lix'd in steadfast gaze, 70 Bending one way their precious influence ; And will not take their flight For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ; But in their glimmering orbs did glow 75 UntU their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed. And hid his head for shame, 80 As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need : He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. The shepherds on the lawn 85 Or ere the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row ; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below ; 90 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep Was aU that did their sUly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook — 95 Divinely- warbled voice MILTON 45 Answering the stringed noise, As- all their souls in blissful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 100 Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hoUow round Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, 105 And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, lio That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd ; The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd. Harping in loud and solemn quire lis With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of morning sung, While the Creator great 120 His constellations set And the weU-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep. And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres i 125 Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ; 46 MII.TON And with your ninefold harmony 131 Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. For if such holy song, Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; And speckled vanity 136 Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould ; And Hell itself will pass away. And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then I4i Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen, 145 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest Fate says No ; This must not yet be so ; 150 The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss ; So both Himself and us to glorify : Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep 155 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smouldering clouds out- brake : The aged Earth aghast 160 With terror of that blast Shall from the surface to the centre shake, Wlien, at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne. MILTON 47 And then at last our bliss 165 Full and perfect is, But now begins ; for from this happy day The old Dragon under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; 170 And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb ; No voice oi hideous hurn Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving : Apollo from his shrine 176 Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er 181 And the resoimding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale 186 The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The nymphs in twihght shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth And on the holy hearth 190 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; In urns, and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chiU marble seems to sweat, 195 While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice- batter' d god of Palestine ; And mooned Ashtaroth 200 Heaven's queen and mother both, 48 MILTON Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fleds 205 Ilath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue ; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 210 The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Mcmphian grove, or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : 215 Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land 221 The dreaded infant's hand ; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, 225 Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true. Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed Curtain d with cloudy red 230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; And the yellow-skirted fays 235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. MILTON 49 But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest ; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending : Heaven's youngest-teemed star 2i0 Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attend- ing : And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. J. Milton. 63 SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 / From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony / This universal frame began : ♦ ■WTien Nature imderneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay And could not heave her head, s The tuneful voice was heard from high Arise, ye more than dead ! Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry In order to their stations leap. And Music's power obey. la From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, Tlie diapason closing fiiU in Man. 15 What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? When Jubal struck the chorded shell His listening brethren stood around, And, wondering on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. 20 Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so weU. What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 60 DRYDEN The trumpet's loud clangor 25 Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum 30 Cries ' Hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat ! The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, 35 Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation. Depth of pains, and height of passion 40 For the fair disdainful dame. But oh I what art can teach. What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise ? Notes inspiring holy love, 45 Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees unrooted left their place Sequacious of the lyre : 50 But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : When to her Organ vocal breath was given. An Angel heard, and straight appear'd — Mistaking Earth for Heaven I Grand Chorus As from the power of sacred lays 55 The spheres began to move. And sxmg the gi*eat Creator's praise To all the blest above ; MILTON 51 So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour 60 The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky. J. Dryden. 64 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT Avenge, O Lord ! Thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Forget not : in Thy book record their groans 5 Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roU'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 9 To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant : that from these may grow A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way. Early may fly the Babylonian woe. J. Milton. 65 "9 HORATIAN ODE UPON CROSIWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND The forward youth that would appear, Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. 'Tis time to leave tne books in dust, And oil th' unused armour's rust, Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. 62 MARVELL So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious arts of peace, lO But through adventvu-ous war Urged his active star : And like the three-fork'd lightning, first Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, Did thorough his own side 15 His fiery way divide : (For 'tis all one to courage high The emulous, or enemy ; And with such, to enclose Is more than to oppose ;) 20 Then burning through the air he went And palaces and temples rent ; And Caesar's head at last Did through his laurels blast. 'Tis madness to resist or blame 25 The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the man is due WTio, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere 30 (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot), Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of Time, And cast the Kingdoms old 35 Into another mould : Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient Rights in vain — But those do hold or break As men are strong or weak. -iO Nature, that hateth emptiness, Allows of penetration less. And therefore must make room Where greater spirits come. MARVELL 53 What field of all the CivU War 45 Where his were not the deepest scar ? And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art ; Where, twining subtle fears with hope, He wove a net of such a scope 50 That Charles himself might chase To Carisbrook's narrow case ; That thence the Royal actor borne The tragic scaffold might adorn : While round the armed bands 55 Did clap their bloody hands ; He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try ; 60 Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right ; But bow'4 his comely head Down, as upon a bed. — This was that memorable hour 65 Which first assured the forced power So when they did design The Capitol's first Jhie, A Bleeding Head, where they begun, Did fright the architects to rim ; ra And yet in that the State Foresaw its happy fate ! And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed : So much one man can do 75 That does both act and know. They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, coufest How good he is, how just And fit for highest trust ; 80 54 MARVELL. Nor yet grown stiff er with command, But still in the Republic's hand — How fit he is to sway That can so well obey 1 — He to the Commons' feet presents 85 A Kingdom for his first year's rents, And (what he may) forbears His fame, to make it theirs : And has his sword and spoils imgirt To lay them at the Public's skirt. 90 So when the falcon high Falls heavy from the sky, She, having kiU'd, no more does search But on the next green bough to perch, Where, when he first does ltu:e, 95 The falconer has her sure. — What may not then oiu: Isle presume While victory his crest does plume ? What may not others fear If thus he crowns each year ? lOO As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. The Pict no shelter now shaU find 105 Within his parti-colour'd mind, But from this valour sad, Shrink underneath the plaid — Happy, if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, lio Nor lay his hoiuids in near The Caledonian deer. But thou, the War's and Fortune's son, March indefatigably on ; And for the last effect 115 StUl keep the sword erect : MILTON 55 Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain A power, must it maintain. I2fl A. Marvell 66 LYCroAS Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel Yet once more, O ye lam-els, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, ' I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew 10 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind. Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then. Sisters of the sacred well 15 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring. Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn ; 20 And as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hUl, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd 26 Under the opening eye-lids of the mom, We drove a-fleld. and both together heard \Miat time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star, that rose at evening bright, 30 56 MILTON Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westermg wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to the oaten flute ; Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad somid would not be absent long ; And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 36 But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return I Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert eaves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown. And all their echoes, mourn : 41 The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, 45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white-thorn blows ; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 51 For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream — 56 Had ye been there — for what could that have done ? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, 60 When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? 66 Were it not bette.r done, as others use, MILTON 57 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? 69 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 74 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears And sUts the thin-spun life. ' But not the praise ' Phoebus replied, and touch 'd my trembling ears ; ' Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil. Nor in the glistering foU 79 Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : But Uves and spreads aloft by those piue eyes And perfect witness of all -judging Jove ; As he pronounces lastly on each deed. Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.' 84 O foimtain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood : But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; 90 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain ? And question'd every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory : They knew not of his story ; 95 And sage Hippotades their answer brings. That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with aU her sisters play'd. It was that fatal and perfidious bark 100 BuUt in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairj% and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe : 58 MILTON ' Ah ! who hath reft,' quoth he, ' my dearest pledge ? ' Last came, and last did go The; pilot of the Gahlean lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 110 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : ' How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and cUmb into the fold ! 115 Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast. And shove away the worthy bidden guest. Blind mouths 1 that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least That to the faithful herdman's art belongs 1 12 1 What recks it them ? What need they ? They are sped ; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125 But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw Rot mwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the gi*im wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said : — But that two-handed engine at the door 130 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.' Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And caU the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 135 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks. On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes 139 That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers And purple all the ground with vernal flower:^. MILTON 59 Bring the rathe prunrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, ' 145 The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amarantus all his beauty shed. And daffadUIies fill their cups with tears 150 To strew the iaureat hearse where Lycid Ues. For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise ; Ay me I whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are hurl'd. Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides 156 Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world ; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160 Where the great Vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold, — Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : — And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth I Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 165 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day-star in the ocean=bed. And 5'et anon repairs his drooping head And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 171 So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves ; Where, other groves and other streams along. With nectar pure Ms oozy locks he laves, 175 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoma meek of Joy and love. 60 BEAUMONT There entertain him all the saints above In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, 180 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. 185 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and riUs, While the still morn went out with sandals grey ; He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : And now the sxm had stretch 'd out all the hiUs, And now was dropt into the western bay : 191 At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. J. Milton. 67 f ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER AB^Y Mortality, behold and fear, What a change of flesh is here I Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Here they lie, had realms and lands, 5 Who now want strength to stir their hands, Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust They preach, ' In greatness is no trust.' Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest royallest seed 10 That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried * Though gods they were, as men they died ! ' Here are sands, ignoble things, 15 Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings : Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. F. Beaumont. SHIRLEY 61 68 THE LAST CONQUEROR Victorious men of earth, no more Proclaim how wide your empires are ; Though you bind-in every shore, And your triumphs reach as far As night or day, 5 Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey And mingle with forgotten ashes, when Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, Each able to undo mankind, 10 Death's servile emissaries are ; Nor to these alone confined. He hath at will More quaint and subtle ways to kill ; A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 15 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. J. Shirley. 69 DEATH THE LEVELLER The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown j Must tumble down, | And in the dust be equal made | With the poor crooked scythe and spade. ' Some men with swords may reap the field. And plant fresh laurels where they kill But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : 4 / / 62 MILTON Early or late They stoop to fate. And must give up their murmuring breath 15 When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds : 20 Your heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. J. Shirlev. 70 WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms. Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize. If deed of honour did thee ever please. Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms - That call fame on such gentle acts as these, G And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas. Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower : i The great Emathian conqueror bid spare lo The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground : and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. J. Milton. MILTON 63 71 / ON HIS BLINDNESS / When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present ,5 My true accovmt, lest He returning chide, — Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ? I fondly ask : — But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies ; God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts : who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : His state 11 Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest : — , They also serve who only stand and wait. ^ J. Milton. /^' 72 CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 3 How happy is he born or taught That serveth not another's will ; / Whose armour is his honest thought, And siUy truth his highest skill ! ^VllOse passions not his masters are, 5 WTiose soul is still prepared for death; Untied unto the world v/ith care Of princely love or vulgar breath ; Who hath his life from rumours freed, ^\Tiose conscience is his strong retreat ; lo Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great ; 64 JONSON Who envieth none whom chance doth raise Or vice ; who never understood 14 How deepest wounds are given with praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good : Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend ; Who entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ; 20 — This man is free from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, he hath all. Sir H. Wotton. 73 THE NOBLE NATURE It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day 5 Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night ; It was the plant and flower of Light- In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be. lo B. JONSON. 74 THE GIFTS OF GOD When God at first made Man, Having a glass of blessings standing by ; Let us (said He) pour on him all we can : Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. Contract into a span. 5 HERBERT 65 So strength first made a way ; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure : When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. lO For if I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature : So both should losers be. 15 Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast. 20 G. Herbert. 75 / j THE RETREAT / Happy those early days, when I / Shined in my Angel-infancy ! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught 5 But a white, celestial thought ; When yet I had not walk'd above A mile or two from my first Love, And looking back, at that short space Could see a glimpse of His bright face ; lo When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity ; Before I taught my tongue to wound 15 My conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense, 133 D 66 MILTON But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness. 20 O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track ! That I might once more reach that plain, Where first I left my glorious train ; From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees 25 That shady City of Palm trees ! But ah ! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way : — Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move ; 30 And when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return. H. Vaugiian. 76 TO MR. LAWRENCE Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son. Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining ? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire 6 The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice. Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice 11 Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? He who of tliosc delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise. J. Milton. MILTON 67 77 TO CYRIACK SKINNER Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause ^ Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench ; 4 To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench In mirth, that after no repenting draws ; Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause. And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 9 Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show. That with superfluous burden loads the day, ; And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.} J. Milton. 78 HYMN TO DIANA Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, ^ Now the Sim is laid to sleep, ^ Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, 5 Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close : 10 Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. / 68 JONSON Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver ; Give unto the flying hart 15 Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright ! B. JONSON. 79 WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS Whoe'er she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me ; Where'er she lie, Lock'd up from mortal eye 5 In shady leaves of destiny : Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps tread our earth ; Till that divine 10 Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : — ^Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses. And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 15 I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie : Something more than Taffata or tissue can, 20 Or rampant feather, or rich fan. A face that's best By its own beauty drest. And can alone conamend the rest : CRASHAW 69 A face made up 25 Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. Sidneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. ^Vhate'er delight 31 Can make day's forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night. Soft silken hours, Open suns, shady bowers ; 35 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. Days, that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow : Days, that in spite 40 Of darkness, by the light Of a clear mind are day all night. Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, 44 And when it comes, say, ' Welcome, friend.' I wish her store Of worth may leave her poor Of wishes ; and I wish no more. — Now, if Time knows That Her, whose radiant brows 50 Weave them a garland of my vows ; Her that dares \$t What these lines wish to see : I seek no further, it is She. 'Tis She, and here 55 Lo ! I unclothe and clear My wishes' cloudy character. Such worth as this is Shall fix my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses. 60 70 CRASHAW Let her full glory, My fancies, fly before ye ; Be ye my fictions : — but her story. R. Ckasuaw. 80 THE GREAT ADVENTURER Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves ; Under floods that are deepest, 6 Which Neptime obey ; Over rocks that are steepest Love wUl find out the way. Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie ; 10 Where there is no space For receipt of a fly ; Where the midge dares not venture Lest herself fast she lay ; If love come, he wiU enter 15 And soon find out his way. You may esteem him A child for his might ; Or you may deem him A coward ^om his flight ; 20 But if she whom love doth honour Be conceal 'd from the day. Set a thousand guards upon her. Love wiU find out the way. Some think to lose him 25 By having him confined ; And some do suppose him, Poor thing, to be blind j SIR C. SEDLEY 71 But if ne'er so close ye wall him, Do the best that you may, 30 Blind love, if so ye call him, Will find out his way. You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist 5 Or you may inveigle 35 The phoenix of the east ; The Uoness, ye m^ay move her To give o'er her prey ; But you'll ne'er stop a lover : He will find out his way. 40 Anon. 81 CHILD AND IVIAIDEN Ah, Chloris 1 that I now could sit As unconcern'd as when Your infant beauty could beget No pleasure, nor no pain I When I the dawn used to admire, 5 And praised the coming day, I little thought the growing fire Must take my rest away. Your charms in harmless childhood lay Like metals in the mine ; 10 Age from no face took more away Than youth conceal'd in thine. But as your charms insensibly To their perfection prest, Fond love as unperceived did fly, 15 And in my bosom rest. My passion with your beauty grew, And Cupid at my heart, Still as his mother favour'd you, Threw a new flaming dart ; 20 72 HERRICK Each gloried in their wanton part ; To make a lover, he Employ'd the utmost of his art — To make a beauty, she. Sir C. Sedley. 82 COUNSEL TO GIRLS / Gather ye rose-buds while ye may. Old Time is still a-flying : And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 5 The higher he's a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first. When youth and blood are warmer ; 10 But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time ; And while ye may, go marry : For having lost but once your prime, 15 You may for ever tarry. R. Herrick. 83 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. SIR H. WOTTON 73 True, a new mistress now I chase, 5 The first foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore ; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more. Colonel Lovelace. 84 ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your niunber than your light, You common people of the skies, What are you, when the Moon shall rise ? 5 You cvu-ious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents ; what 's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise ? lO You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year. As if the spring were all your own, — What are you, when the Rose is blown ? 15 So when my Mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind. By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ? 20 Sir H. Wotton. 133 M a ^ / 74 MILTON 85 TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY Daughter to that good Earl, once President Of England's Council and her Treasury, Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, And left them both, more in himself content, Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 5 Broke him, as that dishonest victory At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty, Kill'd with report that old man eloquent ; — Though later born than to have known the days Wherein your father floiu-ish'd, yet by you, 10 Madam, methinks I see him hving yet ; So well yom* words his noble virtues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honom-'d Margaret. J. Milton. 86 THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE It is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand. Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair : Tell me not of your starry eyes, 6 Your lips that seem on roses fed. Your breasts, where Cupid trembling lies Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed : — A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, 10 A breath that softer music speaks Than simuner winds a-wooing flowers, DARLEY 75 These are but gauds : nay, what are hps ? Coral beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer sips 15 Fvill oft he perisheth on them. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood ? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft. Do Greece or Ilium any good ? 20 Byes can with baleful ardour burn ; Poison can breath, that erst perfumed ; There's many a white hand holds an urn With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. For crystal brows — ^there's nought within ; 25 They are but empty cells for pride ; He who the Syren's hair would win Is mostly strangled in the tide. Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind 30 W^hich with temptation I could trust, Yet never link'd with error find, — One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly 35 That hides his murmurs in the rose, — My earthly Comforter ! whose love So indefeasible might be That, when my spirit won above, Hers could not stay, for sympathy. 40 G. Darley. 87 THE TRUE BEAUTY He that loves a rosy cheek Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; 76 HERRICK As old Time makes these decay, 4 So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying iires : — 10 Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. T. Carew. TO DIANEME Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Which starlike sparkle in their skies ; Nor be you proud, that you can see All hearts yoiju- captives ; yours yet free : Be you not proud of that rich hair 5 ^Vhich wantons with the lovesick air ; Whenas that ruby which you wear. Sunk from the tip of your soft ear. Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty 's gone. lo R. Herrick. / Go, lovely Rose I Tell her, that wastes her time and me. That now she knows, Wlien I resemble her to thee. How sweet and fair she seems to be. 6 Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have mjmx/uuu ended died. lo JONSON 77 Small is the worth Of beauty from the hght retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. w Tlien die I that she The common fate of al) things rare May read in thee ; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! 20 E. Waller. TO CELIA / Drink to me only with thine eyes, / And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise 5 Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee 10 As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd be ; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me ; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 15 Not of itself but thee ! B. JONSON. 91 / CHERRY-RIPE / There is a garden in her face f Where roses and white lilies grow ; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow ; 78 HERRICK There cherries grow which none may buy, 6 Till ' Cherry-Ripe ' themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds fiU'd with snow : 10 Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy, Till ' Cherry-Ripe ' themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still ; Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill 15 All that attempt* with eye or hand Those sacred cherries to come nigh, — Till ' Cherry-Ripe ' themselves do cry ! T. Campion. / 92 THE POETRY OF DRESS A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : — A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction, — An erring lace, which here and there 5 Enthrals the crimson stomacher, — A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly, — A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat, — 10 A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility, — • Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part. R. Herrick. HERRICK 79 93 Whenas in silks my Juiia goes Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free ; O how that glittering taketh me 1 R. Herbick. 94 My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, It doth so well become her : For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on : But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Anon. 95 ON A GIRDLE That which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done. It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer : My joy, my grief, my hope, my love Did all within this circle move. / 80 HERRICK A narrow compass 1 and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair : lo Give me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the Sun goes round. E. Waller. 96 TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING ^ Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be : Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 5 A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find. That heart I'll give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, To honour thy decree : 10 Or bid it languish quite away, And 't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep While I have eyes to see : And, having none, yet I will keep is A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I'll despair Under that cypress tree : Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en Death, to die for thee. 20 Thou art my life, my love, my heart. The very eyes of me, And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. R. Herrick. SIR C. SEDLEY 81 97 Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart, — For those may fail, or turn to ill, 5 So thou and I shall sever : Keep therefore a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why — ^ So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever ! lo Anon. 9S Not, Celia, that I juster am Or better than the rest ; For I would change each hour, like them, Were not my heart at rest. But I am tied to very thee 5 By every thought I have ; Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave. All that in woman is adored In thy dear self I find — 10 For the whole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind. Why then should I seek further store, ;f^d still make love anew ? When change itself can give no more, 15 'Tis easy to be true. Sir C, Sedley. 82 LOVELACE 99 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON WTien Love with unconfin6d wings Hovers within my gates. And my divine Althea brings To wliisper at the grates ; When I he tangled in her hair 5 And fetter' d to her eye, The Gods that wanton in the air Know no such Uberty. When flowing cups nm swiftly roimd With no allaying Thames, 10 Our careless heads with roses crown'd, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free — Fishes that tipple in the deep 15 Kjiow no such liberty. When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty And glories of my King ; 20 When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be. Enlarged winds> that curl the flood. Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, 25 Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, 30 Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. Colonel Lovelace LOVELACE 83 100 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS If to be absent were to be / Away from thee ; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone ; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 5 Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, Like separated souls. All time and space controls : lo Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. So then we do anticipate Our after-fate. And are alive i' the skies, 15 If thus our lips and eyes Can speak Uke spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. Colonel Lovelace. 101 ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? ^ Prythee, why so pale ? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail ? Prythee, why so pale ? 5 84 SIR J. STICKLING Wliy so dull and mute, young sinner ? Prythee, why so mute ? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't ? Prythee, why so mute ? ifl Quit, qtiit, for shame ! this will not move, This cannot take her : If of herself she will not love. Nothing can make her : The devil take her I 15 Sir J. Suckling. 102 A SUPPLICATION Awake, awake, my Lyre ! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail ; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : Though so exalted she 5 And I so lowly be, Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. Hark ! how the strings awake : And, though the moving hand approach not near. Themselves with awful fear 10 A kind of numerous trembling make. Now all thy forces try ; Now all thy charms apply ; Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 15 Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound, And she to wound, but not to cure. Too weak too wilt thou prove My passion to remove ; 20 Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. COWLEY 85 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! For thou canst never tell my humble tale In soimds that will prevail, Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ; 25 All thy vain mirth lay by, Bid thy strings silent lie, Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. A. Cowley. 103 THE MANLY HEART Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair ? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day 5 Or the flowery meads in May — If she think not well of me What care I how fair she be ? Shall my silly heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind ; 10 Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me 15 What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love ? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own ? 20 Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of Best ; If she be not such to me, What care I bow good she be ? 86 WITHER 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 25 Shall I play the fool and die ? She that bears a noble mind If not outward helps she find, Thinks what with them he would do That without them dares her woo ; 30 And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ? Great or good, or kind or fair, I will ne'er the more despair ; If she love me, this believe, 35 I will die ere she shall grieve ; If she sUght me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? dO G. Wither. 104 MELANCHOLY Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your foUy : There's nought in this hfe sweet, If man were wise to see't, 5 But only melancholy, O sweetest melancholy 1 Welcome, folded arms, and fix6d eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that's fasten'd to the ground, 10 A tongue chain'd up without a sound ! Fountain heads and pathless groves. Places which pale passion loves I Moonlight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed, save bats and owls I 15 SIR W. SCOTT 87 A midnight bell, a parting groan — These are the sounds we feed upon ; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; Nothing's so damty sweet as lovely melancholy. J. Fletcher. 105 TO A LOCK OF HAIR Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well-remeraber'd night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd love. Since then how often hast thou prest The torrid zone of this wild breast. Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwejr With the first sin that peopled heU ; A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean, Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion ! lo if such clime thou canst endvu"e Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure. What conquest o'er each erring thought Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought I 1 had not wander'd far and wide 15 With such an angel for my g-uide ; Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me If she had Uved, and Uved to love me. Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, 20 My sole delight the headlong race And frantic hurry of the chase ; To start, pursue, and bring to bay, Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then — from the carcass tiu^ away ! 25 Rline ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound which pride inflamed : — Yes, God and man might now approve me If thou hadst lived, and Uved to love me I Sib W. Scott. 88 ANONYMOUS 106 THE FORSAKEN BRIDE waly waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae. And waly waly yon burn-side Where I and my Love wont to gae ! 1 leant my back unto an aik, 5 I thought it was a trusty tree ; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new ; lO But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa' like morning dew, O wherefore should I busk my head ? Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? For my true Love has me forsook, 15 And says he'll never loe me mair. Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed ; The sheets shaU ne'er be 'fll'd by me : Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, Since my true Love has forsaken me. 20 Marti'mas wind, when wUt thou blaw And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? For of my life I am wearie. 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 25 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to mc. When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see ; ;iO My Love was clad in the black velvet, And I myself in ciamasie. ANONYMOUS 89 But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win ; I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 35 And pinn'd it with a siller pin. And, O ! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee. And I myseU were dead and gane. For a maid again I'll never be. 40 Anon. 107 FAIR HELEN I wish I were where Helen lies ; Night and day on me she cries ; O that I were where Helen hes On fair Kirconnell lea I Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And cxirst the hand that fired the shot, 6 ^Vhen in my arms burd Helen dropt. And died to succour me I think na but my heart was sair When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 1 laid her down wi' meikle care 11 On fair Kirconnell lea. As I went down the water-side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, 15 On fair KirconneU lea ; I lighted down my sword to draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma'. For her sake that died for me. 20 O Helen fair, beyond compare I I'U make a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair Until the day I die. 90 ANONYMOUS O that I were where Helen lies ! 25 Night and day on me she cries ; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, ' Haste and come to me ! ' Helen fair I O Helen chaste ! If I were with theCj I were blest, 30 Where thou hes low and takes thy rest On fail KirconneU lea. 1 wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, And I in Helen's arms lying, 35 On fair KirconneU lea. I wish I were where Helen lies ; Night and day on me she cries ; And I am. weary of the skies. Since my Love died for me. 40 Anon. 108 THE TWA CORBIES As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane ; The tane unto the t'other say, ' Where sail we gang and dine to-day ? ' ' — In behint yon auld fail dyke, 5 I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; And naebody kens that he hes there. But his hawk, liis hound, and lady fair. * His hoimd is to the hunting gane. His hawk to fetch the wUd-fowl hame, 10 His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may make oui dinner sweet. ' Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pick out his bonny blue een : Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 15 We'll theek our nest when it gi'ows bare. HERRICK 91 ' Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sail ken where he is gane ; O'er his white banes, when they are bare. The wind sail blaw for evermair.' 20 Anon. / 109 TO BLOSSOMS Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past. But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, 6 And go at last. What, were ye bom to be An hour or half's delight. And so to bid good-night ? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 10 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 : 15 And after they have shown their pride Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave. R. Herbick. 110 TO DAFFODILS Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon : As yet the early -rising Sun Has not attain' d his noon. 92 HERRICK Stay, stay, 6 Until the hasting day Has rim But to the even-song ; And, having pray'd together, we Will go with you along. 10 We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, 15 As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again. 20 R. Herrick. Ill THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays. And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree, Whose short and narrow-verged shade 5 Does prudently their toils upbraid ; While all the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. And Innocence thy sister dear ! 10 Mistaken long, J. sought you then In busy companies of men : Your sacred plants, if here below. Only among the plants will grow : Society is all but rude 15 To this delicious solitude. MARVELL 93 No white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name : 20 Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed ! Fair trees ! wheres'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found. When we have run our passions' heat 25 Love hither makes his best retreat : The gods that mortal beauty chase. Still in a tree did end their race : Apollo hunted Daphne so, Only that she might laurel grow : 30 And Pan did after Syrinx speed Not as a nymph, but for a reed. What wondrous life in this I lead ! Ripe apples drop about my head ; The luscious clusters of the vine 35 Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach ; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 40 Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness ; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates, transcending these, 45 Far other worlds, and other seas ; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 50 Casting the body's vest aside. My soul into the boughs does glide ; 04 MARVELI. There, like a bird, it sits and sings. Then whets and combs its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, 55 Waves in its plumes the various light. Such was that happy Garden-state While man there walk'd without a mate : After a place so pure and sweet, What other help could yet be meet ! 60 But 'twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in Paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew 65 Of flowers and herbs this dial new ! Wliere, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run : And, as it works, th' industrious bee Computes its time as weU as we. 70 How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers ! A. Marvell. 112 L' ALLEGRO Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights un- holy ! Find out some uncouth cell, 5 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. 10 But come, thou Goddess fair and free, In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, MILTON 95 And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth With two sister Graces more 15 To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying — 20 There on beds of violets blue And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, 26 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 ; 30 Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe ; And in thy right hand lead with thee 35 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 ; 40 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, 45 And at my window bid good-morrow Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine : While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 50 And to the stack, or the barn-door. Stoutly struts his dames before : 96 MILTON Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, 55 Through the high wood echoing shrill. Sometime walking, not unseen. By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate Where the great Svm begins his state 60 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, 65 And the mower whets his scythe. And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures ; 70 Russet lawns, and fallows grey, Wliere the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pied, 75 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Wliere perhaps some Beauty lies; The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 80 Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks. Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes 85 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; And then in haste her bower she leaves With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; Or, if the earlier season lead. To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 90 Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, MILTON 97 When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, 95 Dancing in the chequer' d shade ; And young and old come forth to play On a siuishine holy-day, Till the live-long daylight fail : Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, lOO With stories told of many a feat. How Faery Mab the junkets eat ; She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she said ; And he, by Friar's lantern led ; Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat 105 To earn his cream- bowl duly set. When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then hes him down the lubber fiend, no And, stretch'd out all the chimney's Jength, Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, lis By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. Tower'd cities please us then And the busy hum of men, Wliere throngs of knights and barons bold. In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, - 120 With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear 125 In saffron robe, with taper clear. And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry ; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. 130 Then to the Avell-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on. I3i 98 MII.TON Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares 135 Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 140 With wanton heed and giddy cunning. The melting voice through mazes running. Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus' self may heave his head 145 From golden slumber, on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice. 150 These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. J. Milton. 113 ' IT. PENSEROSO Hence, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred ! How little you bestead Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! Dwell in some idle brain, 5 And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams. The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 10 But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy ! MILTON 99 ^Vhose saintly visage is foo bright To hit the sense of liuman sight, And therefore to our weaker view in O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove To Set her beauty's praise above 20 The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended : Yet thou art higher far descended : Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, To solitary Saturn bore ; His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign 25 Such mixture was not held a stain : Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost gi'ove, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 30 Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cj'pres lawn 35 Over thy decent shoulders drawn Come, but keep thy wonted state. With even step, and mvising gait, And looks commercing with the skies. Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 10 There, held in holy passion still. Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast : 44 And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, Ajid hears the Muses in a ring Ay round about Jove's altar sing : And add to these retired Leisure 49 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure : — But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing MILTON Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne. The cherub Contemplati6n ; And the mute Silence hist along, 55 'liCss Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight. Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustom'd oak. co — Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly. Most musical, most melancholy ! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song ; And missing thee, I walk unseen C5 On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering Moon Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 70 And oft, as if her head she bow'd. Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft, on a plat of rising ground I hear the far-off curfeu sound Over some wi de- water' d shore, 75 Swinging slow with sullen roar : Or, if the air will not permit. Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; 80 Far from all resort of mirth. Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour 85 Be seen in some high lonely tower. Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thricc-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold 90 'J'he immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook : MILTON 101 And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent 95 With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In scepter'd pall come sweeping by. Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line. Or the tale of Troy divine ; 100 Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin 'd stage. But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower. Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 105 Such notes as, warbled to the string. Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek And made Hell grant what Love did seek ! Or call up him that left half -told The story of Cambuscan bold, lio Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, That own'd the virtuous ring and glass ; And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride : 115 And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have simg Of turneys, and of trophies hung. Of forests, and enchantments drear, 119 Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. Till civil-suited Morn appear. Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kercheft in a comely cloud 125 While rocking winds are piping loud, Or usher'd with a shower still. When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves. 130 And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 1(32 MILTON To arched walks of twilight groves. And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, 135 Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke. Was never heard the nymphs to daunt Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt. There in close covert by some brook Where no profaner eye may look, no Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honey'd thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters miurnuring, With such consort as they keep 145 Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep : And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture display'd^. Softly on my eyelids laid : ISO And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath. Sent by some Spirit to mortals good^ Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail 155 To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high-embowed roof, With antique pillars massy-proof. And storied windows ricbJy dight Casting a dim religious light : 160 There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below In service high and anthems clear. As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, 165 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes, And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell Where I may sit and rightly spell 17Q Of every star that heaven doth siiow, And every herb that sips the dew ; MILTON 103 Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 175 And I with thee will choose to live. J Milton. / 114 SONG OF THE EMIGRAT^TS IN BERMUDA Where the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that row'd along The listening winds received this song : ' What should we do but sing His praise 5 That led us through the watery ntaze Unto an isle so long unknown. And yet far kinder than our own ? Where He the huge sea-monsters wracksj That lift the deep upon their backs, 10 He lands us on a grassy stage. Safe from the storms and prelate's rage : He gave us this eternal spring ^Vhich here enamels everything. And sends the fowls to us m care 15 On daily visits through the air; He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 20 He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet ; But apples plants of such a price. No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by His hand 25 From Lebanon He stores the land ; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 30 104 MARVELL And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 34 Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! ' Thus sung they in the English boat An holy and a cheerful note : And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. 40 A. Makvell. /* 115 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse! Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; And to our high-raised phantasy present 5 That undisturbed Song of pure concent Ay sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne To Him that sits thereon, With saintly shout and solenm jubilee ; Where the bright Seraphim in burning row lo Their loud uplifted angel -trumpets blow ; And the Cherubic host in thousand quires Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms. Hymns devout and holy psalms 15 Singing everlastingly : That we on earth, with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise ; As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made 21 To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. MILTON 105 O may we soon again renew that Song, 25 And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To His celestial consort us unite, To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! J. Milton, k 116 ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER j OF MUSIC / 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won V By PhUip's warlike son — Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne ; 5 His valiant peers were placed arbimd, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crown'd) ; The lovely Thais by his side Sate like a blooming eastern bride 10 In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — Happy, happy, happy pair I None but the brave None but the brave None but thr brave deserves the fair ! is Timotheus placed on high Amid the tuneful quire With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky And heavenly joys inspire. 20 The song began from Jove \Vho left his blissful seats above — Such is the power of mighty love ! A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; Sublime on radiant spires he rode 25 When he to fair Olympia prest, And while he sought her snowy breast, 133 Ka 106 DRYDEN Then round her slender waist he curl'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 29 — The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; A present deity ! they shout around : A present deity 1 the vaulted roofs rebound : With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god, 35 Affects to nod And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young : • The jolly god in triumph comes ! io Sound the trumpets, beat the drums I Flush' d with a purple grace He shows his honest face : Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes ! Bacchus, ever fair and young, 45 Drinking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : Rich the treasure. Sweet the pleasure, 60 Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought aU his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain o The master saw the madness rise, 55 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 : 60 He sung Darius great and good, By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen. Fallen from his high estate, DRYDEN 107 And weltering in his blood ; 65 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. — With downcast looks the joyless victor sate. Revolving in his alter' d soul 71 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 75 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. 80 War, he sung, is toil and trouble. Honour but an empty bubble ; Never ending, still beginning. Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be worth thy winning, 85 Think, O think, it worth enjoying : Lovely Thais sits beside thee. Take the good the gods provide thee ! — The many rend the skies with loud applause ; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 9i 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 : 95 At length with love and wine at once opprest The vanquish'd victor srnik upon her breast. Now strike the golden lyre again : A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder 100 And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head j 108 DRYDEN As awaked from the dead And amazed he stares around. 105 Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear How they hiss in their hair. And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! no 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 : 115 Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew ! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 120 — The princes applaud with a furious joy : And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way To light him to his prey. And like another Helen, fired another Troy ! 125 — Thus, long ago. Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to' his breathing flute And sounding lyre, 130 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 135 And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. — Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both divide the crown ; lie raised a mortal to the skies ; 140 She drew an angel down I J. Dryden. THE GOLDEN TREASURY BOOK THIRD 117 ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FRO VICISSITUDE J Now the golden Morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing, With vermeil cheek and whisper soft She woos the tardy Spring : Till April starts, and calls around 5 The sleeping fragrance from the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. New-born flocks, in rustic dance. Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 10 Forgetful of their wintry trance The birds his presence greet : But chief, the sky-lark warbles high His trembling thrilling ecstasy ; And lessening from the dazzled sight, 15 Melts into air and liquid light. Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; Mute was the music of the air. The herd stood drooping by : 20 Their raptures now that wildly flow No yesterday nor morrow know ; 'Tis Man alone that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes. 109 110 GRAY Smiles on past Misfortune's brow 25 Soft Reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw A melancholy grace ; Wliile Hope prolongs our happier hour, Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 30 And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day. Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, See a kindred Grief pursue ; Behind the steps that Misery treads 35 Approaching Comfort view : The hues of bliss more brightly glow Chastised by sabler tints of woe. And blended form, with artful strife, The strength and liarmony of life. 40 See the wretch that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain. At length repair his vigour lost And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale, 45 The simplest note that swells the gale. The common sun, the air, the skies. To him are opening Paradise. T. Gray. 118 THE QUIET LIFE Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound. Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. ^Vhose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Wliose flocks supply him with attire ; 6 ^^^^ose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. CIBBER 111 Blest, who can unconcern' dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away lo In health of body, peace of mind. Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night ; study and ease Together mix'd ; sweet recreation. And innocence, which most does please 15 With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; Thus unlamented let me die ; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. 20 A, Pope. 119 THE BLIND BOY say what is that thing call'd Light, Which I must ne'er enjoy ; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see, 5 You say the sun shines bright ; 1 feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play ; 10 And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear 15 A loss I ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy : Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. 20 C. Gibber. 112 GRAY 120 ON A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow. Demurest of the tabby kind. The pensive Selima, reclined, 5 Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared : The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat that with the tortoise vies, lO Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes. She saw ; and purr'd applause. Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii c " the stream : 15 Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Through richest purple to the view Betray'd a golden gleam. The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : A whisker first, and then a claw 20 With many an ardent wish She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize — What female heart can gold despise ? What Cat's averse to Fish ? Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent 25 Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between — Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — The slippery verge her feet beguiled ; She tumbled headlong in ! 30 GRAY 113 Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to every watery God Some speedy aid to send : — - No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — • 35 A favourite has no friend ! From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold : Not aU that tempts your wandering eyes 40 And heedless hearts, is lawful prize. Nor all that glisters, gold 1 T, Gray. 121 TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY Timely blossom, Infant fair. Fondling of a happy pair. Every morn and every night Their soUcitous delight. Sleeping, waking, still at ease, 5 Pleasing, without skill to please ; Little gossip, blithe and hale, Tattling many a broken tale, Singing many a timeless song. Lavish of a heedless tongue ; 10 Simple maiden, void of art. Babbling out the very heart. Yet abandon'd to thy will, Yet imagining no ill. Yet too innocent to blush ; 15 Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet's note ModuUng her slender throat ; Chirping forth thy petty joys. Wanton in the change of toys, 20 Like the linnet green, in May Flitting to each bloomy spray ; 114 PHILIPS Wearied then and glad of rest, Like the hnnet in the nest : — This thy present happy lot, 25 This, in time will be forgot : Other pleasures, other cares. Ever-busy Time prepares ; And thou shalt in thy daughter see, This picture, once, resembled thee, 30 A. Philips. , 122 RULE, BRITANNIA When Britain first at Heaven's command Arose from out the azure main. This was the charter of the land. And guardian angels sung this strain : Rule, Britannia ! rule the waves ! 5 Britons never will be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee Must in their turns to tyrants fall, ^Vhile thou shalt flourish great and free, The dread and en\'y of them all. 10 Still more majestic shalt thou rise. More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 15 All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, But work their woe and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign ; Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 2(J All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine 1 The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair ; THOMSON 115 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, 25 And manly hearts to guard the fair : — Rule, Britannia ! rule the waves ! Britons never will be slaves 1 J. Thomson. 123 THE BARD A Pindaric Ode I' / ' Ruin seize thee, ruthless King I Confusion on thy banners wait ! Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, 5 Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears. From Cambria's cm'se, from Cambria's tears ! ' — Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, lo As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array : — Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; ' To arms ! ' cried Mortimer, and couch' d his quivering lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow 15 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air ;) 20 And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : ' Hark, how each giant oak and desert cave Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 24 O'er thee, O King ! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; 116 GRAY Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. ' Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. That hush'd the stormy main : 30 Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed ; Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. On dreary Arvon's shore they lie 35 Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale : Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, 40 Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep ; On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, I see them sit ; they linger yet, d5 Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.' " Weave the warp and weave the woof. The winding-sheet of Edward's race : 50 Give ample room and verge enough The characters of hell to trace. Mark the year and mark the night When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king ! 56 She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heaven ! What terrors round him wait ! 60 Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind " Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies 1 GRAY 117 No pitying heart, no eye, afford 65 A tear to grace his obsequies. Is the sable warrior fled ? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born ? — Gone to salute the rising morn. 70 Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes : Youth on the prow, a,nd Pleasure at the helm : RegaxdlesajiLtlie. sweeping Wlxirlwind's sway, 75 Thatjhush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. " Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare ; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair 80 Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray, Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? 84 Long years of havoc urge their destined course. And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame. With many a foul and midnight murder fed, Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame. And spare the meek usurper's holy head ! 90 Above, below, the rose of snow. Twined with her blushing foe, we spread : The bristled boar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 94 Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. " Edward, lo ! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof ; The thread is spim ;) Half of thy heart we consecrate. (The web is wove ; The work is done.) " lOO ' Stay, O stay ! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : 118 GRAY In yon bright track that fires the western skies They melt, they vanish from my eyes. lOi But O I what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul I No more our long-lost Arthur Ave bewail : — • 109 All hail, ye genuine kings ! Britannia's issue, hail ! ' Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine 1 115 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line : Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face Attemper' d sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air. What strains of vocal transport round her play ? Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear ; 121 They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings. Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. ' The verse adorn again 125 Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 130 A voice as of the cherub-choir Gales from blooming Eden bear, And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. 134 Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, hasquench'd theorb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : 140 COLLINS 119 Be thine Despair and sceptred Care ; To triumph and to die are mine.' — He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. T. Gray. 124 ODE WRITTEN IN MDCCXLVI How sleep the Brave who sink to rest By all their Country's wishes blest I When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, I Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, I She there shall dress a sweeter sod '5 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, ? By forms unseen their dirge is sung : ) There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, !9 To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; ! And Freedom shall awhile repair » To dwell, a weeping hermit, there ! W. Collins. 125 LAMENT FOR CULLODEN The lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; For e'en and morn she cries, Alas 1 And ay the saut tear blin's her ee : Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 5 A waefu' day it was to me ! For there I lost my father dear. My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay. Their graves are growuig green to see : 10 120 ELLIOT And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's ee ! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be ; For niony a heart thou hast made sair 15 That ne'er did wrang to thine or tliee. R. Burns. 126 LAMENT FOR FLODDEN I've heard them lilting at the ewe-milking, Lasses a' lilting before dawn of day ; But now they are moaning on illca green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, 5 Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae ; Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. In har'st,at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, Bandsters are ruiikled, and lyart, or grey ; lO At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play ; But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her dearie— 15 The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the fore- most, 19 The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking ; Women and bairns are heartless and wae ; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. J. Elliot. LOGAN 121 127 THE BRAES OF YARROW ' Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream. When first on them I met my lover ; Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream. When now thy waves his body cover ! For ever now, O Yarrow stream, 5 Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow ' He promised me a milk-white steed To bear me to his father's bowers ; 10 He promised me a little page To squire me to his father's towers ; He promised me a wedding-ring, — The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ; — Now he is wedded to his grave, 15 Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! ' Sweet were his words when last we met ; My passion I as freely told him ; Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him ! 20 Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. ' His mother from the window look'd 25 With aU the longing of a mother ; His httle sister weeping walk'd The green -wood path to meet her brother ; They sought him east, they sought him west. They sought him all the forest thorough ; 30 They only saw the cloud of night. They only heard the roar of Yarrow. J 22 LOGAN ' No longer from thy window look — Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 35 Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! No longer seek him east or west And search no more the forest thorough ; For, wandering in the night so dark, He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow, 40 * The tear shall never leave my cheek, No other youth shall be my marrow — I'll seek thy body in the stream. And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.' — The tear did never leave her cheek, 45 No other youth became her marrow ; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. J. Logan. 128 WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW Down in yon garden sweet and gay Where bonnie grows the lily, 1 heard a fair maid sighing say, ' My wish be wi' sweet Willie I ' Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 5 And Willie's wondrous bonny ; And Willie hecht to marry me Gin e'er he married ony. ' O gentle wind, that bloweth south From where my Love repaireth, 10 Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth And tell me how he fareth ! ' O tell sweet Willie to come doun And hear the mavis singing. And see the birds on ilka bush 15 And leaves around them hinging. COWPER 123 * The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast And gentle throat sae narrow ; There's sport eneuch for gentlemen On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 20 ' O Leader haughs are wide and braid And Yarrow haughs are bonny ; There Willie hecht to marry me If e'er he married ony. * But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 25 And does not hear me weeping ; Draws many a tear frae 's true love's e'e Wlien other maids are sleeping. ' Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid. The night I'll mak' it narrovv, 30 For a' the live-Iang winter night I lie twined o' my marrow, O came ye by j^on water-side ? Pou'd you the rose or lily ? Or came you by yon meadow green, 35 Or saw you my sweet Willie ? ' She sought him up, she sought him down, She sought him braid and narrow ; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, She found him drown'd in Yarrow I 40 Anon. 129 LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE Toll for the Brave ! The brave that are no more ! All stmk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore 1 Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel And laid her on her side. / i24 COVVPER A land-breeze shook the shrouds And she was overset ; 10 Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, 15 His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak. She ran upon no rock. 20 His sword was in the sheath, His fingers held the pen. When Kempenfelt went down W'ith twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up 25 Once dreaded by our foes, And mingle with your cup The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound. And she may float again 30 Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred 35 Must plough the wave no more. W. COWPEB 130 BLACK-EYED SUSAN All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came aboard ; ' O 1 where shall 1 my true-love find ? GAY 125 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 5 If my sweet William sails among the crew.' William, wlio high upon the yard Rock'd with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd, and cast his ej^es below : 10 The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air,' Shuts close his pinions to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 15 And drops at once into her nest : — The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. ' O Susan, Susan, lovely dear. My vows shall ever true remain ; 20 Let me kiss off that falling tear ; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. ' Believe not what the landmen say 25 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : They'll tell thee, sailors, when away. In every port a mistress find : Yes, 3'es, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 30 ' If to far India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view 35 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. "Though battle call me from thy arms Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms William shall to his Dear return. 40 Love turns aside the balls that round me fly. Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.' 126 GAY The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread ; No longer must she stay aboard ; 45 They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land ; * Adieu ! ' she cries ; and waved her lily hand. J. Gay. 131 I ■ * f SALLY IN OUR ALLEY / Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally ; She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land 5 Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets And through the streets does cry 'em ; Her mother she sells laces long il To such as please to buy 'em : But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally ! She is the darling of my heart, 15 And she lives in our alley. VVlien she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely ; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely — 20 But let him bang his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally ; , She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that 's in the week 25 I dearly love but one day — CAREY 127 And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday ; For then I'm drest all in my best To walk abroad with Sally ; 30 She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch 35 As soon as text is named ; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. 40 When Christmas comes about again O then I shall have money ; I'll hoard it up, and box and all, I'll give it to my honey : I would it were ten thousand pound, 45 I'd give it all to SaUy ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbours all Make game of me and Sally, 50 And, but for her, I'd better be A slave and row a galley ; But when my seven long years are out O then I'll marry Sallj^— O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, 55 But not in our alley ! H. Carey. 132 A FARE^VELI. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. An' fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink before I go A service to my bonnie lassie : 128 BURNS The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 5 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly. The glittering spears are ranked ready ; The shouts o' war are heard afar, 11 The battle closes thick and bloody ; But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 15 It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. R. Burns. / 133 If doughty deeds my lady please Right soon I'll mount my steed ; And strong his arm, and fast his seat. That bears frae me the meed. I'll wear thy colours in my cap, 5 Thy picture in my heart ; And he that bends not to thine eye Shall rue it to his smart. Then tell me how to woo thee, love ; O tell me how to woo thee ! lO For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, Tho' ne'er another trow me. If gay attire delight thine eye I'll dight me in array ; I'll tend thy chamber door all night, 15 And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, These sounds I'll strive to catch ; Thy voice I'll steal to woo thy sell, That voice that nane can match. 20 But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow COWPER 129 Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, I never loved but you. For you alone I ride the ring, 25 For you I wear the blue : For you alone I strive to sing, O tell me how to woo ! Then tell me how to woo thee, love ; O tell me how to woo thee ! 30 For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, Tho' ne'er another trow me. R. Graham of Gartmore. 134 TO A YOUNG LADY Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng : With gentle yet prevailing force, 5 Intent upon her destined course ; Graceful and useful all she does. Blessing and blest where'er she goes ; Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, And Heaven reflected in her face. 10 W. COWPEE. 135 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile — Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile And move, and breathe delicious sighs ! Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks And mantle o'er her neck of snow : Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks What most I wish — and fear to know ! 133 130 THOMSON She starts, she trembles, and she weeps ! Her fair hands folded on her breast : 10 — And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! A seraph in the realms of rest ! Sleep on secure ! Above control Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee : And may the secret of thy soul 15 Remain within its sanctuar^^ ! S. Rogers. 136 For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to Love, And when we meet a mutual heart Come in between, and bid us part ? Bid us sigh on from day to day, 5 And wish and wish the soul away ; Till youth and genial years are flown, And all the life of life is gone ? But busy, busy, still art thou. To bind the loveless joyless vow, 10 The heart from pleasure to delude, And join the gentle to the rude. For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, And I absolve thy future care ; All other blessings I resign, 15 Make but the dear Amanda mine. J. Thomson. t. 137 The merchant, to secure his treasure. Conveys it in a borrow'd name : Euphelia serves to grace my measure. But Cloe is my real flame. GOLDSMITH 131 My softest verse, my darling lyre 5 Upon Euphelia's toilet lay — When Cloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, But with my numbers mix my sighs ; 10 And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd : I sung, and gazed ; I play'd, and trembled : And Venus to the Loves around 15 Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. M. Prior. 138 Wlien lovely woman stoops to folly J And finds too late that men betray, — What charm can soothe her melancholy. What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, 5 To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover i^d wring his bosom, is — to die. O, Goldsmith. 139 / Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care ! Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird .' That sings upon the bough ; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. 132 BURNS Thou' 11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings beside thy mate ; 10 For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wist na o' my fate. Aft hae 1 roved by bonnie Doon To see the woodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its love, 16 And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Frae aff its thorny tree ; And my fause luver staw the rose, But left the thorn wi' me. 20 R. Burns. 140 THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode \ Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, • ,' ' *And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take : The laughing flowers that round them blow 5 Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of Music winds along . Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign ; Now rolling down the steep amain, 10 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : '■ The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roari II O Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares 15 And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fury of his car GRAY 133 And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. Perching on the sceptred hand 20 Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. ^2. Thee the voice, the dance, obey 25 Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet green The rosy-crowned Loves are seen On Cytherea's day. With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 30 Frisking light in frolic measures ; Now pursuing, now retreating. Now in circling troops they meet : To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet. 35 Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay : With arms sublime that float upon the air In gliding state she wins her easy way : O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 40 The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. / Man's feeble race what ills await ! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 44 And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse ? Night, and all her sickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry 50 He gives to range the dreary sky ; Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. \L 134 GRAY In climes beyond the solar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 50 To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat 60 In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 65 n Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep. Fields that cool Ilissus laves. Or where Maeander's amber waves In lingering lab'rinths creep, 70 How do your tuneful echoes languish. Mute, but to the voice of anguish ! Where each old poetic mountain Inspiration breath'd around ; Every shade and hallow'd fountain 75 Murmur'd deep a soleinn sound : Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour. Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 80 Wlien Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion, next thy sea-encircled coast. Far from the sun and summer-gale In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 85 To him the mighty Mother did unveil Her awful face : the dauntless Child Strctch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. GRAY 135 This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year : 90 Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. Nor second He, that rode sublime 95 Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of the Abyss to spy : He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time : The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, AVhere Angels tremble while they gaze, lOO He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race 105 With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace, I Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Scatters from her pictur'd urn 109 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But ah ! 'tis heard no more O ! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion. That the Theban Eagle bear, 115 Sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air : Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : 120 Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate : BeheatJi the Good how far — but fat above the Great. T. Gray, f "1 ! 1 /^ ] n 136 COLLINS 141 THE PASSIONS An Ode for Music When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung. The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng' d arovmd her magic cell Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 5 Possest beyond the Muse's painting ; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd : Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, 10 From the supporting myrtles round They snatch' d her instruments of sound. And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art. Each, for Madness ruled the hour, 15 Would prove his own expressive power. First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder'd laid. And back recoil'd, he knew not why. E'en at the sound himself had made. 20 Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire. In lightnings own'd his secret stings ; In one rude clash he struck the lyre And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures wan Despair, 25 Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled, A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair. What was thy delightful measure ? 3G Still it whisper'd promised pleasure And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail I COLLINS 137 Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; 35 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair. And longer had she sung, — but with a frown Revenge impatient rose : 40 He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread. Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. io And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat : And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, go Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fix'd : Sad proof of thy distressful state ! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; o5 And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. Witn eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sat retir'd ; And from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, co Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : And dashuig soft from rocks around Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy cahn diffusing, G6 Love of peace and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. U3 Fa 138 COLLINS But O ! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nyniph of healthiest hue, 70 Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known ! The oak-crown'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, 75 Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear ; And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 80 He, with viny crown advancing. First to the lively pipe his hand addrest : But soon he saw the brisk awak'ning viol. Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best : They would have thought who heard the strain 85 They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids Amidst the festal-sounding shades To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; WhUe, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 89 Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone imbound ; And he, amidst liis frohc play. As if he would the charming air repay. Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O Music ! sphere-descended maid, 95 Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid ! Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? As in that lov'd Athenian bower You learn'd an all-commanding power, 00 Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear' d, Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Ai't 'i ^Vrise, as in that elder time, IOA COLLINS 139 Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! Thy wonders in that god-like age FiU thy recording Sister's page ; — 'Tis said, and I beheve the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, iio Had more of strength, diviner rage. Than all which charms this laggard age, E'en aU at once together found, Cecilia's mingled world of sound : — O bid our vain endeavours cease : 115 Revive the just designs of Greece : Retvu-n in all thy simple state ! Confirm the tales her sons relate ! W. Collins. 143 ODE ON THE SPRING / Lo ! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, / Fair Venus' train, appear, / Disclose the long-expecting flowers * ♦ And wake the purple year ! The Attic warbler pours her throat 5 Responsive to the cuckoo's note, The untaught harmony of Spring : While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gather' d fragrance fling. lo Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade. Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink 15 With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the Crowd, How low, how Uttle are the Proud, How indigent the Great I 20 140 GRAY Still is the toUing hand of Care ; The panting herds repose : Yet hark, how through the peopled air The busy murmur glows ! The insect youth are on the wing, 25 Eager to taste the honied spring And float amid the liquid noon : Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gaily-gilded trim Quick -glancing to the sun. 30 To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man : And they that creep, and they that fly, Shall end where they began. Alike the busy and the gay 35 But flutter through life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest : Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, Or chiU'd by Age, their airy dance They leave, in dust to rest. 40 *Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply : Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? A solitary fly ! Thy joys no glittering female meets, 45 No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, No painted plumage to display : On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — We frolic while 'tis May. so T. Gray. 113 THE POPLAR FIELD The poplars are fell'd ; farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves. Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 4, COWPER 141 Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew : And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 9 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; And the scene where his melody charm'd me before Resoimds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, u With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, Have a being less durable even than he. 20 W. CoWPER. 144 TO A MOUSE On turning her up in her nest with the plough, November 1785. Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, what a panic 's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle ! 1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 5 Wi' murd'ring pattle ! I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion ^Vliieh makes thee startle 10 At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal ! I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve ; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live 1 142 BURNS A daimen-ieker in a thrave 15 'S a sma' request : I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't ! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' : 20 And naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green ! An' bleak December's winds ensuin' Baith snell an' keen 1 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste 25 An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell. Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. 30 That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble I Now thou's tiu-n'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald. To thole the winter's sleety dribble 35 An' cranreuch cauld ! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane In proving foresight may be vain : The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, 40 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promised joy. Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! The present only toucheth thee : But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 4.5 On prospects drear ! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear I R. Burns. ROGERS 143 145 A WISH Mine be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 5 Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 10 And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet gown and apron blue. The village-church among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze 15 And point with taper spire to Heaven. S. Rogers. 146 / f) { fl TO EVENING / If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song v May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear. Like thy own brawling springs. Thy springs, and dying gales ; O Nymph reserved, — while now the bright-hair'd sun 5 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts With brede ethereal wove O'erhang his wavy bed ; Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds n His small but sullen horn, i44 COIXINS As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum. — Now teach me, maid composed, 15 To breathe some soften' d strain, Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark'ning vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; As musing slow I hail Thy genial loved return. 20 For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours^ and Elves Who slept in buds the day. And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge 25 And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet. Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, 30 Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut That, from the mountain's side, 35 Views wilds and swelling floods. And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires ; And hears their simple bell ; and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil, 40 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont. And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light ; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 40 Affrights thy shrinking train And rudely rends thy robes ; COIJ.INS 145 So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 49 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name ! W Collins. fj.w V-^ » ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- YARD The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, V 'V The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, ' The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness, and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 5 And all the air a solemn stillness holds. Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade. Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15 The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 19 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! Howbow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! f46 GRAY Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 30 Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'jer gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable hour : — 35 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust 41 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust. Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? Perhaps in thi^ neglected spot is laid 45 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd. Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 51 And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 55 And waste its sweetness oh the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood. Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 5Q Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command. The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. And read their history in a nation's eyes GRAY 147 Their lot forbad : nor circumscribed alone 65 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut tlie gates of mercy on mankmd, The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 70 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far _from t he madding^ crowd's ignoble strife,' "' Their sober wishes never leafrrdT to stray ; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 75 They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some fraU memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dmnb forgetfulness a prey, 85 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd. Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing hngering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 90 E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries. E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these hues their artless tale relate ; If chance, by Icnely contemplation led, 95 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; lOO 148 GRAY ' There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His hstless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. * Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 105 Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love ' One morn I miss'd him on the eustom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, ill Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; ' The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne, — 114 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown_; Fair Science frown' d not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 120 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heaven, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of lifs Father and his God. T; Gray, BURNS 149 148 ]VIARY MORISON O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! Those smiles and glances let nie see That make the miser's treasure poor : How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 5 A weary slave frae smi to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the Ughted ha', 10 To thee my fancy took its wing, — I sat, but neither heard nor saw : Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a', lo ' Ye arena Mary Morison.' O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gla^dly dee ? Or canst thou break that heart of his, .Whase only faut is loving thee ? 2f If love for love thou wUtna gie. At least be pity to me shown ; A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. R, Burns. 149 BONNIE LESLEY O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border ? She's gane, like Alexander,. To spread her conquests farther. ISO BURNS To see her is to love her, 5 And love but her for ever ; For nature made her what she is, And never made anither ! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee ; 10 Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The deil he couldna scaith thee. Or aught that wad belang thee ; He'd look into thy bonnie face, 15 And say ' I canna wrang thee ! ' The Powers aboon will tent thee ; Misfortvuie sha'na steer thee ; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely. That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 20 Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag we hae a lass There 's nane again sae bonnie. R. Burns. 150 O my Luve's like a red, red rose That 's newly sprung in June : my Luve's like the melodic That 's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 5 So deep in luve am I : And I will luve thee still, my dear. Till a' the seas gang dry : Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. And the rocks melt wi' the sun ; 10 1 will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. BURNS 151 And fare thee weel, my only Luve ! And fare thee weel a while ! And I will come again, my Luve, 15 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. R. Burns. 151 HIGHLAND MARY Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumUe ! There simmer first unfauld her robes, 5 And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk. How rich the hawthorn's blossom, lo As imderneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and life 15 Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender ; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder ; 20 But, oh ! fell Death's untimely frost. That nipt my flower sae early ! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay. That wraps my Highland Mary ! O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, M I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! And closed for ay the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 15a BURNS And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 30 But still withm my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. R. Burns. 152 AULD ROBIN GRAY When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride ; 5 But saving a cromi he had naething else beside : To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; i\nd the croun and the pund were baith for me. He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, >Vhen my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa ; lo My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mo ther couldna spm ; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e 15 Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me ! iNIy heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee ? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me ? 20 My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak ; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break : They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the seaj Sae aiild Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. LADY A. LINDSAY 153 I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 25 When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he — Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee. sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away : 1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; And why was I born to say, Wae's me ! 32 I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; But I'll do my best a gude wife ay to be, 35 For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. Lady A liiNDSAY. 153 * , DUNCAN GRAY Duncan Gray cam here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. On blythe Yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooing o't : Maggie coost her head fu' high, 5 Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! Dimcan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; 10 Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin ower a linn ! Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide ; 16 Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie dee ? She may gae to — France for me I 154 BURNS How it comes let doctors tellj Meg grew sick — as he grew heal ; 20 Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings ; And O, her een, they spak sic things 1 Duncan was a lad o' grace ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 28 Maggie's was a piteous case ; Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! Dvmcan couldna be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; Now they're crouse and canty baith : 30 Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! R. Burns. 154 THE SAILOR'S WIFE And are ye sure the news is true ? And are ye sure he 's weel ? Is tliis a time to think o' wark ? Ye jades, lay by your wheel ; Is this the time to spin a thread, 5 When Colin 's at the door ? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there 's nae luck about the house, There 's nae luck at a' ; lo There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman 's awa'. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown ; For 1 maun tell the baillie's wife 15 Thai Colin 's in the town. My Turkey sUppers maun gae on, My stockms pearly blue ; It 's a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he 's baith leal and true. 20 MICIO^E 155 Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the miickle pot ; Gie little Kate her button gown And Jock his Sunday coat : And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 25 Their hose as white as snaw ; It 's a' to please my ain gudeman. For he 's been long awa'. There 's twa fat hens upo' the coop Been fed this month and mair ; 30 Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare ; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared 35 When he was far awa' ? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair — • 40 And will I see his face again ? And will I hear him speak ? I'ln downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet ! If Colin 's weel, and weel content, 45 I hae nae mair to crave : And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave : And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak ? 50 I'm downright dizzy wi* the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there 's nae luck about the house. There 's nae luck at a' ; There's little pleasure in the house 55 Wheu our gudeman's awa'. W. J. MiCKLE. 156 BURNS 155 JEAN f./ Of a' the airts the wind can blaw /' I dearly hke the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : 4 There's wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy 's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair : 10 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air : There 's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green. There 's not a bonnie bird that sings 15 But minds me o' my Jean. O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft Amang the leafy trees ; Wi' balmy gale, frae hiU and dale Bring hame the laden bees ; 20 And bring the lassie back to me That 's ay sae neat and clean ; Ae smile o' her wad banish care, Sae charming is my Jean. What sighs and vows amang the knowes Hae pass'd atween us twa 1 26 How fond to meet, how wae to part That night she gaed awa ! The Powers aboon can only ken To whom the heart is seen, 30 That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean ! R. Burns. BURNS 157 156 JOHN ANDERSON John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent Your locks were Uke the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is held, John, 5 Your locks are like the snow ; But blessings on yotu- frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, 10 And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, 15 John Anderson my jo. R. Burns. 157 THE LAND O' THE LEAL I'm wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean, I'm wearing awa' To the land o' the leal. There 's nae sorrow there, Jean, 5 There 's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is ay fair In the land o' the leal. Ye were ay leal and true, Jean, Your task 's ended noo, Jean, 10 And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. 158 LAIJY NAIRNE Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, She was baith guid and fair, Jean ; O we grudged her right sair 15 To the land o' the leal 1 Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, My soul langs to be free, Jean, And angels wait on me To the land o' the leal. 20 Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, This warld's care is vain, Jean ; We'll meet and ay be fain In the land o' the leaL Lady Nairn e. 158 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE Ye distant spires, ye antique towers That crown the watery glade. Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade ; And ye, that fo"om the stately brow 5 Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way : 10 All happy hills ! ah pleasing shade I All fields beloved in vain ! Wliere once my careless childhood strayd, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow 15 A momentary bliss bestow. As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe. And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. 20 GRAY 159 Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margent green The paths of pleasure trace ; Who foremost now delight to cleave 25 With pliant arm, thy glassy wave ? The captive linnet which enthral ? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed Or urge the flying ball ? 30 While some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty : Some bold adventurers disdain 35 The limits of their httle reign And unknown regions dare descry : Still as they run they look behind, _^They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. 40 Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed. Less pleasing when possest ; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, 45 \Vild wit, invention ever new. And lively cheer, of vigour born ; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light That fly th' approach of morn. 50 Alas ! regardless of their doom The little victims play ! No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day : Yet see how all around them wait 55 The Ministers of hiunan fate And black Misfortune's baleful train ! 160 GRAY Ah show them where ir, ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band I Ah, tell them they are men I 60 These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that skulks behind ; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 65 Or Jealousy with rankling tooth That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. 70 Ambition this shall tempt to rise. Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 75 And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye. That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe. 80 Lo, in the vale of years beneath A griesly troop are seen. The painful family of Death, More hideous than their Queen : This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 85 That every labouring sinew strains. Those in the deeper vitals rage : Lo, Poverty, to fill the band. That numbs the soul with icy hand. And slow-consuming Age. 90 To each his sufferings : all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan ; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. . SiJ I Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, I Since sorrow never comes too late, GRAY 161 And happiness too swiftly flies ? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more ; — where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise. 100 T. Gray. / 159 HYMN TO ADVERSITY Daughter of Jove, relentless power, / Thou tamer of the human breast. Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain 5 The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy Sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, design'd, 10 To thee he gave the heavenly birth And bade to form her infant mind. Stern, rugged Nurse ! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore : What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 15 And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood. Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. 20 Light they disperse, and with them go The summer Friend, the flattering Foe ; By vain Prosperity received. To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb array' d 25 Immersed in rapturous thought profound. And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 133 o 162 GRAY Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity, the general friendj o« With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. O, gently on thy suppliant's head Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 35 Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien. With screaming Horror's funeral cry. Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Povei-ty : Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear, 41 Thy milder influence impart. Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, 45 Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. T. Gray. 160 THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute. solitude ! where are the charms 5 That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, 10 Never hear the sweet music of speech ; I start at the sound of my own. COWPER 163 The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man, 15 Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love Divinely bestow'd upon man, O had I the wings of a dove How soon would I taste you again ! 20 My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth, Pilight learn from the wisdom of age. And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. Ye winds that have made me your sport, 25 Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more : My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me ? 30 O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight. The tempest itself lags behind, 35 And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land In a moment I seem to be there ; But, alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. 40 But the seafowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There is mercy in every place, 45 And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace And reconciles man to his lot. W. CoWPER. 164 COWPER 161 TO MARY UNWIN Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drew, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner tilings. That ere through age or woe I shed my wings 5 I may record thy worth with honour due. In verse as musical as thou art true. Verse that immortalizes whom it sings : — But thou hast little need. There is a Book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 10 On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright — There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. W. CoWPER. 162 "^ TO THE SAME The twentieth year is well-nigh past Since first our sky was overcast ; Ah, would that this might be the last ! My Mary ! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 5 I see thee daily weaker grow — 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, 10 Now rust disused, and shine no miore ; My Mary I COWPER 165 For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 15 My Mary ! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part. And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary ! 20 Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 25 Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light. My Mary ! For could I view nor them nor thee. What sight worth seeing could I see ? 30 The sun would rise in vain for me. My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet, gently press'd, press gently mine, 35 My Mary ! Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two ; yet still thou lov'st, My Mary ! 40 And still to love, though press'd with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill. With me is to be lovely still. My Mary ! But ah ! by constant heed I know 45 How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe. My Mary ! 106 se\\T5:li, And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, 50 Thy worn-out heart will break at last — My Mary ! W. COWPER. 163 THE DYING MAN IN HIS GARDEN Why, Damon, with the forward day Dost thou thy little spot survey, From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer. Observe the progress of the year, What winds arise, what rains descend, 5 When thou before that year shalt end ? Wliat do thy noonday walks avail. To clear the leaf, and pick the snail Then wantonly to death decree An insect usefuller than thee ? 10 Thou and the worm are brother-kind, As low, as earthy, and as blind. Vain wretch ! canst thou expect to see The downy peach make court to thee ? Or that thy sense shall ever meet 15 The bean-flower's deep-embosom'd sweet Exhaling with an evening's blast ? Thy evenings then will all be past ! Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green (For vanity 's in little seen), 20 All must be left when Death appears. In spite of wishes, groans, and tears ; Nor one of all thy plants that grow But Rosemary will with thee go. G. Sewell. COLLINS 167 164 TO-MORROW In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining. May my lot no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow, 6 And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn Look forward with hope for to-morrow. With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, As the sunshine or rain may prevail ; lo And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too. With a barn for the use of the flail : A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game. And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame, 15 Nor what honours await him to-morrow. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighbouring hill ; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill : 20 And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow. With my friends may I share what to-day may afford. And let them spread the table to-morrow. 24 And when I at last must throw off this frail covering Which I've worn for three-score years and ten. On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering. Nor my thread wish to spin o"er again : 168 BARBAULD But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, 29 And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow ; As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare to-day. May become everlasting to-morrow. J. Collins. • 165 Life ! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part ; And when, or how, or where we met I own to me's a secret yet. Life ! we've been long together 5 Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; - — Then steal away, give little warning. Choose thine own time ; 10 Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning A. L Barbauld. THE GOLDEN TREASURY BOOK FOURTH 166 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPIVIAN'S >^ HOMER Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold ^ 1 And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to x^poUo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 5 That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Tin I heard Chapm.an speak out loud and bold :| Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; 10 Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. I J. Keats. 167 "^ ODE ON THE POETS Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left j'our souls on earth ! Have ye souls hi heaven too. Double-lived m regions new ? 133 im G a 170 KEATS Yes, and those of heaven commune 5 With the spheres of sun and moon ; With the noise of fountains vt^ond'rous And the parle of voices thund'rous ; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease 10 Seated on Elysian lawns Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns ; Underneath large blue-bells tented, Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got 15 Perfume which on earth is not ; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing. But divine melodious truth ; Philosophic numbers smooth ; 20 Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries. Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again ; And the souls ye left behind you 25 Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying. Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week ; 30 Of their sorrows and delights ; Of their passions and their spites ; Of their glory and their shame ; What doth strengthen and what maim : — Thus ye teach us, every day, 35 Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth ! Ye have souls in heaven too. Double-lived in regions new ! 40 J. Keats. COLERIDGE 171 168 LOVE All thoughts, aU passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I 5 Live o'er again that happy hour. When midway on the mount I lay Beside the ruin'd tower. The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve ; 10 And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve ! She lean'd against the armed man. The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listen' d to my lay, 15 Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. 20 I play'd a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story— An old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She listen'd with a flitting blush, 25 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; For weU she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; 30 And that for ten long years he woo'd The Lady of the Land. 172 COLERIDGE I told her how he pined ; and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love 35 Interpreted my own. She listen'd with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace ; And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face. 40 But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night ; That sometimes from the savage den, 45 And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade There came and look'd him in the face An angel beautiful and bright ; oO And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight ! And that, miknowing what he did, He leap'd amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage worse than death 55 The Lady of the Land ; And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees And how she tended him in vain ; And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain ; GO And that she nursed him in a cave, And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay ; — His dying words — but when I reach'd C5 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her soul with pity 1 COLERIDGE 173 All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve ; 70 The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope. An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, 75 Subdued and cherish'd long ! She wept with pity and delight, She blush'd with love and virgin shame ; And, like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. 80 Her bosom heaved — she stepp'd aside. As conscious of my look she stept — Then suddenly, with timorous eye She fled to me and wept. ' She half enclosed me with her arms, 85 She press'd me with a meek embrace ; And bending back her head, look'd up, And gazed upon my face. 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashfid art, 90 That I might rather feel, than see, The swelling of her heart. I calm'd her fears, and she was calm. And told her love with virgin pride ; And so I won my Genevieve, 95 My bright and beauteous Bride, S. T. Coleridge. 169 ALL FOR LOVE O talk not to me of a name gi'eat 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. 174 LORD BYRON What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ? ' 5 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ? Fame ! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 9 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 15 1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. Lord Byron. 170 THE OUTLAW O Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen^ And as I rode by Dalton Hall 5 Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle-wall Was singing merrily : ' O Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green ; 10 I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen.' ' If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me. To leave both tower and town. Thou first must guess what life lead we 15 That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read. As read full well you may. Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as Queen of May.' 20 SIR W. SCOTT 175 Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green ; I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen. ' I read you by your bugle-horn 25 And by your palfrey good, I read you for a ranger sworn To keep the king's greenwood.' ' A ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 'tis at peep of light ; 30 His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night.' Yet sung she, ' BrignBll banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay ; I would I were with Edmund there 35 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.' 40 ' I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear ; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear. And O ! though Brignall banks be fair 46 And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare Would reign my Queen of May ! ' Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die ; 60 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, 66 Nor think what we are now.' 176 LORD BYRON Chorus Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer queen. 60 Sir W. Scott. y ^/ 171 / There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee ; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing 5 The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the luU'd winds seem dreaming : And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, lo Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep : So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee ; With a full but soft emotion, 15 Like the swell of Summer's ocean. Lord Bybon. 172 LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright I arise from dreams of thee. And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how ? To thy chamber-window, sweet I y X LORD BYRON 177 The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream — lo The champak odours fail Like sweet tlioughts in a di'eam ; The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine, 15 beloved as thou art ! O lift me from the grass ! 1 die, I faint, I fail ! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. 20 My cheek is cold and white, alas ! My heart beats loud and fast ; O ! press it close to thine again Where it will break at last. P. B. Shelley. -A 173 She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies. And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes. Thus mellow'd to that tender light 5 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less. Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in everj^ raven tress. Or softly lightens o'er her face, 10 Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. The smiles that win, the tints that glow 15 But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. Lord Byron. 178. WORDSWORTH 'J 174 She was a phantom of delight / When first she gleam'd upon my sight ; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament ; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; 5 Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 10 I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too ! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty ; A coimtenance in which did meet 15 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or good For himian nature's daily food. For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene 21 The very pulse of the machine ; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death : The reason firm, the temperate will, 25 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; A perfect woman, nobly plann'd To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. 30 W. Wordsworth. 175 She is not fair to outward view As many maidens be ; Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me. / WORDSWORTH 179 then I saw her eye was bright, A A well of love, a spring of light. But now her looks are coy and cold, To mine they ne'er reply, And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye : 10 Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. H. Coleridge. 176 / 1 fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ; Thou needest not fear mine ; ^ My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ; 5 Thou needest not fear mine ; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine. P. B. Shelley. 177 . THE LOST LOVE / She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove ; A maid whom there were none to praise. And very few to love : A violet by a mossy stone 5 Half hidden from the eye ! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ; 10 But she is in her grave, and oh. The difference to me ! W. Wordsworth. ^ 180 WORDSWORTH 178 1 traveird among unknown men In lands beyond the sea ; Nor, England ! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 'Tis past, that melancholy dream ! 6 Nor will I quit thy shore A second time ; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire ; 10 And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd The bowers where Lucy play'd ; And thine too is the last green field 15 That Lucy's eyes survey'd. W. Wordsworth.. 179 THE EDUCATION OF NATURE Three years she grew in sun and shower ; Then Nature said, ' A lovelier flower On earth was never soAvn : This child I to myself will take ; She shall be mine, and I will make 5 A lady of my o^vn. ' Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse : and with me The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 10 Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. WORDSWORTH 181 ' She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs ; 15 And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the cahn Of mute insensate things. ' The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend ; 20 Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. ' The stars of midnight shall be dear 25 To her; ana" she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. 30 ' iVnd vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell ; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live 35 Here in this happy dell.' Thus Nature spake — The work was done — How sooif'iuy Lucy's race v/as run ! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 40 The memory of what has been. And never more will be. W. Wordsworth. » 180 A slumber did my spirit seal ; I had no human fears : She seem'd a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. 182 WORDSWORTH No motion has she now, no force ; 5 She neither hears nor sees ; Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees. W. Wordsworth. 181 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER A Chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries ' Boatman, do not tarry ! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry ! ' ' Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle 5 This dark and stormy water ? ' ' O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle. And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. ' And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, 10 For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. ' His horsemen hard behind us ride — Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride 15 Wlien they have slain her lover ? ' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, ' I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright. But for your winsome lady : — 20 ' And by my word ! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So though the waves are raging white I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, 25 The water-wraith was shrieking ; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. CAMPBELL 183 But still as wilder blew the wind And as the night grew drearer, 30 Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. ' O haste thee, haste ! ' the lady cries, ' Though tempests round us gather ; I'll meet the raging of the skies, 35 But not an angry father.' The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh ! too strong for human hand The tempest gather'd o'er her. 40 And stUl they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing : Lord UUin reach'd that fatal shore, — His wrath was changed to wailing. For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade His child he did discover : — 46 One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. ' Come back ! come back ! ' he cried in grief ' Across this stormy water : 50 And I'll forgive your Higliland chief. My daughter ! — O my daughter ! ' 'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore. Return or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child, 55 And he was left lamenting. T. CajVipbell 182 JOCK O' HAZELDEAN ' Wliy weep ye by the tide, ladie ? Why weep ye by the tide ? I'U wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride : 181 SIR W. SCOTT And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 5 Sae comely to be seen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. ' Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale ; 10 Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha'. His sword in battle keen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' 15 For Jock o' Hazeldean. ' A chain of gold ye sail not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 20 And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 25 The tapers glimmer' d fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; The ladie was not seen ! 30 She 's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean, Sib W. Scott. 183 FREEDOM AND LOVE How delicious is the winning Of a kiss at love's beginning, When two nuitual hearts are sighing For the knot there's no untying ! CAMPBELL • 185 Yet remember, 'midst your wooing, 6 Love has bliss, but Love has ruing ; Other smiles may make you ficlde. Tears for other charms may trickle Love he comes, and Love he tarries, Just as fate or fancy carries ; 10 Longest stays, wlien sorest chidden ; Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden. Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind its odour to the Uly, Bind the aspeh ne'er to quiver, 15 Then bind Love to last for ever. Lovc 's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel : Love's wing moults when caged and captured. Only free, he soars enraptured. 20 Can you keep the bee from ranging Or the ringdove's neck from changing ? No ! nor fetter'd Love from dying In the knot there's no imtying. T. Campbell. 184 LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion ; Nothing in the world is single, 6 All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle — Why not I with thine ? See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another ; 10 No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdain'd its brother : 186 MOORE And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea — What are all these kissings worth, 15 If thou kiss not me ? P. B. Shelley. 185 ECHOES How sweet the answer Echo makes To Music at night, Wlien, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away o'er lawns and lakes Goes answering light ! 5 Yet Love hath echoes truer far And far more sweet Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star. Of horn or lute or soft guitar The songs repeat. 10 'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere And only then — The sigh that 's breathed for one to hear, Is by that one, that only Dear Breathed back again. 15 T. Moore. 186 ¥ A SERENADE Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh. The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who trill'd all day, 5 Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy ? SIR W. SCOTT 187 The village maid steals through the shade Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 10 To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above. Now reigns o'er earth and sky. And high and low the influence know — 15 But where is County Guy ? Sir W. Scott. 187 TO THE EVENING STAR Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even, Companion of retiring day, AVhy at the closing gates of heaven, Beloved Star, dost thou delay ? So fair thy pensile beauty burns 5 When soft the tear of twilight flows ; So due thy plighted love returns To chambers brighter than the rose ; To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love So kind a star thou seem'st to be, 10 Sure some enamour'd orb above Descends and burns to meet with thee. Thine is the breathing, blushing hour. When all unheavenly passions fly. Chased by the soul-subduing power 15 Of Love's delicious witchery. O ! sacred to the fall of day, Queen of propitious stars, appear, And early rise, and long delay, Wlien Caroline herself is here ! 20 Shine on her chosen gi-een resort. Whose trees the sunward summit crown, And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them down. 188 CAMPBELL Shine on her sweetly-scented road, 25 Thou star of evening's purple dome, That lead'st the nightingale abroad. And guid'st the pilgrim to his home. Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath Embalms the soft exhaling dew, 30 Where dying winds a sigh bequeath To kiss the cheek of rosy hue. Where, wrnnow'd by the gentle air, Her silken tresses darkly flow, And faU upon her brow so fair, 35 Like shadows on the mountain snow. Thus, ever thus, at day's decline In converse sweet to wander far — O bring with thee my Caroline, And thou shalt be my Ruling Star ! 40 T. Campbell. 188 TO THE NIGHT Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night ! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight. Thou wo vest dreams of joy and fear 5 Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight ! Wrap thy form in a mantle grey Star-inwrought ! Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 10 Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land. Touching all with thine opiate wand — Come, long-sought ! SHELLEY 189 When I arose and saw the dawn, 15 I sigh'd for thee ; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turn'd to his rest. Lingering like an unloved guest, 20 I sigh'd for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, ' Wouldst thou me ? ' Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmur'd like a noontide bee, 25 ' Shall I nestle near thy side ? Wouldst thou me ? ' — And I replied, ' No, not thee ! ' Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — 30 Sleep will come when thou art fled ; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon ! 35 P. B. Shelley. 189 TO A DISTANT FRIEND / Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair ? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, 5 Bound to thy service with unceasing care — The mind's least generous wish a mendicant For nought but what thy happiness could spare. Speak ! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine. Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 11 190 LORD BYRON Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may, know ! ' W. WORDSWOBTH./ 190 y' When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 5 Colder thy kiss ; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this ! The dew of the mornmg Sunk chill on my brow ; 10 It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame : I hear thy name spoken 15 And share in its shame. They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear ; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear ? 20 They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well : Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell. In secret we met : 25 In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, 30 How should I greet thee 1 — With silence and tears. LoKD Byuon. /. KEATS 191 191 HAPPY INSENSIBILITY In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green feUcity : The north cannot undo them 5 With a sleety whistle through them, Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, 10 Thy bubblings ne'er remember ApoUo's summer look ; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting 15 About the frozen time. Ah, would 'twere so with many A gentle girl and boy ! But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy ? 20 To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steel it — Was never said in rhyme. J, Keats. 192 Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast. Parted for ever ? Where, through groves deep and high, 5 Sounds the far billow, 192 SIR W. SCOTT Where early violets die Under the wUlow. Eleu loro ! Soft shall be his pillow. 10 There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving : There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving ; There thy rest shalt thou take, 15 Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, O never ! Eleu loro ! Never, O never ! 20 Where shall the traitor rest. He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, 25 Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying ; Eleu loro ! There shall he be lying. 30 Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the falsehearted ; His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted : Shame and dishonour sit 35 By his grave ever ; Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never ! Eleu loro ! Never, O never ! 40 Sir W, Scott. KEATS 193 193 LA BELLE DA^IE SANS MERCI / * O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, . Alone and palely loitering ? The sedge has wither'd from the Lake, And no birds sing. ' O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! 5 So haggard and so woebegone ? The squirrel's granary is full. And the harvest 's done. ' I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, lO And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too.' ' I met a Lady in the Meads, Full beautiful — a fairy's child. Her hair was long, her foot was light, 15 And her eyes were wild. ' I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. 20 ' I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else saw all day long. For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy's song. ' She found me roots of relish sweetj 25 And honey wild and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said " I love thee true." ' She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, 3C And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. 133 H \94s KEATS ' And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream' d — Ah ! woe betide ! The latest dream I ever dreamt 35 On the cold hill side. ' I saw pale Kings and Princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; They cried — " La belle Dame sans Merci Thee hath in thrall ! " 40 ' I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side. ' And this is why I sojourn here 45 Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the Lake And no birds sing.' J. Keats. 194 THE ROVER ' A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 5 A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green — No more of me you knew My Love ! No more of me you knew. 10 ' This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again.' He turn'd his charger as he spake 15 Upon the river shore, SIR W. SCOTT 195 He gave his bridle-reins a shake, Said ' Adieu for evermore My Love ! And adieu for evermore.'. 20 Sir W. Scott. -^> 195 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE When the lamp is shattered, The Hght in the dust hes dead — When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow's glory is shed. "VVhen the lute is broken, 5 Sweet tones are remembered not ; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, 10 The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute — No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges 15 That ring the dead seaman's knell. WTien hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest ; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possest. ' 20 O Love ! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier ? Its passions will rock thee 25 As the storms rock the ravens on high ; Bright reason will mock thee Like the sun from a wintry sky. 196 SHELLEY From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home 30 Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. P. B. Shelley. 196 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing ; And love, in life's extremity, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower 5 And slow decay from mourning. Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower To watch her love's returning. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright. Her form decay'd by pining, 10 Till through her wasted hand, at night, You saw the taper shining. By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying ; By fits so ashy pale she grew 15 Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear Seem'd in her frame residing ; Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear She heard her lover's riding ; 20 Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd She knew and waved to greet him, And o'er the battlement did bend As on the wing to meet him. He came — he pass'd — an heedless gaze, 25 As o'er some stranger glancing ; Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, Lost in his courser's prancing— CAMPBELL 197 The castle-arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken, so Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Which told her heart was broken. Sir W. Scott. // 197 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH Earl March look'd on his dying child, And, smit with grief to view her — ' The youth,' he cried, ' whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her.' She's at the window many an hour 6 His coming to discover : And he look'd up to Ellen's bower And she look'd on her lover — But ah I so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling — lO ' And am I then forgot — forgot ? ' It broke the heart of EUen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her cheek is cold as ashes ; Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 15 To lift. their silken lashes. T. Campbell. 198 Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal Uds apart, Like natiu^e's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors — 198 KEATS No — ^yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell. Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. J. Keats. 199 THE TERROR OF DEATH When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charact'ry Hold like rich garners the full-ripen' d grain ; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 5 Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour ! That I shall never look upon thee more, lo Never have relish hi the fairy power Of unreflecting love — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. J. Keats. 200 DESIDERIA Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind — I turn'd to share the transport — O with whom But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find ? Love, faithful love recali'd thee to my mind — 5 But how could I forget thee ? Through what power MOORE 199 Even for the least division of an hour Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss ? — That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, lo Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. W. Words woKTH. ^/ 2Q1 ^ At the n:yd hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye ; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky ! 5 Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear, When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear ; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my Love ! 'tis thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. lo T. Moore. 202 ELEGY ON THYRZA And thou art dead, as young ajnd fair As aught of mortal birth ; And form so soft and charms so rare Too soon return'd to Earth I 200 LORD BYRON Though Earth received them in her bed, 3 And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth, There is an eye which could not brook A moment on that grave to look. I will not ask where thou liest low, 10 Nor gaze upon the spot ; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not : It is enough for me to prove That what I loved and long must love 15 Like common earth can rot ; To me there needs no stone to tell 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. Yet did I love thee to the last, As fervently as thou, 20 Who didst not change through all the past And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal Nor age can chill, nor rival steal. Nor falsehood disavow : 25 And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours ; The worst can be but mine : The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, 30 Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep ; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away 35 I might have watch'd through long decay. The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Must fall the earliest prey ; Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, The leaves must drop away. 10 And yet it were a greater grief LORD BYRON 20l To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Than see it pluck'd to-day ; Since earthly eye but ill can bear To trace the change to foul from fair. 45 I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade ; The night that follow' d such a morn Had worn a deeper shade : Thy day without a cloud hath past, 50 And thou wert lovely to the last, Extinguish'd, not decay'd ; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept, if I could weep, 55 My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near, to keep One vigil o'er thy bed : To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face. To fold thee in a faint embrace, 60 Uphold thy drooping head ; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain. Though thou hast left me fiee, 65 The loveliest things that still remain Than thus remember thee ! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me, 70 And more thy buried love endears Than aught except its living years. Lord Byron. 203 One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdain'd For thee to disdain it ; 133 Ha 202 SHELLEY One hope is too like despair 5 For prudence to smother, And Pity from thee more dear , Than that from another. I can give not what men call love ; But wilt thou accept not 10 The w^orship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not, — The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the mori'ow. The devotion to something afar 15 From the sphere of our sorrow ? P. B. Shelley. 204 GATHERING SONG OF DONALD / THE BLACK f }f Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, ^ Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away, 5 Hark to the summons ! Come in your war-array. Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky ; lo The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one. Come every steel blade, and 16 Strong hand that bears one. Leave un tended the herd, The flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterr'd. The bride at the altar ; 20 SIR W. SCOTT 203 Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when 25 Forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, 30 Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; See how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle plume, 35 Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu KJneU for the onset i 40 Sir W. Scott. 205 -^ A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast ; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 5 While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind ! I heard a fair one cry ; 10 But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high ; 204 CUNNINGHAM And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free — The world of waters is our home, 15 And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud ; But hark the music, mariners I The wind is piping loud ; 20 The wind is piping loud, my boys. The lightning flashes free — - While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. A. Cunningham. 206 Ye Mariners of England That guard our native seas. Whose flag has braved, a thousand years. The battle and the breeze. Your glorious standard launch again 5 To match another foe : And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. lO The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave — For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave. Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 15 Your manly hearts shall glow. As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; WhUe the battle rages loud and long Aad the stormy winds do blow. 20 Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep ; CAMPBELL 205 Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak 25 She quells the floods below — As they roar on the shore. When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. 30 The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn ; TiU danger's troubled night depart And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors 1 35 Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fiery fight is heard no rnore, And the storm has ceased to blow. 40 T. Campbell. 207 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC Of Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown. / When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 5 By each gim the lighted brand In a bold, determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat 10 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 16 206 CAMPBELL There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath For a time. But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene ; 20 And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. ' Hearts of oak ! ' our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, 25 Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again I again I again I And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane 30 To our cheering sent us back ; Their shots along the deep slowly boom : Then ceased — and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail ; Or in conflagration pale • 35 Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then As he haiPd them o'er the wave, ' Ye are brothers I ye are men ! And we conquer but to save : 40 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.' 45 Then Denmark blest our chief That he gave her wounds repose ; And the sounds of joy and grief From her people wildly rose, As death withdrew his shades from the day : r>0 While the sun look'd smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died awav. CAMPBELL 207 Now joy, old England, raise 55 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 60 Full many a fathom deep By thy wild and stormy steep, ElsinoTe ! Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, 65 On the deck of fame that died With the gallant good Riou : Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave I While the billow mournful rolls And the mermaid's song condoles, 70 Singing glory to the souls Of the brave ! T. Campbell. 208 ;, odejiqjoluty , {\^ Stern Daughter of the Voice of God ! O Duty ! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou, who art victory and law 5 When empty terrors overawe, From vain temptations dost set free. And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! f"^ There are who ask not if thine eye ■"'• Be on them ; who, in love and truth 10 Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad hearts ' without reproach or blot, Who do thy work, and know it not : O \ it through confidence misplaced 15 They fail, thy saving arms^ dread Power ! around tnem cast. J?08 WORDSWORTH Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. 20 And they a blissful course may hold Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed, Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried, 25 No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust : And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd 30 The task, in smoother walks to stray ; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control, 35 But in the quietness "of thought : Me this uncharter'd freedom tires ; I feel the weight of chance desires : My hopes no more must change their name ; I long for a repose that ever is the same. 40 Stern Lawgiver 1 yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face t Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, 45 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power ! I call thee : I myself commend 50 Unto thy guidance from this hour ; O let my weakness have an end I LORD BYRON 209 Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice ; The confidence of reason give ; 55 And in the light of Truth thy bondman let me live. W. Wordsworth. 209 / i> ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! ' Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art — For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of Thee alone can bind ; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd, 6 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, lo Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God. Lord Byron. ^ ^/ 210 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND A 1802 ^ Two Voices are there, one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains, each a mighty voice : In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen music, Liberty ! There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 5 Thou fought'st against him, — but hast vainly striven : Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 210 WORDSWORTH Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft ; Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left ; For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 13 And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee ! W. Wordsworth, /j 211 a' ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN A REPUBLIC Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee, And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth. Venice, the eldest child of liberty. She was a maiden city, bright and free ; 5 No guile seduced, no force could violate ; And when she took unto herself a mate. She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid ii When her long iife hath reach'd its final day : Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great is pass'd away. W. Wordsworth. / 212 LONDON, MDCCCII O Friend ! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest To think that now our life is only drest For show ; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, WORDSWORTH 211 Or groom ! — We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 6 The vrealthiest man among us is the best : No grandeur now in Nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 10 Plain living and high thinking are no more : The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence. And pure religion breathing household laws. W. Wordsworth. / \\ 213 ^ THE SAME ^ Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen / Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen. Fireside, the heroic wealth of haU and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower 5 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men : O ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea. Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; ii So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. W. Wordsworth. 214 When I have borne in memory what has tamed Great nations ; how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, — some fears unnamed 212 WORDSWORTH I had, my Country !-— am I to be blamed ? 5 Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart Of those imfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men ; 10 And I by my affection was beguiled : What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind. Felt for thee as a lover or a child I W. Wordsworth. 215 y HOHENLINDEN On Linden, when the sun was Ioav, All bloodless lay the imtrodden snow \ And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, 5 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 lO And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven 15 Far flashed she red artillery^ But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of st^in^d snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 20 / CAMPBELL 213 'Tis mom ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave 25 Who rush to glory, or the grave I Wave. Munich, aU thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few shall part, where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 30 I And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. T, Campbell. / 216 AFTER BLENHEBI It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sua ; And by him sported on the green 5 His little grandchild Wilhehmne. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the ri\Tilet In playing there had found ; 10 He came to ask what he had foujid That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head, 15 And with a natural sigh ' 'Tis some poor fellow's^skiill,' said he, ' "Who fell in the great victory. 214 SOUTHEY ' I find them in the garden, For there 's many here about ; 20 And often when I go to plough The ploughshare turns them out. For many thousand men,' said he, ' Were slain in that great victory.' ' Now tell us what 'twas all about,' 25 Young Peterkin he cries ; And Uttle Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes ; ' Now tell us all about the warj And what they fought each other for.' 30 ' It was the English,' Kaspar cried, ' Who put the French to rout ; But what they fought each other for I could not well make out. But every body said,' quoth he, 35 ' That 'twas a famous victory. ' My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by ; They burnt his dwelling to the ground. And he was forced to fly ; 40 So with his wife and child he fled. Nor had he where to rest his head. ' With fire and sword the coimtry round Was wasted far and wide. And many a childing mother then 45 And new-born baby died : But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. ' They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won ; 50 For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun : But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. MOORE 215 ' Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won And our good Prince Eugene ; ' 56 * Why, 'twas a very wicked thing 1 ' Said little WUheknine ; ' Nay . . nay . . my little girl,' quoth he, ' It was a famous victory. 60 ' And every body praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.' ' But what good came of it at last ? ' Quoth little Peterkin : — ' Why, that I cannot tell,' said he, 65 ' But 'twas a famous victory.' R. SOUTHEY. 217 PRO PATRIA MORI When he who adores thee has left but the name j Of his fault and his sorrows behind, O ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was resign' d ? 4 Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, Thy tears shall efface their decree ; For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, I have been but too faithful to thee. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love, Every thought of my reason was thine : l(V In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above Thy name shall be mingled with mine ! O ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see ; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 16 T. MOOBK. 216 WOLFE 218 ^ THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our Hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5 The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; 10 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 gaz'd on the face that was dead. And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 16 We thought, as we hoUow'd his narrow bed And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, That the Foe and the Stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow I 20 Lightly they'll talk of tjie 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 25 When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard, the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. WOLFE 217 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 30 We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — • But we left him. alone with his glory. / C. Wolfe. . / 219 / SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN In the sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, An old man dwells, a little man, — 'Tis said he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived 5 A running huntsman meiTy ; And still the centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry. No man like him the horn could sound, And hill and valley rang with glee lO When Echo bandied round and round The haUoo of Simon Lee. In those proud days he Uttle cared For husbandry or tillage ; To blither tasks did Simon rouse 15 The sleepers of the village. He all the country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind ; And often, ere the chase was done. He reeled and was stone-blind. 20 And still there 's something in the world At which his heart rejoices ; For when the chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices 1 But O the heavy change ! — bereft 25 Of health, strength^ fiiends, and kindred, seel Old Simon to the world is left In liveried poverty : 218 WORDSWORTH His master's dead, and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; 30 Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick ; His body, dwindled and awry. Rests upon ankles swoln and thick ; 35 His legs are thin and dry. One prop he has, and only one, His wife, an aged woman, Lives with him, near the waterfall, Upon the village common. 40 Beside their moss-grown hut of clay. Not twenty paces from the door, A scrap of land they have, but they Are poorest of the poor. This scrap of land he from the heath 45 Enclosed when he was stronger ; But what to them avails the land Which he can till no longer ? Oft, working by her husband's side, Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; 50 For she, with scanty cause for pride, Is stouter of the two. And, though you with your utmost skiU From labour could not wean them, 'Tis httle, vexy httle, all 55 That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store As he to you will tell. For still, the more he works, the more Do his weak ankles swell. 60 My gentle reader, I perceive How patiently you've waited, And now I fear that you expect Some tale will be related. WORDSWORTH 219 O reader ! had you in your mind 65 Such stores as sUent thought can bring, gentle reader ! you would find A tale in every thing. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it : 70 It is no tale ; but, should you think, Perhaps a tale you'll make it. One summer-day I chanced to see This old man doing all he could To unearth the root of an old tree, 75 A stump of rotten wood. The mattock totter' d in his hand ; So vain was his endeavour That at the root of the old tree He might have work'd for ever. 80 ' You're overtask'd, good Simon Lee, Give me your tool,' to him I said ; And at the word right gladly he Received my proffer'd aid. 1 struck, and with a single blow 85 The tangled root I sever'd. At which the poor old man so long And vainly had endeavour'd. The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seem'd to run 90 So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. — I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning ; Alas 1 the gratitude of men 95 Hath oftener left me mourning. W. WOEDSWOBTH. 220 LAMB 220 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES I have had playmates, I have had companions In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing. Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 6 I loved a love once, fairest among women : Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her-— All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man : 10 Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-Hke I paced round the haunts of my child- hood; Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 15 Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling ? So might we talk of the old familiar faces, How some they have died, and some they have left me, 19 And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. C. Lamb. 221 THE JOURNEY ONWARDS As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all we love, 6 From all the links that bind us ; So turn our hearts, as on we rove, To those we've left behind us I MOORE 221 When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years We talk with joyous seeming — 10 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, ' O, sweet's the cup that circles then 15 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 ; 20 We think how great had been our bliss If Heaven had but assign'd us To live and die in scenes like this. With some we've left behind us ! As travellers oft look back at eve 25 When eastward darkly going. To gaze upon that light they leave Still faint behind them glowing, — So, when the close of pleasure's day To gloom hath near consign'd us, 30 We turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that's left behind us. T. MOOKE. 222 YOUTH AND AGE There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away. When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay ; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. 222 LORD BYRON Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness ri Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; 10 That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest ; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, 15 All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath. O could I feel as i have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene, — As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they bQ, 19 So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me ! lord Byron. 223 A LESSON There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine, Thatshrinks like manymore from cold and rain, And, the first moment that the sun may shine. Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again ! / WORDSWORTH 223 When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, 5 Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest. Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. But lately, one rough day, this flower I past, And recognized it, though an alter' d form, lo Now standing forth an offering to the blast, And buffeted at will by rain and storm. I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, ' It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold ; This neither is its courage nor its choice, 15 But its necessity in being old. ' The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew ; It cannot help itself in its decay ; Stiff in its members, wither'd, changed of hue,' And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was grey. To be a prodigal's favourite — then, worse truth, A miser's pensioner — behold our lot ! 22 O Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! W. Wordsworth. 224 PAST AND PRESENT I remember, I remember The house where I was born. The little window where the sim Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon 6 Nor brought too long a day ; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, 10 The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of light ! 224 HOOD The lilacs where the robin built. And where my brother set The laburnum on his birth-day, — - 15 The tree is living yet ! I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swaUows on the wing ; 20 My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember 25 The fir trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky : It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy 30 To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. T. Hood. / 225 THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears 6 Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone. The cheerful hearts now broken ! lO Thus in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. MOORE 225 When I remember ai! 15 The friends so link'd together I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone 20 Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed I Thus in the stilly night, 25 Ere slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. Moore. 226 INVOCATION Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight ! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night ? Many a weary night and day 5 'Tis since thou art fled away. How shall ever one like me Win thee back again ? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. 10 Spirit false ! thou hast forgot AH but those who need thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismay' d ; 15 Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. 133 I 226 8HELLEY Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure ; 20 Thou wilt never come for pity. Thou wilt come for pleasure ; Pity 'then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, 25 Spirit of Delight ! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest And the stany night ; Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are born. 30 I love snow and all the forms Of the radiant frost ; ' I love waves, and winds, and storms, Everything almost Wliich is Nature's, and may be 35 Untainted by man's misery. I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good ; Between thee and me 40 What diff'rence ? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less. I love Love — though he has wings. And like light can flee. But above all other things, 45 Spirit, I love thee — Thou art love and life ! O come ! Make once more my heart thy home ! P. B. Shelley. SHELLEY 227 227 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEi NAPLES The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent might : The breath of the moist earth is light 5 Around its unexpanded buds ; Like many a voice of one delight — The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods — The City's voice itself is soft lixe Solitude's. I see the Deep's tintrampled floor lo With green and purple seaweeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown : 1 sit upon the sands alone ; The lightning of the noontide ocean 15 Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion — How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, 20 Nor that content, surpassing wealth, The sage in meditation found. And walked with inward glory crowned — Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ; Others I see whom these surromid — 25 Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, 30 And weep away the life of care 228 SODTHEY Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 35 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. P. B, Shelley. 228 THE SCHOLAR / My days among the Dead are past ; I Around me I. behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old : ■ , My never-failing friends are they, 1 \ 5 With whom I converse day by day. j | With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe ; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, 10 My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them I live in long-past years. Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 15 Partake their hopes and fears. And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the Dead ; anon My place with them will be, 20 And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity ; Yet leaving here a name, I trust. That will not perish in the dust. R. SOUTHEY. KEATS 229 229 / THE MERMAID TAVERN / Souls of Poets dead and gone, / What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? Have ye tippled drink more fine 5 Than mine host's Canary wine ? Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of venison ? O generous food ! Drest as though bold Robin Hood " 10 Would, with his Maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can. I have heard that on a day Mine host's signboard flew away Nobody knew whither, till 15 An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story — Said he saw you in your glory Underneath a new-old Sign Sipping beverage divine, 20 And pledging with contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac. Souls of Poets dead and gone "SMiat Elysium have ye known — Happy field or mossy cavern — 25 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? J. Keats. 230 ^. THE PRmE OF YOUTH / Proud Maisie is in the wood, WaBsmg so early ; Sweet Robin sits on the busb Singing so rarely. * 230 SIR W. SCOTT ' Tell me, thou bonny bird, 5 When shall I marry me ? ' — ' When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.' ' Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly ? ' 10 ' The grey-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady ; The owl from the steeple sing 15 Welcome, proud lady.' Sir W. Scott. 231 / THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS One more Unfortunate Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, 5 Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair t Look at her garments Clinging like cerements, 10 Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly. Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully ; 15 Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her — All that remains of her Now la pure womanly. SO HOOD 231 Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful : Past all dishonour, Death has left on her 25 Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. 30 Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb. Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? 35 Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one 40 Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ? Alas I for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sim I id O I it was pitiful ! Near a whole city fuD, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly ' 50 Feelings had changed : Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence. Even God's providence Seeming estranged. 56 232 HOOD Where the lamps quiver So far m the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, 60 She stood, with amazement. Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver ; But not the dark arch, 65 Or the black flowing river : Mad from life's history. Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurl'd — Any where, any where 70 Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, Over the brink of it, — 75 Picture it, think of it, Dissolute Man I Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly, 80 Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair 1 Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffeii too rigidly, 85 Decently, kindly. Smooth and compose them ; And her eyes, close them. Staring so blindly 1 Dreadfully staring 90 Thro' muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity LORD BYRON 233 Perishing gloomily, 95 Spurr'd by contumely, Cold inhumaDity, Burning insanity, Into bar rest« — Cross her hands humbly, 100 As if praying dumbly. Over her breast I Owning her weakness. Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness, 105 Her sins to her Saviour 1 T. Hood. / 232 ELEGY O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom I On thee shall press no ponderous tomb ; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earUest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom : 5 And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightlj' tread ; 9 Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the dead ! Away ! we know that tears are vain. That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : Will this imteach us to complain ? Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou, who teU'st me to forget, 1.5 ^hy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. LoBD Bybon. 133 I a 234 LAMB / 233 /HESTER When maidens such as Hester die, Their place ye may not well supply, Though ye among a thousand try With vain endeavour. A month or more hath she been dead, 5 Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate 10 Of pride and joy no common rate That flush' d her spirit : I know not by what name beside I shall it call : if 'twas not pride, It was a joy to that allied 15 She did inherit. Her parents held the Quaker rule, Which doth the human feeling cool ; But she was train'd in Nature's school. Nature had blest her. 20 A waking ej^e, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; A- hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbour ! gone before 25 To that unknown and silent shore. Shall we not meet, as heretofore Some summer morning — Wlien from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 30 A bliss that would not go away, A sweet fore-warning ? C. Lamb. SIR W. SCOTT 235 234 CORONACH He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font reappearing 5 From the raindrops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow I The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, 10 But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are serest. But our flower was in flushing 15 When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage coim.sel in cumber. Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber ! 20 Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the foimtain, Thou art gone, and for ever ! Sir W. Scott..^/ 235 THE DEATH-BED j We watch' d her breathing thro' the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. 236 HOOD But when the morn came dim and sad 6 And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours. T. Hood. 236 / ROSABELLE O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. ' Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew 1 5 And, gentle ladye, deign to stay I Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. ' The blackening wave is edged with white ; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 10 The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Wliose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. ' Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay ; Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 15 Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ' ' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-haU. 20 ' 'Tis not because the ring they ride. And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide If 'tis not flll'd by Rosabelle.' — O'er Roslin aU that dreary night 25 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light. And redder than the bright moonbeam. SIR W. SCOTT 237 It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 30 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavem'd Hawthornden. Seem'd aU on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffln'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 35 Sheath'd in his iron panoply. Seem'd all on fire within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; Shone every pillar foliage=bound, And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. 40 Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carv^ed buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 45 Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold, But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle 1 And each St. Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell ; 50 But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. Sir W. Scott. 237 ^ ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN I saw where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature's work ; A flow'ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, Was in her cradle-coffin lying ; 5 Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying ; So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb For darker closets of the tomb I 238 LAMB She did but ope an eye, and put A clear beam forth, then straight up shut lo For the long dark : ne'er more to see Through glasses of mortality. Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know What thy errand here below ? 15 Shall we say, that Nature blind Check'd her hand, and changed her mind, Just when she had exactly wrought A finish'd pattern without fault ? Could she flag, or could she tire, 20 Or lack'd she the Promethean fire (With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd) That should thy little limbs have quicken'd ? Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure Life of health, and days mature ; 25 Woman's self in miniature ! Limbs so fair, they might supply (Themselves now but cold imagery) The sculptor to make Beauty by. Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 30 That babe or mother, one must die ; So in mercy left the stock And cut the branch ; to save the sliock Of young years widow'd, and the pain Wlien Single State comes back again 35 To the lone man who, 'reft of wife. Thenceforward drags a maimed life ? The economy of Heaven is dark. And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark, Why human buds, like this, should fall 40 More brief than fly ephemeral That has his day ; while shrivell'd crones Stiffen with age to stocks and stones ; And crabbed use the conscience sears In sinners of an hundred years. 46 — Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss : Rites, which custom does impose, LATvfB 239 Silver bells, and baby clothes ; Coral redder than those lips 60 Which pale death did late eclipse ; Music framed for infants' glee, Whistle never tuned for thee ; Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them, Loving hearts were they which gave them. 55 Let not one be missing ; nurse, See them laid upon the hearse Of infant slain by doom perverse. Why should kings and nobles have Pictured trophies to their grave, 60 And we, churls, to thee deny Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — A more harmless vanity 't C. Lamb. 238 / THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET Where art thou, my beloved Son, ^^Tiere art thou, worse to me than dead ? find me, prosperous or xuidone ! Or, if the grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of the same 5 That I may rest ; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? Seven years, alas ! to have received No tidings of an only child ; To have despaired, have hoped, believed, JO And been for evermore beguiled, — Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 1 catch at them, and then I miss ; Was ever darkness like to this ? He was among the prime in worth, 15 An object beauteous to behold ; Well bom, well bred ; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold : 240 WORDSWORTH If things ensued that wanted grace, As hath been said, they were not base ; 20 And never blush was on my face. Ah ! little doth the young one dream, When full of play and childish cares, What power is in his wildest scream Heard by his mother unawares ! 25 He knows it not, he cannot guess : Years to a mother bring distress ; But do not make her love the less. Neglect me I no, T suffered long 29 From that ill thought ; and being blind Said, ' Pride shall help me in my wrong : Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed : ' and that is true ; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew. 35 My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain, ! do not dread thj^^ mother's door ; Think not of me with grief and pain : 1 now can see with better eyes ; 40 And worldly grandeur I despise. And fortune with her gifts and lies. Alas I the fowls of heaven have wings. And blasts of heaven will aid their flight ; They mount — how short a voyage brings 45 The wanderers back to their delight ! Chains tie us down by land and sea ; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee. Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan, 50 Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men ; Or thou upon a desert thrown Inheritest the lion's den ; Or hast been summon'd to the deep, Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep £5 An incommunicable sleep. WORDSWORTH . 241 I look for ghosts ; but none will force Their way to me ; 'tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead ; 60 For surely then I should have sight Of him I wait for day and night With love and longings infinite. My apprehensions come in crowds ; I dread the rustling of the grass ; 65 The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass : I question things, and do not find One that will answer to my mind ; And all the world appears unkind. 70 Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief : If any chance to heave a sigh, They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send 75 Some tidings, that my woes may end ; I have no other earthly friend. W. Wordsworth. 239 HUNTING SONG y Waken, lords and ladies gay! On the mountain dawns the day ; All the jolly chase is here With hawk and horse and himting-spear ; Hounds are in their couples yelling, 5 Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, . Merrily merrily mingle they, * Waken, lords and ladies gay ! ' Waken, lords and ladies gay ! The mist has left the mountain grey, 10 Springlets in the dawn are steaming. Diamonds on the brake are gleaming ; 242 ^ SIR W. SCOTT And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green ; Now we come to chant our lay, 15 ' Waken, lords and ladies gay ! ' . Waken, lords and ladies gay I To the greenwood haste away ; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 20 We can show the marks he made WTien 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd j You shall see him brought to bay ; ' Waken, lords and ladies gay 1 ' Louder, louder chant the lay, 25 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! Tell them youth and mirth and glee Run a course as well as we ; Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk. Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; 30 Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay ! Sir W. Scott. 240 TO THE SKYLARK Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound ? Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 5 Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler ! — that love-prompted strain ('T^vixt thee and thine a never-failing bond), Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : lo Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege 1 to sing All independent of the leafy spring. WORDSWORTH 243 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; lo Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home ; W. WORDSWORT 241 ^- ^ TO A SKYLARK Hail to thee, blithe Spirit I /' Bird thou never wert, * That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 6 Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, 9 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun. O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, 14 Like an unbodied }oy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight 19 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delightr. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 25 244 SHELLEY All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over- flow'dc 30 What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see 34 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought 39 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-bom maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour 44 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view : 50 Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves. By warm winds deflower'd. Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- winged thieves. 65 Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Raui-awaken'd flowers, All that ever was 59 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. SHELLEY 245 Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine : I have never heard Praise of love or wine 64 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chant, MatchM with thine would be all But an empty vaunt-— 69 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the foimtaios Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or moimtains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? 76 With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: 79 Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, 84 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after, And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. . 90 Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear ; If we were things bom Not to shed a tear, 94 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. / / 246 SHELLEY Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, 99 Thy skiU to poet were, thou scorner of the ground I Teach me half the gladness That thj'^ brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow lOi The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! P. B. Shelley. 242 THE GREEN LINNET Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest simshine roimd me spread Of spring's unclouded weather. In this sequestered nook how sweet 5 To sit upon my orchard-seat 1 And birds and flowers once more to greet, . My last year's friends together. One have I marked, the happiest guest In all this covert of the blest : 10 Hail to Thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion I Thou, Linnet 1 in thy green array, Presiding Spirit here to-day. Dost lead the revels of the May, 15 And this is thy dominion. While birds, and butterflies, and flowers. Make all one band of paramours. Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, Art sole in thy employment ; -20 A Life, a Presence like the Air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest witli any one to pair, Thyself thy own enjoyment- WORDSWORTH 247 Amid yon tuft of hazel trees, 25 That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perch' d in ecstasies, Yet seeming still to hover ; There 1 where the flutter of his wings Upon his back and body flings 30 Shadows and sunny glimmerings, That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives — A Brother of the dancing leaves ; Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves ' 35 Pours forth his song in gushes ; As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign. While fluttering in the bushes. 40 W. WOBDSWORTH. / 243 TO THE CUCKOO O blithe new-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice : O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass 5 Thy twofold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass. At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale Of sxmshine and of flowers, 10 Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, 16 A voice, a mystery ; 248 WORDSWORTH The same whom in my school- boy days I listen'd to ; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. 20 To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou wert still a hope, a love ; StiU longed for, never seen. And I can listen to thee yet ; 25 Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed Bird 1 the earth we pace Again appears to be '30 An misubstantial, fairy place, That is fit home for Thee 1 W. WOEDS WORTH. I 244 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness paiiia My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some duU opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, 5 But bemg too happy in thine happiness, — • That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of siunmer in full-throated ease. 10 O for a draught of vintage ! that hath been Cooi'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South, 15 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, KEATS 249 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; 18 That I might drink, and leave the world imseen. And with thee fade away into the forest dim : Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret 23 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; \Vhere palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs ; 28 Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes. Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee. Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee I tender is the night, 35 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by ail her starry Fays ; But here there is no light. Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 40 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows ii The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; Wliite hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine ; Fast-fading violets cover' d up in leaves ; And mid-May's eldest child The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 49 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen ; and, for many s time I have been lialf is love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many & mused rhyme, To take into the air my qmet breath ; 250 KEATS Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 55 To cease upon the midnight with no pain, Wliile thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy I Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy liigh requiem become a sod. 60 Thou wast not bom for death, inunortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 65 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home. She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 70 Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toU me back from thee to my sole self I Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu 1 thy plaintive anthem fades 75 Past the near meadows, over the still stream. Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music : — do I wake or sleep ? 80 J. Keats. 245 f UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, Sept. 3, 1802 Earth has not anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth like a garment wear SHELLEY 251 The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, 5 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples he Open imto the fields, and to the sky, AU bright and ghttering in the smokeless air. Never did sxm more beautifully steep 9 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep I The river glideth at Ms own sweet will : Dear God 1 the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still I W. WOBDSWORTH. i 246 OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT I met a traveller from an antique land Who said : Two vast and tmnkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand. Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 5 Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things. The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear : ' My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : lO Look on my works, ye flighty, and despair I ' Nothing beside remains. Roimd the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and Jeve! sands .stretch far away. P. B. Shixley. 252 WORDSWORTH 247 COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROPERTY OF LORD QUEENSBERRY, 1803 Degenerate Douglas ! O the unworthy lord ! Whom mere despite of heart could so far please And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word To level with the dust a noble horde, 5 A brotherhood of venerable trees, Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, Beggar'd and outraged ! — Many hearts deplored The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain The traveller at this day will stop and gaze 10 On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed : For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays. And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green silent pastures, yet remain. W. WOKDSWORTH. 248 xlDMONITION TO A TRAVELLER Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ! The lovely cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirr'd thee deeply; with its own dear brook, Its own small pasture, almost its own sky 1 But covet not the abode ; forbear to sigh 5 As many do, repining while they look ; Intruders who would tear from Nature's book This precious leaf with harsh impiety : Think what the home must be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants I — Roof, window, door, 10 The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, WORDSWORTH 253 The roses to the porch which they entwine : Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should betouch'd, would melt away I W. Wordsworth. 249 TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNEYD^' Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head : 4 And these grey rocks ; that household lawn ; . Those trees — a veil just half witlidrawn ; This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake : This little bay ; a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode ; 10 In truth together do ye seem Like something fashion'd in a dream ; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep ! But O fair Creature ! in the light 15 Of common day, so heavenly bright, I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart : God shield thee to thy latest years ! Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers ; 20 And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away ; For never saw I mien or face In which more plainly I could trace 25 Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here scattered like a random seed, Remote from men. Thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, 30 And maidenly shamefacedness : 254 WORDSWORTH Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer : A face with gladness overspread ; Soft smilcSj by human kindness bred ; 35 And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; With no restraints but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 40 Of thy few words of English speech : A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life ! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind 45 Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful ? happy pleasure ! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell ; 50 Adopt your homely ways and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality : Thou art to me but as a wave 55 Of the wild sea : and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see ! Thy elder brother I would be, 60 Thy father — anything to thee ! Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place. Joy have I had ; and going hence 1 bear away my recompense. 65 In spots like these it is we prize Our memory, feel that she hath eyes : Then why should I be loth to stir ? I feel this place was made for her ; WORDSWORTH 255 To give new pleasure like the past, 70 Continued long as life shall last. Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl ! from thee to part ; For I, methinks, tUl I grow old, As fair before me shall behold 75 As I do now, the cabin small. The lake, the bay, the waterfall ; And Thee, the Spirit of them all ! W. Wordsworth. / 250 THE REAPER Behold her, single in the field, Yon soUtary Higliland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself ; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 5 And sings a melancholy strain ; O listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the soujid. No nightingale did ever chant More welcome notes to weary bands 10 Of travellers in some shady haimt, Among Arabian sands : A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird. Breaking the silence of the seas 15 Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings ? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things. And battles long ago : 20 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 ? 256 WORDSWORTH Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 25 As if her song could have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work. And o'er the sickle bending ; I listen'd, motionless and still ; And, as I mounted up the hill, 30 The music in my heart I bore. Long after it was heard no more. W. Wordsworth. 251 / THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years : Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 6 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she viev/s in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's. The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 12 She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes I W Wordsworth. SHELLEY 257 252 TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR Ariel to Miranda : — Take This slave of Music, for the sake Of him who is the slave of thee ; And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou, 5 Make the delighted spirit glow, Till joy denies itself again And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. For by permission and command Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, 10 Poor Ariel sends this silent token Of more than ever can be spoken ; Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who From life to life must still pursue Your happiness ; for thus alone 15 Can Ariel ever find his own. From Prospero's enchanted cell. As the mighty verses tell, To the throne of Naples he Lit you o'er the trackless sea, 20 Flitting on, your prow before, Like a living meteor. When you die, the silent Moon In her interlunar swoon Is not sadder in her cell 25 Than deserted Ariel. When you live again on earth. Like an unseen star of birth Ariel guides you o'er the sea Of life from your nativity. 30 Many changes have been run Since Ferdinand and you begun Your course of love, and Ariel still Has tracked your steps and served your will. Now in humbler, happier lot, 35 This is all remember'd not ; 133 K 238 SHELLEY And now, alas I the poor sprite is Imprisoned for some fault of his In a body like a grave ; — From you he only dares to crave, 40 For his service and his sorrow, A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. The artist who this idol wrought To echo all harmonious thought. Felled a tree, while on the steep 45 The woods were in their winter sleep. Rocked in that repose divine On the wind-swept Apennine ; And dreaming, some of Autumn past, And some of Spring approaching fast, .w And some of April buds and showers. And some of songs in July bowers, And all of love ; and so this tree, — O that such our death may be ! — Died in sleep, and felt no pain, 65 To live in happier form again : From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star. The artist wrought this loved Guitar ; And taught it justly to reply To all who question skilfully 60 In language gentle as thine own ; Whispering in enamoured tone, Sweet oracles of woods and dells. And summer winds in sylvan cells ; — For it had learnt all harmonies 65 Of the plains and of the skies, Of the forests and the mountains, And the many-voiced fountains ; The clearest echoes of the hills, The softest notes of falling rills, 70 The melodies of birds and bees. The murmuring of summer seas, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, And airs of evening ; and it knew That seldom-heard mysterious sound 75 SHELLEY 259 Wliich, driven on its diurnal round, As it floats through boundless day, Our world enkindles on its way : — All this it knows, but will not tell To those who cannot question well 80 The Spirit that inhabits it ; It talks according to the wit Of its companions ; and no more Is heard than has been felt before By those who tempt it to betray 85 These secrets of an elder day. But, sweetly as its answers will Flatter hands of perfect skill, It keeps its highest holiest tone For our beloved friend alone. 90 P. B. Shelley. 253 THE DAFFODILS I wandered lonely as a cloud V That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils. Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 5 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way. They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : 10 Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : A Poet could not but be gay 15 In such a jocund company ! I gazed — and gazed — but httle thought What wealth the show to me had brought : / 260 WORDSWORTH For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, 20 They flash upon that inward eye ^Vhich is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. W. Wordsworth. / 254 TO THE DAISY With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Daisy ! again I talk to thee, For thou art worthy. Thou unassuming Commonplace 5 Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace WTiich love makes for thee ! Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit and play with similes, 10 Loose types of things through all degrees, Thoughts of thy raising ; And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame. As is the humour of the game, 15 While I am gazing. A nun demure, of lowly port ; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations ; 20 A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A starveling in a scanty vest ; Are all, as seems to suit thee best, Thy appellations. A little Cyclops, with one eye 25 Staring to threaten and defy. That thought comes next — and instantly The freak is over, WORDSWORTH 261 The shape will vanish, and behold ! A silver shield with boss of gold 3« That spreads itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover. I see thee glittering from afar — And then thou art a pretty star, Not quite so fair as many are 35 In heaven above thee ! Yet like a star, with glittering crest. Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; — May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee ! 40 Sweet Flower 1 for by that name at last ^Vhen all my reveries are past I caU thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent creature ! That breath' st with me in sun and air, 45 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature ! W. Wordsworth. 255 / ODE TO AUTUMN / Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, ' Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 5 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more. And stUl more, later flowers for the bees. Until they think warm days wiU never cease ; lo For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 262 KEATS Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 15 Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 20 Or by a cider-press, with patient look. Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring ? Aye, where are they? Think not of them, — thou hast thy music too. While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day 25 And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 30 Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft. And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. J. Keats. 256 ODE TO WINTER Germany, December 1800 When first the fiery-mantled Sun His heavenly race began to run. Round the earth and ocean blue His children four the Seasons flew : — First, in green apparel dancing, 5 The yoimg Spring smiled with angel-grace ; Rosy Summer, next advancing, Rush'd into her sire's embrace — • Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep For ever nearest to his smiles. lo CAMPBELL 263 On Calpe's olive-shaded steep Or India's citron-cover' d isles. More remote, and buxom-brown, The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne ; A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 15 A ripe sheaf bound her zone. But howling Winter fled afar To hUls that prop the polar star ; And loves on deer-borne car to ride With barren darkness at his side, 20 Round the shore where loud Lofoden Whirls to death the roaring whale, Round the hall where Rimic Odin Howls his war-song to the gale — Save when adown the ravaged globe 25 He travels on his native storm. Deflowering Nature's grassy robe And trampUng on her faded form ; Till Uglit's returning lord assume The shaft that drives him to his polar field, so Of power to pierce his raven plume And crystal-cover'd shield. O sire of storms I whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights to hear. When Frenzy with her bloodshot eye 35 Implores thy dreadful deity- Archangel ! power of desolation 1 Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation SpeUs to touch thy stony heart ? £0 Then, svdlen Winter I hear my prayer And gently rule the ruin'd year ; Nor chUl the wanderer's bosom bare. Nor freeze the wretch's faUing tear : To shuddering Want's immantled bed 45 Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend. And gently on the orphan head Of innocence descend. 264 CAMPBELL But chiefly spare, O king of clouds ! The sailor on his airy shrouds, 50 When wrecks and beacons strew the steep And spectres walk along the deep. Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pour on yonder tented shores, Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 55 Or the dark-brown Danube roars. O winds of Winter ! list ye there To many a deep and dying groan ? Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, At shrieks and thunders louder than your own ? Alas ! e'en your unhallow'd breath 61 May spare the victim fallen low ; But man will ask no truce to death, No bounds to human woe. T. Campbell. 257 YARROW UNVISITED 1803 I From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unraveU'd, Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had traveU'd ; And when we came to Clovenford, 5 Then said my ' winsome Marrow,' ' Wliate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow.' ' Let Yarrow folk, fi-ae Selkirk town. Who have been buying, selling, 10 Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, Each maiden to her dwelling ! On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow, But we will downward with tiie Tweed, 16 Nor turn aside to Yarrow. WORDSWORTH 265 ' There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us ; And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed The lintwhites sing ia chorus ; 20 There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow : Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow ? ' WTiat's Yarrow but a river bare 25 That glides the dark hills under ? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder.' — Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn ; My True-love sigh'd for sorrow, 30 And look'd me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! ' O green,' said I, ' are Yarrow's hohns, And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 35 But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path and open Strath We'U wander Scotland thorough ; But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Y^arrow. 40 ' Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Bum-nrull meadov/ ; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow ! We will not see them ; will not go 45 To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow. ' Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown ! It must, or we shall rue it : 50 We have a vision of our own. Ah 1 why should we undo it ? 133 Ka 266 WORDSWORTH The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, winsome Marrow ! For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 55 'Twill be another Yarrow ! ' If Care with freezing years should come. And wandering seem but foUy, — Should we be loth to stir from home. And yet be melancholy ; 60 Should life be dull, and spirits low, 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow That earth has something yet to show, The bonny holms of Yarrow 1 ' W. Wordsworth. 258 YARROW VISITED September 1814 And is this — Yarrow ? — This the Stream Of which my fancy cherish' d So Taithfully, a waking dream, An image that hath perish' d ? O that some Minstrel's harp were near 5 To utter notes of gladness And chase this silence from the air. That fills my heart with sadness ! Yet why ? — a silvery current flows With uncontroll'd meanderings ; 10 Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths, St. Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted ; For not a feature of those hills 15 Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness ; 20 WORDSWORTH 267 Mild dawn of promise 1 that excludes All profitless dejection ; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection. Where was it that the famous Flower 25 Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding ? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound On which the herd is feeding : And haply from this crystal pool, Now peaceful as the morning, 30 The Water-wraith ascended thrice, And gave his doleful warning. Delicious is the Lay that sings The haunts of happy lovers, The path that leads them to the grove, 35 The leafy grove that covers : And pity sanctifies the verse That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love ; Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 40 But thou, that didst appear so fair To fond imagination. Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation : Meek loveliness is roimd thee spread, 45 A softness stiU and holy : The grace of forest charms decay'd, And pastoral melancholy. That region left, the vale unfolds Rich gToves of lofty stature, 50 With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated nature ; And, rising from those lofty groves. Behold a ruin hoary. The shatter'd front of Newark's Towers, 55 Renown'd in Border story. 268 WORDSWORTH Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in, For manhood to enjoy his strength, And age to wear away in I 60 Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts, that nestle there — The brood of chaste affection. How sweet on this autumnal day 65 The wild-wood fruits to gather. And on my True-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather ! And what if I enwreathed my own ? 'Twere no offence to reason ; 70 The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see — but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; A ray of Fancy still survives — 75 Her simshine plays upon thee ! Thy ever-youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure ; And gladsome notes my lips can breathe Accordant to the measure. 80 The vapours linger round the heights. They melt, and soon must vanish ; One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — Sad thought ! which I would banish. But that I know, where'er I go, 85 Thy genuine image. Yarrow ! Will dwell with me — to heighten joy. And cheer my mind in sorrow. W. Wordsworth. SHELLEY 269 259 THE INVITATION Best and brightest, come away, Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, Hke thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake 5 In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn ^ To hoar February born ; 10 Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kiss'd the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, 15 And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of May Strew' d flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smUest, dear. 20 Away, away, from men and towns. To the wild wood and the downs — To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music, lest it should not find 25 An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. Radiant Sister of the Day Awake ! arise ! and come away ! 30 To the wild woods and the plains, And the pools where winter rains Image all their roof of leaves. Where the pine its garland weaves 270 SHELLEY Of sapless green and ivy dun 35 Round stems that never kiss the sun ; Where the lawns and pastures be And the sandhills of the sea ; Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets, 40 And wind-flowers and violets, Which yet join not scent to hue, Crown the pale year weak and new ; When the night is left behind In the deep east, dun and blind, 45 And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous • Billows murmur at our feet. Where the earth and ocean meet, And aU things seem only one 50 In the universal sun. P. B. Shelley. 260 THE RECOLLECTION Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! Up, — to thy wonted work ! come, trace 6 The epitaph of glory fled. For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. We wander'd to the Pine Forest That skirts the Ocean's foam ; 10 The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play. And on the bosom of the deep 15 The smile of Heaven Jay ; SHELLEY 271 It seem'd as if tlte hour were one Sent from beyond the skies \Miich scatter' d from above the sun A light of Paradise. 20 We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced, And soothed by every azure breath 25 That under Heaven is blown To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own : Now all the tree-tops lay asleep Like green waves on the sea, 30 As still as in the silent deep The ocean woods may be. How calm it was ! — the silence there By such a chain was bound. That even the busy woodpecker 35 Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness ; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. 40 There seem'd from the remotest seah Of the white mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced, — A spirit interfused around, 45 A thrilling silent life ; To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife ; — And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there 50 Was one fair form that fill'd with love The lifeless atmosphere. We paused beside the pools that lie Under the forest bough ; 272 SHELLEY Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky 65 Gulf d in a world below ; A firmament of purple light Which in the dark earth lay, More boimdless than the depth of night, And purer than the day — 60 In which the lovely forests grew As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and hue Than any spreading there. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 65 And through the dark green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views which in our world above Can never well be seen 70 Were imaged by the water's love Of that fair forest green : And all was interfused beneath With an Elysian glow, An atmosphere without a breath, 75 A softer day below. Like one beloved, the scene had lent To the dark water's breast Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest ; 80 Until an envious wind crept by. Like an unwelcome thought Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out. Though thou art ever fair and kind, 85 The forests ever green, Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind Than calm in waters seen. P. B. Shelley. WORDSWORTH 273 261 % BY THE SEA / It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; / The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea : 5 Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder — everlastingly. Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untovich'd by solemn thought Thy nature is not therefore less divine : ll Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. W. Wordsworth. 262 TO THE EVENING STAR Star that bringest home the bee. And sett'st the weary labourer free ! If any star shed peace, 'tis thou, That send'st it from above, 4 Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies. Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, And songs when toil is done, 10 From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd Curls yellow in the sun. 274 SIR W. SCOTT Star of love's soft interviews, Parted lovers on thee muse ; Their remembrancer in Heaven ift Of thrilling vows thou art, Too dehcious to be riven By absence from the heart. T. Campbell. 263 ,^P /bATUR HORA QUIETI The stm upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song, . The hills have evening's deepest glow, \ \ Yet Leonard tarries long. ^ 1 Now all whom varied toO and care '5 From home and love divide, In the cahn simset may repair Each to the loved one's side. The noble dame on turret high, Who waits her gallant knight, 10 Looks to the western beam to spy The flash of armour bright. The village maid, with hand on brow The level ray to shade. Upon the footpath watches now 15 For Colin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart. And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart. 20 The woodlark at his partner's side Twitters his closing song — All meet whom day and care divide, But Leonard tarries long I Sir W. Scott, SHELLEY 275 264 TO THE MOON / Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth, — And ever-changing, like a joyless eye , 5 That finds no object worth its constancy ? P. B. Shelley. 265 A widow bird sate mourning for her love Upon a wintry bough ; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below. There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No flower upon the ground. And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound. P. B. Shelley. TO SLEEP / A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by. One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring ; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky ; I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 5 Sleepless ; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear> first ottered frons my orchard trees, And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 276 CAMPBELL Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay, And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : So do not let me wear to-night away : ii Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth ? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! W. Wordsworth. 267 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM Our bugles sang truce, for th e night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 4 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw By the wolf-searing 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 autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers , that welcomed me back . I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 13 In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 15 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 ; 18 My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fullness of heart. ' Stay — stay with us ! — ^rest ! — thou art weary and worn ! ' — ^ And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — But sorrow return'd with the dawning of mom, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. Campbell. SHELLEY 277 268 A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of tm-f, which lay 5 Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kiss'd it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets. Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, lo The constellated flower that never sets ; Faint oxhps ; tender blue-beUs, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets — Like a chUd, half in tenderness and mirth — Its mother's face with heaven's collected tears, 15 When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd may. And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day; And wild roses, and ivy serpentine 21 With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; And flowers azure, black, and streak'd with gold. Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold. And nearer to the river's trembling edge 25 There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank with white. And starry river buds among the sedge, And ftoating water-lilies, broad and bright. Which Ut the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 31 As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 278 WORDSWORTH Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array 36 Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it — O ! to Whom ? P. B. Shelley. /269 THE INNER VISION Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon ; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 5 The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If Thought and Love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : With Thought and Love companions of our way — Wliate'er the senses take or may refuse, — 12 The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. W. WOBDSWORTIW^ 270 * / THE REALM OF FANCY Ever let the Fancy roam ! Pleasure never is at home : At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when raiu pelteth ; KEATS 279 Then let winged Fancy wander 5 Through the thought still spread beyond her : Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'U dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, 10 And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming : Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting : What do then ? 15 Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright. Spirit of a winter's night ; When the soimdless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled 20 From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. — Sit thee there, and send abroad, 25 With a mind self-overawed, Fancy, high-conunission'd : — send her ! She has vassals to attend her ; She wiU. bring, in spite of frost. Beauties that the earth hath lost ; 30 She wiU bring thee, all together, All delights of sunmier weather ; All the buds and bells of May From dewy sward or thorny spray ; All the heaped Autumn's wealth, 36 With a still, mysterious stealth ; She wiU mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it ; — thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear ; 40 Rustle of the reaped corn ; Sweet birds antheming the morn : And in the same moment — hark I 'Tis the early April lark. 280 KEATS Or the rooks, with busy caw, 45 Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold ; White-plumed lilies, and the first Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst ; 50 Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self-same shower. Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 55 Meagre from its celled sleep ; And the snake all winter-thin Cast on sunny bank its skin ; Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the haWthorn-tree, CO When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest ; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee-hive casts its swarm ; Acorns ripe down-pattering 65 Wliile the autumn breezes sing. O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; Everything is spoilt by use : Where 's the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gazed at ? Where 's the maid 70 Whose lip mature is ever new ? Where 's the eye, however blue. Doth not weary ? Where 's the face One would meet in every place ? Where 's the voice, however soft, 75 One would hear so very oft ? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then winged Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind : 80 Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide ; KEATS 281 With a waist and with a side Wliite as Hebe's, when her zone 85 Shpt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh Of the Fancy's silken leash ; 90 Quickly break her prison-string, And such joys as these she'U bring. — Let the winged Fancy roam ! Pleasure never is at home. J. Keats. 271 HYMN TO THE SPIRIT OF NATURE Life of Life ! thy hps enkindle With their love the breath between them ; And thy smiles before they dwindle Make the cold air fire ; then screen them In those looks, where whoso gazes 5 Faints, entangled in their mazes. Child of Light ! thy limbs are burning Through the vest which seems to hide them, As the radiant lines of morning 9 Through the clouds, ere they divide them ; And this atmosphere divinest Slxrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest. Fair are others : none beholds thee ; But thy voice soimds low and tender Like the fairest, for it folds thee 15 From the sight, that liquid splendour ; And all feel, yet see thee never, — As I feel now, lost for ever I Lamp of Earth I where'er thou movest Its dim shapes are clad with brightness, 20 282 WORDSWORTH And the souls of whom thou lovest Walk upon the winds with lightness Till they fail, as I am failing, Dizzy, lost, yet unbewaUing ! P. B. Shelley. :^ 272 y WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING /I heard a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sat reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link 5 The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower. The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths ; 10 And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopp'd and play'd, Their thoughts I cannot measure — But the least motion which they made 15 It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan To catch the breezy air ; And I must think, do all I can. That there was pleasure there. 20 If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man ? W. WOBDSWO&TU. WORDSWORTH 283 273 RUTH : OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATU] When Ruth was left half desolate Her father took another mate ; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slighted child, at her own will Went wandering over dale and hiU, 5 In thoughtless freedom, bold. And she had made a pipe of straw, And music from that pipe could draw Like sounds of winds and floods ; Had built a bower upon the green, 10 As if she from her birth had been An infant of the woods. Beneath her father's roof, alone She seem'd to live ; her thoughts her own ; Herself her own delight ; 15 Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay. And, passing thus the live-long day, She grew to woman's height. There came s youth from Georgia's shore — A military casque he wore 20 With splendid feathers drest ; He brought them from the Cherokecs ; The feathers nodded in the breeze And made a gallant crest. From Indian blood you deem him sprung : But no ! he spake the English tongue 26 And bore a soldier's name ; And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came. 30 With hues of genius on his cheek. In finest tones the youth could speak : 284 WORDSWORTH — While he was yet a boy The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run, 35 Had been his dearest joy. He was a lovely youth ! I guess The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he ; And when he chose to sport and play, 40 No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought ; And with him many tales he brought Of pleasure and of fear ; 45 Such tales as, told to any maid By such a youth, in the green shade, Were perilous to hear. He told of girls, a happy rout ! Who quit their fold with dance and shout, Their pleasant Indian town, 51 To gather strawberries all day long ; Returning with a choral song Wlien daylight is gone down. He spake of plants that hourly change 55 Their blossoms, through a boundless range Of intermingling hues ; With budding, fading, faded flowers, They stand the wonder of the bowers From morn to evening dews. GO He told of the magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head ! The cypress and her spire ; — Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 65 To set the hills on fire. The youth of green savannahs spake, And many an endless, endless lake WORDSWORTH 285 With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie 70 As quietly as spots of sky Among the evening clouds. ' How pleasant,' then he said, ' it were A fisher or a hunter there, In sunshine or in shade 75 To wander with an easy mind, And build a household fire, and find A home in every glade ! ' What days and what bright years ! Ah me ! Our life were Ufe indeed, with thee 80 So pass'd in quiet bliss ; And all the while,' said he, ' to know That we were in a world of woe, On such an earth as this ! ' And then he sometimes interwove 85 Fond thoughts about a father's love, ' For there,' said he, ' are spun Around the heart such tender ties, That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun. 90 ' Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me My helpmate in the woods to be. Our shed at night to rear ; Or run, my own adopted bride, A sylvan huntress at ray side, 95 And drive the flying deer ! ' Beloved Ruth ! ' — No more he said. The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed A solitary tear : She thought again — and did agree lOO With him to sail across the sea. And drive the flying deer. ' And now, as fitting is and right. We in the church our faith will plight, 286 WORDSWORTH A husband and a wife.' 105 Even so they did ; and I may say That to sweet Ruth that happy day Was more than human hfe. Through dream and vision did she sink, Dehghted all the while to think 110 That, on those lonesome floods And green savannahs, she should share His board with lawful joy, and bear His name in the wild woods. But, as you have before been told, 115 This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold. And with his dancing crest So beautiful, through savage lands Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands Of Indians in the West 120 The wind, the tempest roaring high. The tumult of a tropic sky Might well be dangerous food For him, a youth to whom was given So much of earth — so much of heaven, 125 And such impetuous blood. Wliatever in those climes he found Irregular in sight or soimd Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seem'd allied 130 To his own powers, and justified The workings of his heart. Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, — Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ; 135 The breezes their own languor lent ; The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those favour'd bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween That sometimes there did intervene 140 WORDSWORTH 28T Pure hopes of high intent : For passions, link'd to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share Of noble sentiment. But ill he lived, much evil saw, 145 With men to whom no better law Nor better Ufe was known ; Deliberately and undeceived Those wild men's vices he received, And gave them back his own. 150 His genius and his moral frame Were thus impair'd, and he became The slave of low desires : A man who without self-control Would seek what the degraded soul 155 Unworthily admires. And yet he with no feign'd delight Had woo'd the maiden, day and night Had loved her, night and morn : What could he less than love a maid 160 Whose heart with so much nature play'd — So kind and so forlorn ? Sometimes most earnestly he said, ' O Ruth ! I have been worse than dead ; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 165 Encompass'd me on every side When I, in confidence and pride, Had cross'd the Atlantic main. ' Before me shone a glorious world Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl'd 170 To music suddenly : I look'd upon those hills and plains. And seem'd as if let loose from chains To live at liberty. ' No more of this — for now, by thee, 175 Dear Ruth ! more happily set free, 288 WORDSWORTH With nobler zeal I burn ; My soul from darkness is released Like the whole sky when to the east The morning doth return,' 180 Full soon that better mind was gone ; No hope, no wish remain'd, not one, — They stirr'd him now no more ; New objects did new pleasure give, And once again he wish'd to live 185 As lawless as before. Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared, They for the voyage were prepared, And went to the sea-shore : But, when they thither came, the youth 190 Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth Could never find him more. God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had. That she in half a year was mad, And in a prison housed ; 195 And there, with many a doleful song Made of wild words, her cup of wrong She fearfully caroused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew. Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew> 200 Nor pastimes of the May, — ^They all were with her in her cell ; And a clear brook with cheerful knell Did o'er the pebbles play When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 205 There came a respite to her pain ; She from her prison fled ; But of the Vagrant none took thought ; And where it liked her best she sought Her shelter and her bread. 210 Among the fields she breathed again : The master-current of her brain WORDSWORTH 289 Ran permanent and free ; And, coming to the banks of Tone, There did she rest ; and dwell alone 215 Under the greenwood tree. The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, And airs that gently stir The vernal leaves — she loved tliem still, 220 Nor ever tax'd them with the ill Which had been done to her. A barn her winter bed supplies ; But, till the warmth of summer skies And summer days is gone, 225 (And aU do in this tale agree) She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, And other home hath none. An innocent life, yet far astray ! And Ruth wiU, long before her day, 230 Be broken dovm and old. Sore aches she needs must have ! but less Of mind, than body's wretchedness. From damp, and rain, and cold. If she is prest by want of food 235 She from her dwelling in the wood Repairs to a road-side ; And there she begs at one steep place. Where up and down with easy pace The horsemen-travellers ride. 240 That oaten pipe of hers is mute Or thrown away : but with a flute Her loneliness she cheers ; This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, At evening in his homeward walk 245 The Quantock woodman hears. I, too, have pass'd her on the hills Setting her little water-mills 133 L 290 WORDSWORTH By spouts and fountains wild — Such small machinery as she turn'd 250 Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn'd, A yoxmg and happy child ! Farewell ! and when thy days are told, Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallow'd mould Thy corpse shall buried be ; 255 For thee a funeral bell shall ring, And all the congregation sing A Christian psalm for thee. W. Wordsworth. 274 WRITTEN IN THE EUGANEAN HILLS, NORTH ITALY Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on Day and night, and night and day, 5 Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track ; Whilst above, the sunless sky. Big with clouds, hangs heavily, 10 And behind, the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet. Riving sail, and cord, and plank. Till the ship has almost drank Death from the o'er-brimming deep ; 15 And sinks down, down, like that sleep When the dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity ; And the dim low line before Of a dark and distant shore 20 Still recedes, as ever stiU Longing with divided will, SHELLEY 291 But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave, 25 To the haven of the grave. Aye, many flowering islands He In the waters of wide Agony : To such a one this morn was led My bark, by soft winds piloted. 30 — 'Mid the mountains Euganean I stood listening to the paean With which the legion'd rooks did hail The sun's uprise majestical : Gathering round with wings all hoar, 35 Through the de^^ mist they soar Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven Bursts, and then, — as clouds of even, Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie In the unfathomable sky, — iO So their plumes of purple grain Starr'd with drops of golden rain Gleam above the sunlight woods. As in silent multitudes On the morning's fitful gale 45 Through the broken mist they sail ; And the vapours cloven and gleaming Follow down the dark steep streaming. Till all is bright, and clear, and still Round the solitary hill. 50 Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair ; Underneath Day's azure eyes, 55 Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, WTiich her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves. 60 292 SHELLEY Lo ! the sun upsprings behind, Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline ; And before that chasm of light, 65 As within a furnace bright, Column, tower, and dome, and spire, Shine like obelisks of fire, Pointing mth inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean 70 To the sapphire-tinted skies ; As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise. As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old. 75 Sun-girt City ! thou hast been Ocean's child, and then his queen ; Now is come a darker day. And thou soon must be his prey. If the power that raised thee here 80 Hallow so thy watery bier. A less drear ruin then than now. With thy conquest-branded brow Stooping to the slave of slaves From thy throne, among the waves 85 Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew Flies, as once before it flew. O'er thine isles depopulate, And aU is in its ancient state. Save where many a palace gate, 90 With green sea-flowers overgrown Like a rock of ocean's own, Topples o'er the abandon'd sea As the tides change sullenly. The fisher on his watery way 95 Wandering at the close of day. Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleep Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 100 SHELLEY 293 Lead a rapid masque of death O'er the waters of his path. Noon descends around me now : 'Tis the noon of autumn's glow, When a soft and purple mist 105 Like a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolved star Mingling light and fragrance, far From the curved horizon's boimd To the point of Heaven's profound, 110 Fills the overflowing sky ; And the plains that silent lie Underneath ; the leaves unsodden Where the infant Frost has trodden With his morning-winged feet 115 Whose bright print is gleaming yet ; And the red and golden vines Piercing with their trellised lines The rough, dark-skirted wilderness ; The dun and bladed grass no less, 120 Pointing from this hoary tower In the windless air ; the flower Glimmering at my feet ; the line Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine In the south dimly islanded ; 125 And the Alps, whose snows are spread High between the clouds and sun ; And of living things each one ; And my spirit, which so long Darken'd this swift stream of song, — 130 Interpenetrated lie By the glory of the sky ; Be it love, light, harmony. Odour, or the soul of aU Which from Heaven like dew doth faH, 135 Or the mind which feeds this verse Peopling the lone universe. Noon descends, and after noon Autumn's evening meets me soon. 294 SHELI-EY Leading the infantine moon 140 And that one star, which to her Ahiiost seems to minister Half the crimson hght she brings From the sunset's radiant springs : And the soft dreams of the morn 145 (Which hke winged winds had borne To that silent isle, which lies 'Mid remember'd agonies, The frail bark of this lone being), Pass, to other sufferers fleeing^ 150 And its ancient pilot. Pain, Sits beside the helm again. Other flowering isles must be In the sea of Life and Agony : Other spirits float and flee 155 O'er that gulf : even now, perhaps. On some rock the wild wave wraps. With folding wings they waiting sit For my bark, to pilot it To some cairn and blooming cove, 160 Where for me, and those I love. May a windless bower be built. Far from passion, pain, and guilt. In a dell 'mid la'wny hills Which the wild sea-murmur fills, 166 And soft sunshine, and the sound Of old forests echoing round. And the light and smell divine Of all flowers that breathe and shine. — We may live so happy there, 170 That the Spirits of the Air Envying us, may even entice To our healing Paradise The polluting multitude ; But their rage would be subdued 175 By that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves SHELLEY 295 Under which the bright sea heaves ; While each breathless interval 180 In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies ; And the love which heals aU strife Circling, like the breath of Hfe, 183 All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood. They, not it, woidd change ; and soon Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, 190 And the earth grow young again. P. B. Shelley. 275 ODE TO THE WEST WIND (1) O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou 5 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill lo (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill : Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; Destroyer and Preserver ; hear, oh, hear ! 296 SHELLEY (2) Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's com- motion, 15 Loose clouds Uke earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning : there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uphfted from the head 20 Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height. The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 25 Vaulted with ail thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose sohd atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : oh, hear 1 (3) Thou who didst waken from his siunmer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30 Lull'd by the coil of his crystaUine streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day. All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 35 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless fohage of the ocean, know 40 Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves : oh, hear I SHELLEY 297 (4) If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 45 The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable I If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed 50 Scarce seemed a vision, I would ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud I I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed I 54 A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed One too like thee : tameless, and swift, and proud. (5) Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : What if my leaves are falling like its own ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies WUl take from both a deep, autumnal tone, 60 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce, My spirit I Be thou me, impetuous one 1 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth I And, by the incantation of this verse, 65 Scatter, as from an vmextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 70 '" P. B. Shelley. 133 ,EY. ^r 298 WORDSWORTH 278 NATURE AND THE POET /Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee ; I saw thee every day ; and all the while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. So pure the sky, so quiet was the air 1 5 So like, so very like, was day to day ! Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there ; It trembled, but it never pass'd away. How perfect was the calm ! It seem'd no sleep, No mood, which season takes away, or brings : I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 11 Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. Ah ! then if mine had been the Painter's hand To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam. The light that never was on sea or land, 15 The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile, Amid a world how different from this ! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 20 A picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze, Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 25 Such picture would I at that time have made ; And seen the soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd. WORDSWORTH 299 So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more ; I have submitted to a new control : 30 A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; A deep distress hath humanized my soul. Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been : The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; 35 This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend I who would have been the Friend If he had hved, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 40 O 'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well, Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear I And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 45 I love to see the look with which it braves, -Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. Farewell, farewell the heart that Uves alone, Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! Such happiness, wherever it be known, 51 Is to be pitied ; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer. And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here : — Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 56 W. WORDSWORTL'. 300 WORDSWORTH 277 THE POET'S DREAM On a poet's lips I slept Dreaming Uke a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept ; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses 5 Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be ; But from these create he can n Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality I vt P, B. Shelley. 278 The world is too much with us ; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers Little we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 5 The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; It moves us not. — Great God ! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, 10 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea. Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. W- WOKDSWOBTH. -V / COLERIDGE 301 ./ 279 WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE / Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd (Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense And glorious work of fine intelligence I 5 Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more : So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 9 Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells, WTiere light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were bom for immortality. W. Wordsworth. 280 y YOUTH AND AGE ^ Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where Hope climg feeding, like a bee — Both were mine ! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young 1 5 When I was yoimg ? — Ah, woeful Wlien ! Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands 10 How lightly then it flash'd along : Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide. 802 COLERIDGE That ask no aid of sail or oar, That fear no spite of wind or tide ,' 15 Nought cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I Hved in't together. Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; Friendship is a sheltering tree ; 19 O ! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old ! Ere I was old ? Ah woeful Ere, Which tells me. Youth 's no longer here ! Youth ! for years so many and sweet 25 'Tis known that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit — It cannot be that thou art gone ! Thy vesper bell hath not yet toU'd : — And thou wert ay a masker bold ! 30 What strange disguise hast now put on To make believe that thou art gone ? 1 see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this alter'd size : But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, 35 And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! Life is but thought : so think I will That Youth and I are housemates still. Dew-drops are the gems of morning. But the tears of mournful eve ! 40 Where no hope is, life 's a warning That only serves to make us grieve. When we are old : — That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, 45 liike some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismist, Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. S. T. Coleridge. WORDSWORTH 303 281 THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS We walk'd along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun ; And Matthew stopp'd, he look'd, and said, ' The wiU of God be done ! ' A village schoolmaster was he, 5 With hair of glittering grey ; As blithe a man as you could see " On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass And by the steaming rills 10 We travell'd merrily, to pass A day among the hills. ' Our work,' said I, ' was well begun ; Then, from thy breast what thought. Beneath so beautiful a sun, 15 So sad a sigh has brought ? ' A second time did Matthew stop ; And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply : 20 ' Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this, which I have left Full thirty years behind. ' And just above yon slope of corn 25 Such colours, and no other. Were in the sky, that April morn, Of this the very brother. ' With rod and line I sued the sport Wliich that sweet season gave, 30 And, to the churchyard come, stopp'd short Beside my daughter's grave. 304 WORDSWORTH ' Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale ; And then she sang ; — she would have been A very nightingaJiCo 36 ' Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; And yet I loved her more — For so it seera'ds—than till that day I e'er had loved before. 40 ' And turning from her grave, I met Beside the churchyard yew A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning dew. ' A basket on her head she bare ; 45 Her brow was smooth and white % To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight ! ' No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripp'd with foot so free ; 50 She seem'd as happy as a wave That dances on the sea. ' There came from me a sigh of pain Which I could ill confine ; I looked at her, and looked again : 55 And did not wish her mine ! ' — Matthew is in his grave, yet now Methinks I see him stand As at that moment, with a bough Of wilding in his hand. fio W. Wordsworth. 282 THE FOUNTAIN A Conversation We talk'd with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. WORDSWORTH 305 We lay beneath a spreading oak, 5 Beside a mossy seat ; And from the turf a fountain broke And gurgled at our feet. ' Now, Matthew I ' said I, ' let us match This water's pleasant tune 10 With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon ; ' Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 15 ^Vhich you last April made 1 ' In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree : And thus the dear old man replied. The grey-hair' d man of glee : 20 ' No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears. How merrily it goes ! 'Twill murmur on a thousand years And flow as now it flows. ' And here, on this delightful day, 25 I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. ' My eyes are dim with childish tears. My heart is idly stirr'd, 30 For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. ' Thus fares it still in our decay : And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what age takes away, 35 Than what it leaves behind. ' The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. 40 306 WORDSWORTH ' With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife ; they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free : ' But we are press'd by heavy laws ; 45 And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. ' If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth, 50 The household hearts that were his own, — It is the jnan of mirth. ' My days, my friend, are almost gone. My life has been approved. And many love me ; but by none 55 Am I enough beloved.' ' Now both himself and me he wrongs. The man who thus complains I I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains : 60 ' And, Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee ! ' At this he grasp'd my hand and said, ' Alas ! that cannot be.' We rose up from the fountain-side ; 65 And down the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; And through the wood we went ; ' And, ere we came to Leonard's rock, He sang those witty rhymes 70 About the crazy old church-clock. And the bewilder'd chimes. W. Wordsworth. KEATS 307 283 THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages : A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, 5 Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 10 Ye stars, that measure life to man, ^Vhy seem your courses quicker ? WTien joys have lost their bloom and breath. And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of death, 15 Feel we its tide more rapid ? It may be strange — yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding. When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding ? 20 Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness ; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness T. Campbell. 284 THE HUMAN SEASONS Four seasons fill the measure of the year ; There are four seasons in the mind of man He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Talces in all beauty with an easy span : 808 WORDSWORTH He has his Summer, when hixuriously s Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming nigh His nearest unto heaven : quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close ; contented so to look 10 On mists in idleness— to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook : He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forgo his mortal nature. J. Kkats. / 285 A LARIENT O World ! O Life I O Time ! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before ; When will return the glory of your prime ? No more — Oh, never more I 5 Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight : Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more — Oh, never more ! lO P. B. Shelley. / 286 My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky : So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, So be it when I shall grow old. Or let me die ! The Child is father of the Man : And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. W. WORDSWORXn / WORDSWORTH 309 ; 287 ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS /- OF EARLY CHILDHOOD y There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem | ApparelI'd in celestial light, | The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 | It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — Turn wheresoe'er I may. By night or day, '- The things which I have seen I now can see no more. ^ ^ The rainbow comes and goes, 10 | ■ '■^ And lovely is the rose ; The moon doth with delight Look romid her when the heavens are bare ; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair ; 15 The sunshine is a glorious birth ; But yet I know, where'er I go, J That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. )v.^y^ow, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, /^ And while the yoimg lambs bound 20 As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief : A timely utterance gave that thought relief. And I again am strong. 24 The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, — No more shall grief of mine the season wrong : I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep. And all the earth is gay ; Land and sea 30 Give themselves up to jollity. / 310 WORDSWORTH And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday ; — Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy 1 35 ^/Ve blessed Creatures, I have heard the call / Ye to each other make ; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, 40 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. evil day 1 if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning This sweet May-morning ; And the children are culling i5 On every side In a thousand vaUeys far and wide Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm. And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 50 — But there 's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look'd upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone : Tlie pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat : 55 Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting ; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, 60 And cometh from afar ; Not in entire forgetfulness. And not in utter nakedness. But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home : 05 Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to "dose Upon the growing Boy, WORDSWORTH 311 But he beholds the Ught, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy ; 70 The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended ; At length the Man perceives it die away, 75^ And fade into the light of common day. I Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind. And, even with something of a mother's mind And no unworthy aim, 80 The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses^ A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 86- See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. Fretted by saUies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes ! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 90 Some fragment from his dream of hmnan life. Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral ; And this hath now his heart, 95 And mito this he frames his song : Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, 100 And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part ; Filling from time to time his ' humorous stage ' With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That hfe brings with her in her equipage ; 105 As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. 312 WORDSWORTH Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity ; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep lio Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — Mighty Prophet I Seer blest I On whom those truths do rest 115 Which we are toiling ail our hves to find. In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods Uke the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by ; 120 Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 124 Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! O joy I that in our embers Is something that doth live, 130 That Nature yet remembers What was so fugitive ! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : not indeed For that which is most worthy tp be blest, 135 Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest. With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise ; 140 But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fal^ngs from us, vanishings, BMRk misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, 145 WORDSWORTH 313 High instincts, before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised : But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, 150 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, \ Are yet a master-light of aU our seeing ; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence : truths that wake, 155 To perish never ; Which neither hstlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor man nor boy Nor aU that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abohsh or destroy ! 160 Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, i Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither ; Can in a moment travel thither — 166 And see the children sport upon the shore. And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! \ And let the young lambs boimd As to the tabor's sound 1 170 We, in thought, will join your throng Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May ! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, 176 Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind ; 180 In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be ; In the soothing thoughts that spring 314 SHELLEY Out of human suffering ; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. 186 And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forbode not any severing of our loves ! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel yom* might ; I only have relinquish'd one delight 190 To live beneath your more habitual sway ; I love the brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they ; The innocent brightness of a new-born day Is lovely yet ; 195 The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 201 To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. W. Wordsworth. 288 Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory — Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead. Are heaped for the beloved's bed ; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone. Love itself shall slumber on. P. B. Shelley. ADDITIONAL POEMS 315 ADDITIONAL POEMS 289 ^ I strove with none, for none was worth my strife ; Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art ; I warmed both hands before the fire of life ; It sinks, and I am ready to depart. W. S. Landor. 290 ROSE AYLMER / f Ah what avails the sceptred race! / Ah what the form divine ! / What every virtue, every grace ! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 5 May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee. W. S. Landor. 291 THE MAID'S LAMENT I loved him not ; and yet now he is gone I feel I am alone. I checked him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, Alas ! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, 5 And wearied all my thought 317 318 LANDOR To vex myself and him : I now would give My love, could he but live Who lately lived for me, and, when he found "Twas vain, in holy ground lo He hid his face amid the shades of death. I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me : but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 15 And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years Wept he as bitter tears. Merciful God ! such was his latest prayer. These may she never share ! 20 Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold. Than daisies in the mould, VThere children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, His name and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, 25 And, O, pray too for me ! W. S. Landor. ^ 292 TO ROBERT BROWT^ING There is delight in singing, tho' none hear Beside the singer : and there is delight In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone And see the praised far off him, far above. Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, 5 Therefore on him no speech ! and brief for thee. Browning ! Since Chaucer was alive and hale. No man hath walked along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse. But warmer climes 10 Give brighter plumage, stronger wing : the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where The Siren waits thee, singing song for song. W. S, Landor. // BRYANT 319 293 Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak Four not exempt from pride some future day. Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek Over my open volume you will say, ' This man loved me ! ' then rise and trip away. W. S. Landor. 294 Well I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea-sand . . . . ' O / what a child ! You think you're writing upon stone ! ' I have since written what no tide 5 Shall ever wash away, what men Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide And find lanthe's name again. W. S. Landor. 295 TO A WATERFOWL Whither, midst falling dew, WTiile glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky. Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side ? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — 15 Lone wandering, but not lost. 320 HUNT All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. 20 And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 25 Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone. Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight. In the long way that I must tread alone, • 31 Will lead my steps aright. W. C. Bryant. 296 ; RONDEAU / Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in ; Time vou thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in ! Say I'm w^eary, say I'm sad, 5 Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kiss'd me J. H. Leigh Hunt. 297 THE WAR SONG OF DINAS VAWR The mountain sheep are sweeter. But the valley sheep are fatter ; ^ We therefore deemed it mceter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition ; 6 We met a host, and quelled it ; We forced a strong position. And killed the men who held it. PEACOCK 321 On Dyfed's richest valley, Where herds of kine were browsing, lo We made a mighty sally To furnish our carousing. Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ; We met them, and o'erthrew them : They struggled hard to beat us ; 15 But we conquered them, and slew them. As we drove our prize at leisure, The king marched forth to catch us : His rage surpassed all measure, But his people could not match us. 20 He fled to his hall-pillars ; And, ere our force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off. We there, in strife bewildering, 25 Spilt blood enough to swim in ; We orphaned many children, And widowed many women. The eagles and the ravens We glutted with our foemen ; 3(1 The heroes and the cravens. The spearmen and the bowmen. We brought away from battle, And much their land bemoaned them. Two thousand head of cattle, 35 And the head of him who owned them : Ednyfed, King of Dyfed, His head was borne before us ; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts. And his overthrow, our chorus. iO T. L. Peacock. 133 M 322 PEACOCK 298 THREE MEN OF GOTHAM # Seamen three ! Wliat men be ye ? Gotham's three wise men we be. Whither in your bowl so free ? To rake the moon from out the sea. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. And our ballast is old wine. 6 And your ballast is old wine. Who art thou, so fast adrift ? I am he they call Old Care. Here on board we will thee lift. 10 No : I may not enter there. Wherefore so ? 'Tis Jove's decree, In a bowl Care may not be. In a bowl Care may not be. Fear ye not the waves that roll ? 15 No : in charmed bowl we swim. What the charm that floats the bowl ? Water may not pass the brim. The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. And our ballast is old wine. 20 And your ballast is old wine, T. L. Peacock. 299 THE GRAVE OF LOVE I dug, beneath the cypress shade, What well might seem an elfin's grave ; And every pledge in earth I laid, That erst thy false affection gave. I pressed them down the sod beneath ; 5 I placed one mossy stone above ; And twined the rose's fading wreath Around the sepulchre of love. MACAULAY 823 Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead, Ere yet the evening sun was set : lo But years shall see the cypress spread, Immutable as my regret. T, L. Peacock. 300 , A JACOBITE'S EPITAPH / To my true king I offered free from stain * Courage and faith ; vain faith, and courage vain. For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away. And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. For him I languished in a foreign clime, 5 Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime ; Heard on Laveniia ScargiU's whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees ; Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep ; Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave 11 The resting-place I asked, an early grave. O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone. From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white chffs I never more must see, 15 By that dear language which I spake like thee. Forget aU feuds, and shed one English tear O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here. Lord Macaiilay. 301 THE BATTLE OF NASEBY By Obadiah Bind-their-kings-in-chains-and-their- nobles-with-links-of-iron, Serjeant in Ireton's regiment Oh ! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, With your hands, and yoxir feet, and your raiment all red ? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout ? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread ? 324 MACAULAY Oh, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, 5 And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod ; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, Wlio sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God, It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, That we saw their banners dance and their cuirasses shine, 10 And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair. And Astley, and Sir Marmadulie, and Rupert of the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword. The General rode along us to form us to the fight. When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell' d into a shout, 15 Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. And hark ! like the roar of the billows on the shore. The cry of battle rises along their charging line ! For God ! for the Cause ! for the Church ! for the Laws ! For Charles King of England, and Rupeit of the Rhine ! 20 The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Wliiteliall ; They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks ; For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. They are here ! They rush on ! We are broken ! We are gone I 25 Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast- MACAULAY 325 O Lord, put forth thy might ! O Lord, defend the right ! Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to the last. Stout Skippon hath a woimd ; the centre hatli given ground : Hark ! hark ! — What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear ? 30 Whose banner do I see, boys ? 'Tis he, thank God ! 'tis he, boys. Bear up another minute : brave Oliver is here. Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes. Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst, 35 And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar: And he — he turns, he flies : — shame on those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war. 40 Ho ! comrades, scour the plain ; and, ere ye strip the slain. First give another stab to make your search secure. Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad- pieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. Fools ! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, 45 WTien you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day ; And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks, Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. 326 MACAULAY Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate, And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades, so Your perfum'd satin clothes, your catches and your oaths. Your stage -plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades ? Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the crown, With the Belial of the Court, and the Mammon of the Pope ; There is woe in Oxford Halls ; there is 'wail in Durham's Stalls : 55 The Jesuit smites his bosom ; the Bishop rends his cope. And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children's ills. And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England's sword ; And the Kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear What the hand of God hath wi'ought foY the Houses and the Word. 60 Lord Macaulay. 302 BLACKMWORE MAIDENS / The primrwose in the sheade do blow, / The cowslip in^the zun, The thyme upon the do^vn do grow. The clote where streams do run ; An' where do pretty maidens grow 6 An' blow, but where the tow'r Do rise among the bricken tuns, In Blackmwore by the Stour? BARNES 327 Tf you could zee their comely gait. An' pretty feaces' smiles, lo A-trippen on so light o' waight, An' steppen off the stiles ; A-gwain to church, as bells do swing An' ring within the tow'r, You'd own the pretty maidens' pleace 15 Is Blackmwore by the Stour. If you vrom Wimborne took your road, To Stower or Paladore, An' all the farmers' housen show'd Their daeters at the door ; 20 You'd cry to bachelors at hwome — ■ ' Here, come : 'ithin an hour You'll vind ten maidens to your mind, In Blackmwore by the Stour.' An' if j'ou looked 'ithin their door, 25 To zee em ^n their pleace, A-doen housework up avore Their smilen mother's feilce ; You'd cry — ' Why, if a man would wive An' thrive, 'ithout a dow'r, 30 Then let en look en out a wife In Blackmwore by the Stour.' As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in May There out upon the beaten grass 35 Wer maidens at their play ; An' as the pretty souls 'did twile An' smile, I cried, ' The flow'r O' beauty, then, is still in bud In Blackmwore by the Stour.' 40 W. Barnes 328 BARNES 303 THE WIFE A-LOST Since I noo mwore do zee your fcaeej Up stears or down below, / I'll zit me in the Iwonesome pleace, Where flat-bough'd beech do grow ; Below the beeches' bough, my love, 5 Where you did never come, An' I don't look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome. Since you noo mwore be at my zide, In walks in zummer het, IC I'll goo alwone where mist do ride, Droo trees a-drippen wet ; Below the rain-wet bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't grieve to rniss ye now, 15 As I do grieve at hwome. Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard Your vaice do never sound, I'll eat the bit I can avword A-vield upon the groimd ; iO Below the darksome bough, my love, Where you did never dine. An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I at hwome do pine. Since I do miss your va'ice an' feiice 25 In prayer at eventide, I'll pray wi' oone sad va'ice vor greace To goo where you do bide ; Above the tree an' bough, my love, Where you be gone avore, 3C An' be a-waiten vor me now. To come vor evermwore. W. Barnes. MANGAN 329 304 THE NAMELESS ONE Roll forth, my song, like the rushing river, That sweeps along to the mighty sea : God will inspire me while I deliver My soul of thee ! Tell thou the world, when my bones lie whitening Amid the last homes of youth and eld, 6 That once there was one whose veins ran lightning No eye beheld. Tell how his boyhood was one drear night-hour, How shone for him, through his griefs and gloom. No star of all heaven sends to light our 11 Path to the tomb. Roll on, my song, and to after ages Tell how, disdaining all earth can give, He would have taught men, from wisdom's pages. The way to live. 16 And tell how trampled, derided, hated. And worn by weakness, disease, and Avrong, He fled for shelter to God, who mated His soul with song — 20 With song which alway, sublime or vapid, Flowed Mice a rill in the morning-beam, Perchance not deep, but intense and rapid — A mountain stream. Tell how this Nameless, condemned for years long To herd with demons from hell beneath, 2G Saw things that made him, with groans and tears, long For even death. Go on to tell how, with genius wasted. Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love, 30 With spirit shipwrecked, and young hopes blasted, He stUlj stUI strove ; 133 Ma 330 MANGAN Till spent with toil, dreeing death for others, And some whose hands should have wrought for him (If cliildren live not for sires and mothers), 35 His mind grew dim ; And he fell far through that pit abysmal, The gulf and grave of jSIaginn and Burns, And pawned his soul for the devil's disijaal Stock of returns ; 40 But yet redeemed it in days of darkness, And shapes and signs of the final wrath. When death, in hideous and ghastly starkness, Stood on his path. 'And tell how now, amid wreck and sorrow, 45 And want, and sickness, and houseless nights, He bides in calmness the silent morrow, That no ray lights. And lives he still, then ? Yes ! Old and hoary At thirty-nine, from aespair and woe, 50 He lives, enduring what futui'e stoiy Will never know. Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble, Deep in your bosoms : there let him dwell ! He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble 55 Here, and in hell. J. C. Mangan. 305 BRAHMA If the red slayer think he slays. Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn agaui. Far or forgot to me is near ; 5 ShadoAv and simlight are the same ; The vanished gods to me appear ; And one to me are shame and fame. EMERSON 331 They reckon ill who leave me out ; AVhen me they fly, I am the wings ; 10 I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode, And pine in vain the sacred Seven ; But thou, meek lover of the good ! 15 Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. R. W. Emerson. 306 TO EVA O fair and stately maid, whose eyes Were kindled in the upper skies At the same torch that lighted mine ; For so I must interpret still Thy sweet dominion o'er my wiU, 5 A sympathy divine. Ah ! let me blameless gaze upon Features that seem at heart my own ; Nor fear those watchful sentinels. Who charm the more their glance forbids, 10 Chaste-glowing, underneath their lids. With fire that draws while it repels. R. W. Emerson. / 307 AND SHALL TRELAWNY DIE ? A good sword and a trusty hand ! / A merry heart and true ! King James's men shall miderstand What Cornish lads can do. And have they fixed the where and when ? And shall Trelawny die ? G Here's twenty thousand Cornish men WiU know the reason why ! 332 HAWKER Out spake their captain brave and bold, A merry wight was he : 10 ' If London Tower were Michael's hold, We'll set Ti-elawny free 1 ' We'll cross the Tamar, land to land, The Severn is no stay,— With " one and all," and hand in hand, 15 And who shall bid us nay ? ' And when we come to London Wall, A pleasant sight to view, Come forth ! Come forth, ye cowards all, Here 's men as good as you. 20 ' Trelawny he 's m keep and hold, Trelawny he may die ; — But here 's twenty thousand Cornish bold Will know the reason why ! ' R. S. Hawkei 308 THE SHANDON BELLS / With deep affection, / And recollection, I often thinic of Those Shandon bells, Whose sovmds so wild would, 5 In the days of childhood. Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder VvTiere'er I wander, '10 And thus grow fonder. Sweet Cork, of thee ; With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters 15 Of the River Lee. MAHONY 333 I've heard bells chiming Full many a clime in. Tolling sublime in Cathedral shrine, 20 While at a glibe rate Brass tongues would vibrate — But all their music Spoke naught like thine ; For memory, dwelling 25 On each proud swelling Of thy belfry knelling Its bold notes free, Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on 30 The pleasant waters Of the River Lee. I've heard bells tolling Old Adrian's Mole in. Their thunder rolling 35 From the Vatican, And cymbals glorious Swinging uproarious In the gorgeous tm-rets Of Notre Dame ; 40 But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly ; — O ! the bells of Shandon 45 Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters Of the River Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, While on tower and kiosk O 50 In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets ; And loud in air Calls men to prayer From the tapering summit 55 Of tall minarets. 834 E. B. BRO^VNING Such empty phantom I freely grant them ; But there is an anthem More dear to me, — GO 'Tis the bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the River Lee. F. Mahony (Father Prout). 309 FROM 'SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE' I thought once how Theocritus liad sung Of the sweet years, the dear and'Wished-for years. Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young : And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 5 I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years. Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move lo Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair ; And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, . . . ' Guess now who holds thee ? ' — ' Death,' I said. But there, The silver answer rang, . . . ' Not Death, but Love.' 310 ^Vllat can I give thee back, O liberal And princely giver, who hast brought the gold And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold, And laid them on the outside of the wall For such as I to take or leave withal, 5 In imexpected largesse ? am I cold. Ungrateful, that for these most manifold High gifts, I render nothing back at all ? E. B. BROWNING 335 Not so ; not cold, — but very poor instead. Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run The colours jfrom my life, and left so dead 11 And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done To give the same as pillow to thy head. Go farther ! let it serve to trample on. 311 / Yet love, mere love, is beautiful indeed / And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, / Let temple burn, or flax. An equal light Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed. And love is fire ; and when I say at need r. I love thee . . . mark! . . .1 love thee! ... in thy sight I stand transfigured, glorified aright. With conscience of the new rays that proceed Out of my face toward thine. There 's nothing Ioav In love, when love the lowest : meanest ereatin-es Who love God, God accepts while loving so, il And what I feel, across the inferior features Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show How that great work of Love enhances Nature's. 312 If thou must love me, let it be for naught Except for love's sake only. Do not say ^ ' I love her for her smile . . . her look . . . her way Of speaking gently, . . . for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day ' — 6 For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee, — and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, — A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy com.fort long, and lose thy love thereby 1 But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst lo\ie on, through love's eternity. 336 E. B. BROWNING t y 313 / How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height IVIy soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's 5 Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right ; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 11 With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath. Smiles, tears, of all my life ! — and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. E. B. Browning./ 314 ^ A MUSICAL INSa^RUMENT ' What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river ? Spreading ruin and scattering ban. Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat 5 With the dragon-fly on the river. He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river : The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, 10 And the dragon-fly had fled away. Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sate the great god Pan, Wliile turbidlj'^ flowed the river ; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, 15 With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. E. B. BROWNING 337 He cut it short, did the great god Pan (How tall it stood in the river !), 20 Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man. Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sate by the river. ' This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan (Laughed while he sate by the river), 26 ' The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed.' Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed. He blew in power by the river. 30 Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan ! Piercing -sweet by the river ! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! The svm on the hill forgot to die. And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly ?>5 Came back to dream on the river. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man : 39 The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river. E. B. Browning. 315 THE SLAVE'S DREAM Beside the "imgathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand ; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep. He saw his Native Land. 338 LONGFELLOW Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed ; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain Once more a king he strode ; 10 And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain-road. He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand ; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand ! — ifi A tear burst from the sleeper's lids And fell into the sand. And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger's bank ; 20 His bridle-reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank. At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank. Before him, like a blood-red flag, 25 The bright flamingoes flew ; From morn till night he followed their flight, O'er plains where the tamarind grew. Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts. And the ocean rose to view. 30 At night he heard the lion roar, And the hyena scream. And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds Beside some hidden stream ; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, 35 Through the trivmiph .of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues. Shouted of liberty ; And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud. With a voice so wild and free, 40 That he started in his sleep and smiled At their tempestuous glee. LONGFELLOW 339 He did not feel the driver's whip, Nor the burning heat of day ; For Death had ilkimined the Land of Sleep, And his lifeless body lay 40 A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away ! H. W. Longfellow. 316 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling. Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ; But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing Startles the villages with strange alarms. i Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! Wliat loud lament and dismal Miserere Will mmgle with their awful symphonies ! I liear even now the infinite fierce chorus, The cries of agony, the endless groan, lo Wliich, through the ages that have gone before us, In long reverberations reach our own. On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer. Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, And loud, amid the universal clamour, 15 O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who from his palace Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. And Aztec priests upon their teoeallis 19 Beat the wild war-drimis made of serpent's skin ; The tumult of each sacked and burning village ; The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ; The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage ; The wail of famine in beleajniered towns : 340 LONGFELLOW The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade ; 26 And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, The diapason of the cannonade. Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, With such accursed instruments as these, 30 Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices. And jarrest the celestial harmonies ? Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, 35 There were no need of arsenals or forts : The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! And every nation that should lift again Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 39 Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain ! Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease ; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, ' Peace ! ' Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals 45 The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies ! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. H. W. Longfellow. 317 CHILDREN Come to me, O ye children ! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, • 6 That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows, And the brooks of morning run. NORTON 341 In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine. In your thoughts the brooklet's flow ; 10 But in mine is the wind of Autumn, And the first fall of the snow. All ! what would the world be to us If the children were no more ? We should dread the desert behind us 15 Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, 20 That to the world are children ; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below Come to me, O ye children ! 25 And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our eontrivings, And the wisdom of otu- books, 30 When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks ? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, 35 And all the rest are dead. H. W. Longfellow. 318 I do not love thee ! — ^no ! I do not love thee ! And yet when thou art absent I am sad ; And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad. 842 NORTON I do not love thee ! — ^yet, I know not why, 5 Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me : And often in my solitude I sigh That those I do love are not more like thee ! I do not love thee ! — yet, when thou art gone, I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear) Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone 11 Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear. I do not love thee ! — yet thy speaking eyes, With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue, Between me and the midnight heaven arise, 15 Oftener than any eyes I ever knew. I know I do not love thee ! yet, alas ! Others will scarcely trust my candid heart ; And oft I catch them srhiling as they pass, Because they see nie gazing where thou art. 20 Caroline E. S. Norton. 319 RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYA^I OF fr naishApi5r 1 Awake ! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight : And Lo ! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light. Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky I heard a Voice witliin the Tavern cry, 6 ' Awake, my Little ones, and lill the Cup ' Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry.' 3 And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before The Tavern shouted — ' Open then the Door ! 10 ' You know how. little while we have to stay, ' And, ouce departed, may return uo more-' FITZGERALD 343 4 Now the New Year reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to SoUtude retires. Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough Puts out, and Jesus from the ground suspires. 16 5 Irara mdeed is gone with all its Rose, And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows ; But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields, ^\iid still a Garden by the Water blows. 20 6 x\nd David's Lips are lock't ', but in divine High-piping PehlevI, with ' Wine I Wine ! Wine ! ' Red Wine ! '^ — the Nightingale cries to the Rose That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine. 7 Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring 25 The Winter Garment of Repentance fling : The Bird of Time has but a little way To fly — and Lo ! the Bird is on the Wing. 8 And look — a thousand Blossoms with the Day Woke — and a thousand scatter' d into Clay : ."io And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away. 9 But come with old Kliayyam, and leave the Lot Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot : Let Rustxmi lay about iiim as he will, 35 Or Hatim Tai cry Supper — heed them not. 10 With me along some Strip of Herbage strown, That just divides the desert from the sown. Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known, And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne^ 40 344 FITZGERALD 11 Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — And Wilderness is Paradise enow. 44 12 ' How sweet is mortal Sovranty ! ' — think some : Others—' How blest the Paradise to come ! ' Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest ; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum ! 13 Look to the Rose that blows about us — ' Lo, * Laughing,' she says, ' into the World I blow : ' At once the silken Tassel of my Purse 51 ' Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.' 14 The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes — or it prospers ; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face 55 Lighting a little Hour or two — is gone. 15 And those who husbanded the Golden Grain, And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd As, buried once, Men want dug up again. 60 16 Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his Hour or two, and went his way. 17 They say the Lion and the Lizard keep 65 The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep : And Bahram, that great Htmter — ^the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep. FITZGERALD 345 18 I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled ; 70 That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head. 19 And this delightful Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River's Lip on Avhich we lean — Ah, lean upon it Hghtly ! for who knows 75 From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen ! 20 Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears To-day of past Regrets and future Fears — To-morrow ? — Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years. 21 Lo ! some we loved, the loveUest and best 81 That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to Rest. 22 And we, that now make merry in the Room 85 They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend, ourselves to make a Couch — for whom ? 23 Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend. Before we too into the Dust descend ; 90 Dust into Dust, and under pust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End ! 24 Alike for those who for To-day prepare. And those that after a To-morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries , 95 ' Fools ! your Reward is neither Here nor There ! ' 346 FITZGERALD ' 25 Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust 98 Like foolish Prophets forth ; their Words to Scorn Are scatter'd and their Mouths are stopt with Dust. 26 Oh, come with old I^liayyam, and leave the Wise To talk ; one thing is certain, that Life flies ; One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies ; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies. 27 Myself when young did eagerly frequent 105 Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about : but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went. 28 With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand labour'd it to grow : lio And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd — ' I came like Water, and like Wind I go.' 29 Into this Universe, and why not knowing. Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing : And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, 115 I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing. 30 What, without asking, hither hurried whence f And, without asking, whither hurried hence ! Another and anoj^her Cup to drown The Memory of this Impertinence 1 120 31 Up from Earth's Centre, through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate. And many Knots unravel' d by the Road ; But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate. FITZGERALD 347 32 There was a Door to which I found no Key : 125 There was a Veil past which I could not see : Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee There seem'd — and then no more of Thee and Me. 33 Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried, Asking, ' What Lamp had Destiny to guide 130 ' Her little Children*stumbling in the Dark ? ' And — ' A bUnd Understanding ! ' Heav'n replied. 34 Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn INIy Lip the secret Well of Life to learn : 134 And Lip to Lip it murmur' d — ' While you live ' Drink ! — for once dead you never shall return.' 35 I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer'd, once did live, And merry-make ; and the cold Lip I kiss'd, How many Kisses might it take — and give ! lio 36 For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day, I watch' d the Potter thumping his wet Clay : And with its all obliterated Tongue It mm^mur'd — ' Gently, Brother, gently, pray ! 37 Ah, fill the Cup :— what boots it to repeat 145 How Time is slipping vmderneath our Feet : Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday, Why fret about them if To-day be sweet ! 38 One Moment in Annihilation's Waste, One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste — 150 The Stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing — Oh, make haste 1 348 FITZGERALD 39 How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit Of This and That endeavour and dispute ? Better be merry with the fruitful Grape 155 Than sadden after none, or bitter. Fruit. 40 You know, my Friends, how long since in my House For a new Marriage I did make Carouse : Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed, And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse. 160 41 For ' Is ' and ' Is-not ' though xvith Rule and Line, And ' Up-and-down ' without, I could define, I yet, in all I only cared to know, Was never deep in anything but — Wine. 42 And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, 165 Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder ; and He bid me taste of it ; and 'twas — the Grape ! 43 The Grape that can with Logic absolute The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute : 170 The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute. 44 The mighty Mahmiid, the victorious Lord, That all the misbelieving and black Horde Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul 175 Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword. 45 But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me The Quarrel of the Universe let be : And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht. Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee. FITZGERALD 3i9 46 For in and out, above, about, below, 181 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go. 47 And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, 185 End in the Nothing all Things end in — Yes — Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what Thou shalt be — Nothing — Thou'shalt not be less. 48 While the Rose blows along the River Brink, With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink : 190 And when the Angel with his darker Draught Draws up to Thee — take that, and do not shrink. 49 'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays : Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays. 196 50 The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes, But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes ; And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field, He knows about it all — Hk knows — PIE knows ! 51 . The Moving Finger writes ; and, having writ, | Moves on : nor all thy Piety nor Wit 202 j j Shall lure it back to cancel lialf a Line, u Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it. / 52 And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky, 205 Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die, Lift not thy hands to It for help — for It Roils impotently on as Thou or I. 3S0 FITZGERALX) 53 With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead, And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed : Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote 211 What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read. 54 I tell Thee this — When, starting from the Goal, Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtara they flung. In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul 216 55 The Vine had struck a Fibre ; which about If clings my Being — let the Siifi flout ; Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without. 220 56 And this I know : whether the one True Light Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite, One glimpse of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright. 57 Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin 225 Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wUt not with Predestination roimd Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin ? 58 Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And who with Eden didst devise the Snake ; 230 For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken' d, Man's Forgiveness give — and take 1 Kuza-Nama 59 Listen again. One evening at the Close Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose. In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone 235 With the clay Population round in Rows. FITZGERALD 351 60 And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot Some could articulate, wliile others not : And suddenly one more impatient cried — 239 ' Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot ? ' 61 Then said another — ' Surely not in vain ' My Substance from the common Eaith was ta'en, ' That He who subtly wrought me into Shape ' Should statnp me back to common Earth again.' 62 Another said — ' Why, ne'er a peevish Boy, 245 ' Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy; ' Shall He that made the Vessel in piu-e Love ' And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy 1 ' 63 None answer'd this ; but after Silence spake A Vessel of a more ungainly Make : 250 ' They sneer at me for leaning all awry ; ' Wliat ! did the Hand then of the Potter shake ? ' 64 Said one — ' Folks of a surly Tapster tell, ' And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell ; ' They talk of some strict Testing of us — Pish ! ' He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well.' 256 65 Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh, ' My Clay with long obUvion is gone dry : ' But, fill me with the old fanRuhar Juice, ' Methinks I might recover by and by ! ' 260 66 So while the Vessels one by one were speaking. One spied the little Crescent all were seeking : And then they jogg'd each other, ' Brother, Brother ! ' Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking ! ' 352 FITZGERALD 67 All, with the Grape my fading Life provide, 265 And wash my Body whence the Life has died, And in a Wmding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt, So bury me by some sweet Garden-side. 68 That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare Of Perfume shaU fling up into the Air, 270 As not a True Believer passing by But shall be overtaken unaware. 69 Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong : Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup, And sold my Reputation for a Song. 276 70 Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore — but was I sober when I swore ? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. 280 71 And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour — well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One-half so precious as the Goods they sell. 284 72 Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose ! That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close ! The Nightingale that in the Branches sang, Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows I 73 Ah, Love ! could thou and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scliemc of Tilings entire, 290 \V(Hild not we shatter it to bits — and then Rc-uiould it nearer to the Heart's Desire I HOLMES 353 74 Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane. The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again : How oft hereafter rising shall she look 295 Through this same Garden after rne — in vain ! 75 And when Thyself v/ith shining Foot shall pass Among the Guests Star-scatter' d on the Grass, And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot L'99 Where I made one — turn down an empty Glass ! TajvIj\jvi Shud. E. FitzGerald 320 THE CHAjMBERED NAUTILUS This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, 5 And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And every chambered cell, 10 Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. Before thee lies revealed — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed I Year after year beheld the silent toil 1-5 That spread his lustrous coil ; Still, as the spiral grew. He left the past year's dwelling for the new. Stole with soft step its shining archway through. Built up its idle door, 20 Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. 133 " N 854 HOUGHTON Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandermg sea, Cast from her lap forlorn I From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25 Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! While on mine ear it rings. Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul. As the swift seasons roll ! 30 Leave thj' low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. Till thou at length art free, 34 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea. O. W. Holmes / 321 THE MEN OF OLD I know not that the men of old Were better than men now. Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, Of more ingenuous brow : I heed not those who pine for force 5 A ghost of Time to raise, As if they thus could check the course Of these appointed days. Still it is true, and over true, That I delight to close 10 This book of life self-wise and new, And let my thoughts repose On all that humble happiness. The world has since forgone, — The daylight of contentedness 15 That on those faces shone ! With rights, tho' not too closely scanned, Enjoyed, as far as known, — With will by no reverse unmanned, — With pulse of even tone,— 20 HOUGHTON 355 They from to-day and from to-night Expected nothing more, Than yesterday and yesternight Had proffered them before. To them was hfe a simple art 25 Of duties to be done, A game where each man took his part, A race where all must run ; A battle whose great scheme and scope They httle cared to know, 30 Content, as men at arms, to cope Each with his fronting foe. Man now his Virtue's diadem Puts on and proudly wears, Great thoughts, great feelmgs, came to them, Like instinctS; unawares : 36 Blending their souls' sublimest needs With tasks of every day, They went about their gravest deeds. As noble boys at play. — 40 And what if Nature's fearful wound They did not probe and bare, For that their spirits never swooned To watch the misery there, — For that their love but flowed more fast, 45 Their charities more free, Not conscious what mere drops they cast Into the evil sea. A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet, 60 It is the distant and the dun That we are sick to greet : For flowers that grow our hands beneath We struggle and aspire, — Our hearts must die, except they breathe 55 The air of fresh Desire. 356 TENNYSON Yet, Brothers, who up Reason's hill Advance with hopeful cheer, — O ! loiter not, those heights are chill, As chill as they are clear : 60 And still restrain your haughty gaze. The loftier that ye go. Remembering distance leaves a haze On all that lies below. Lord Houghton. 322 THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER It is the miller's daughter. And she is grown so dear, so dear. That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear : For hid in rmglets day and night, 5 I'd touch her neck so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist. And her heart would beat against mc In sorrow and in rest : 10 And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace. And all day long to fall and rise Upon her bahny bosom, 15 With her laughter or her sighs. And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp'd at night. LoiiD Tennyson. TENNYSON 357 / 323 ST. AGNES' BVE Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon : My breath to heaven hke vapour goes : May my soul follow soon ! The shadows of the convent-towers 5 Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord : Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, 10 Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground ; As this pale taper's earthly spark, 15 To yonder argent round ; So shows my soul before the Lamb, My spirit before Thee ; So in mine earthly house I am. To that I hope to be. 20 Break up the heavens, O Lord ! and far, Thro' all yon starlight keen, Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star. In raiment white and clean. He lifts me to the golden doors ; 25 The flashes come and go ; All heaven bursts her starry floors, And strows her lights below. And deepens on and up ! the gates Roll back, and far within 30 For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits. To make me pure of sin. The sabbaths of Eternity, One sabbath deep and wide — A light upon the shining sea — 35 The Bridegroom with his bride ! Lord Tknnyson. 858 TENNYSON 324 SIR GALAHAD My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure. The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, 5 The hard brands shiver on the steel, The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly, The horse and rider reel : They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, lo Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favours fall ! For them I battle till the end, 15 To save from shame and thrall : But all my heart is drawn above. My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine : I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. 20 More bounteous aspects on me beam. Me mightier transports move and thrill ; So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and wiU. Wlien down the stormy crescent goes, 25 A light before me swims. Between dark stems the forest glows, I hear a noise of hymns : Then by some secret shrine I ride ; I hear a voice, but none are there ; 3o The stalls are void, the doors are wide, The tapers burning fair. Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, The silver vessels sparkle clean, TENNYSON 359 The shrill bell rmgs, the censer swings, 35 And solemn chaunts resound between. Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark ; I leap on board : no helmsman steers : I lioat tUl all is dark, 40 A gentle sound, an awful light ! Three angels bear the holy Grail : With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 45 My spirit beats her mortal bafs, As down dark tides the glory shdes. And star-like mingles with the stars. When on my goodly charger borne Thro' dreaming towns I go, 50 The cock crows ere the Christmas morn. The streets are dumb with snow. The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail ; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 55 And gUds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height"; No branchy thicket shelter yields ; But blessed forms in whistling storms Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 60 A maiden knight — to me is given Such hope, I know not fear ; I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven That often meet me here. I muse on joy that will not cease, 65 Pure spaces clothed in living beams, Pure lUies of eternal peace. Whose odours haunt my dreams ; And, stricken by an angel's hand, This mortal armour that I wear, 70 This weight and size, this heart and eyes, Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 360 TENNYSON The clouds are broken in the sky, And thro' the mountain-v/alls A rolHng organ-harmony 75 Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear : ' O just and faithful knight of God I Ride on ! the prize is near.' 80 So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, AU-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the holy Grail. Lord Tennyson. •K 825 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Break, break, break, . On thy cold grey stones, O Sea ! I And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, 5 That he sliouts with his sister at play ! O Avell for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay ! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill ; 10 But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 14 But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Lord Tennyson* TENNYSON 326 THE BROOK I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, 5 Or slip between the ridges. By twenty thorps, a little town. And half a hmidred bridges. Till last by PhUip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, 10 For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, 15 I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow. And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. 20 I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river. For men may come and men may go. But I go on for ever. I wind about, and in and out, 25 With here a blossom sailing And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel 30 With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, 133 N a 362 TENNYSON And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, 35 But I go on for ever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers ; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. 40 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows ; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars 45 In brambly wildernesses ; I linger by my shingly bars ; I loiter round my cresses ; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, 50 For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. Loud Tennyson. / 327 As thro' the land at eve we went. And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, We fell out, my wife and I, We fell out, I know not why. And kiss'd again with tears. 5 And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears ! For when we came Avhere lies the child 10 We lost in other j'ears. There above the little grave, O there above the little grave. We kiss'd again with tears. Lord Tennyson. I TENNYSON 363 328 The splendour falls on castle walls / And snowy summits old in story : ' The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 5 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfiand faintly blowing ! lo Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hiU or field or river ; Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 15 And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dymg, dying. Lord Tennyson. 329 Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. '^ Tears from the depth of some divine despair j Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, f\ In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, \ And thinking of the days that are no more. (s Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail. That brings our fi-iends up from the underworld,; Sad as the last which reddens over one ! That sinks mth all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 10 All, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns \ The earliest pipe of half -awaken' d birds 364 TENNYSON To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 13 The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as rememberd kisses after death. And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others ; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; ^ O Death in Life, the days that are no more. 20 y^ Lord Tennyson. 330 f O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,-' Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee. O tell her Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, 5 And dark and true and tender is the North. O Swallow, Swallow, if I could foUow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill. And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. O were I thou that she might take me in, 10 And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, Delaying as the tender ash delays 14 To clothe herself, when all the woods are green ?. O tell her. Swallow, that thy brood is flown : Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made. O tell her, brief is life but love is long. And brief the sun of summer in the North, 20 And brief the moon of beauty in the South- O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee. Lord Tennyson. TENNYSON 365 331 / Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white ; ^ Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk ; Nor winks the gold iin in the porphyry font : The fire-fly wakens : waken thou with me. Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, And lilce a ghost she glimmers on to mc 6 Now lies the Earth all Danafi to the stars, And all thy heart lies open imto me. Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. ' lo Now folds the lily all her sweetness up. And shps into the bosom of the lake : So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me. Lord Tennyson. 832 Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height : ^Miat pleasure lives in height (the Shepherd sang), In height and cold, the splendour of the hills ? But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, 6 To sit a star upon the sparkling spire ; And come, for Love is of the valley, come. For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him ; by the happy threshold, he, Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, 10 Or red with spirted purple of the vats, Or foxlike in the vine ; nor cares to walk With Death and Morning on the silver horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, 15 That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls To roll the torrent out of dusky doors : 366 TENNYSON But follow ; let the torrent dance thee down To find him in the valley ; let the wild Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave 20 The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill Their thousand wi'eaths of dangling water-smoke. That like a broken purpose waste in air : So waste not thou ; but come ; for all the vales Await thee ; azure pillars of the hearth 25 Arise to thee ; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound. Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet ; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, so And murmuring of innumerable bees. Lord Tennyson. / / 333 FROM ' IN MEMORIAM ' Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light : The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, 5 Ring, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going, let him go ; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind. For those that here we see no more ; JO Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife ; Ring in the nobler modes of life, 15 With sweeter maimers, purer laws. TENNYSON 367 Ring out the want, thfe care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times ; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. 20 Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease ; 25 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 30 Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. , Lord Tennyson. // 334 )^ ^ Come into the garden, Maud, / For the black bat, night, has flown, / Come into the garden, Maud, ^ I am here at the gate alone ; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, 5 And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves. And the planet of Love is. on liigh, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky, 10 To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his iight, and to die. All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon ; All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd 15 To the dancers dancing in tune ; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon. 368 TENNYSON I said to the lilj^ ' There is but one With whom she has heart to be gay. 20 When will the dancers leave her alone ? She is weary of dance and play.' Now half to the setting moon are gone, And half to the rising day ; Low on the sand and loud on the stone 25 The last wheel echoes away. I said to the rose, ' The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine. O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, For one that will never be thine ? 30 But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, ' For ever and ever, mine.' And the soul of the rose went into my blood, As the music clash'd in the hall ; And long by the garden lake I stood, 35 For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all ; From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs 40 He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, To the woody hollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. The slender acacia would not shake 45 One long milk-bloom on the tree ; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me ; 60 The lilies and roses were all awake, They sigh'd for the dawn and thee. Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Come hither, the dances are done. TENNYSON 369 In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 55 Queen lily and rose in one ; Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls. To the flowers, and be their sun. There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. 60 She is coming, my dove, my dear ; She is coming, my life, my fate ? ITie red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near ; ' And the white rose weeps, ' She is late ; ' The larkspur listens, ' I hear, I hear ; ' 65 And the lily whispers, ' I wait.' She is coming, my own, my sweet ; Were it ever so airy a tread. My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 70 My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead ; / Would start and tremble under her feet, / And blossom in purple and red. -^ / Lord Tennyson'^ » 335 In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, ^- Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. It is the little rift within the lute. That by and by will make the music mute, 5 And ever widening slowly silence all. The little rift within the lover's lute, Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit. That rotting inward slowly moulders all. It is not worth the keeping : let it go : 10 But shall it ? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all. Lord Teknyson. 370 DOYLE 336 THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS Some Sikhs and a private of the Buffs having re- •mained behind with the grog carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next morning they were brought before the autliorities, and commanded to perform the Kotow. The Sikhs obeyed ; but Moyse, the English soklier, declaring that he wouki not prostrate himself before any Chinaman alive, was immediately knocked upon the head, and his body ■tlxrown on a dunghill. — The Times. ^ast night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore, A drunken private of the Buffs, Wlio never looked before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, 6 He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race. Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, Bewildered, and alone, 10 A heart, with English instinct fraught, He yet can call his own. Aye, tear his body limb from limb. Bring cord, or axe, or flame : He. only knows, that not through him 15 Shall England come to shame. Far Kentish hop-fields round him seem'd, Like dreams, to come and go ; Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleam'd, One sheet of living snow ; 20 The smoke, above his father's door. In grey soft eddyings hung : Must he then watch it rise no more, Doom'd by himself so young ? DOMETT 371 Yes, honour calls ! — with strength like steel He put the vision by. 26 Let dusky Indians whine and kneel ; An English lad must die. And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, With knee to man unbent, 30 Unfaltering on its dreadful brink. To his red grave he went. Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed ; Vain, those all-shattermg guns ; Unless proud England keep, untamed, 35 The strong heart of her sons. So, let his name through Europe ring — A man of mean estate. Who died, as firm as Sparta's King, Because his soul was great, 40 Sir F. H. Doyle. 337 A CHRISTMAS HYMN It was the calm and silent night ! — • Seven hxmdred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might. And now was Queen of land and sea ! No sound was heard of clashing v/ars ; 5 Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign. In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! 10 'Twas in the calm and silent night ! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight From lordly revel rolling home I 372 DOMETT Triumphal arches gleaming swell 15 His breast with thoughts of boimdless sway : Wliat recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! 20 Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor : A streak of light before him lay, Fall'n through a half-shut stable door Across liis path. He passed — for naught 25 Told what was going on within ; How keen the stars ! his only thought ; The air how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! 30 O strange indifference ! — low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares : The earth was still— but knew not why ; The world was listening — unawares ; How calm a moment may precede 35 One that shall thriU the world for ever ! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked no more to sever In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! 40 It is the calm and solemn night ! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness, charmed and holy now! The night that erst no name had worn, 45 To it a happy name is given ; For in that stable lay new-born The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. 50 A. Domett. BROWNING 373 338 The year's at the spring, And day 's at the morn ; * Morning 's at seven ; The hill-side 's dew-pearled ; The lark 's on the wmg ; 5 The snail 's on the thorn ; God 's in his heaven — AH 's right with the world ! R. Browning. 339 Give her but a least excuse to love me ! When — where — ■ How — can this arm establish her above me, If fortime fixed her as my lady there, There already, to eternally reprove me ? 5 (' Hist ! ' — said Kate the queen ; But ' Oh ' — cried the maiden, binding her tresses, ' 'Tis only a page that carols unseen, ' Crumbling your hounds their messes ! ') Is she wronged ? — ^To the rescue of her honour, lo My heart ! Is she poor ? — What costs it to be styled a donor ? Merely an earth to cleave, a sea to part. But that fortune should have tlnrust all this upon her ! (' Nay, list ! ' — bade Kate the queen ; 15 And still cried the maiden, binding her tresses, ' 'Tis only a page that carols imseen, ' Fittmg your hawks their jesses ! ') » R. Browning, f^ 340 / THE LOST LEADER » Just for a handful of silver he left us. Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which fortime bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote i / / 374 BROWNING They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed : 6 How aU our copper had gone for his service ! Rags — were they purple, his heart had been proud ! We that had loved him so,f olio wed him,honoured him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, lo Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made liim our pattern to live and to die ! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, — they watch from their graves ! He alone fireaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves I 16 W^e shall march prospering, — not thro' his presence; Songs may inspirit us, — not from his lyre ; Deeds wiU be done, — while he boasts his quiescence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire : Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more, Onetask more declined, one more footpath untrod, One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels, One wrong more to man, one more insult to God ! Life's night begins : let hmi never come back to us ! There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain, 26 Forced praise on our part — the glimmer of twilight, Never glad confident morning again ! Best fight on well, for we taught him, — strike gallantly. Menace our heart ere we master his own ; 30 Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne ! ' R. Browning. -■/' 341 ^' IIOME-TIIOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD Oh, to be in England now that April 's there, And whoever wakes in England sees, some morn- ing, miaware. BROWNING 375 That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the ehnstree bole are in tiny leaf, 4 While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now ! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows ! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spraj^'s edge — ■ That 's the wise thrush ; he sings each song twice over^ 12 Lest you should think he never could.^rfi,cg4^ture The first fine careless rapture ! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew. All will be gay when noontide wakes anew 15 The buttercups, the little children's dower — Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! R. Browning. 342 HOIME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA / Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North- West i died away ; I Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay ; ? Bluish mid the burning water, f uU in face Trafalgar '; lay; \ In the dimmest North-East distance, dawned i Gibraltar grand and grey ; ' i ' Here and here did England help me : how can I j help England ? ' — say, 5 j WTioso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to } praise and pray, \ While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa, E.. Browning. 376 ■ BROWNING 343 MISCONCEPTIONS This is a spray the Bird clung to. Making it blossom with pleasure. Ere the high tree-top she sprung to, Fit for her nest and her treasure. Oh, what a hope beyond measure 5 Wasthepoor spray's, which the flying feet hungto, — So to be singled out, built in, and sung to ! This is a heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, 10 Meet for love's regal dalmatic. Oh, what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on— Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on ! R. Browning. 344 A WOMAN'S LAST WORD Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep : All be as before, Love, — Only sleep I What so wild as words are ? 5 I and thou In debate, as birds are, Hawk on bough ! See the creature stalking While we speak ! 10 Hush and hide the talking, Cheek on cheek ! What so false as truth is. False to thee ? Where the serpent's tooth is, 15 Shun the tree — BROWNING 377 Where the apple reddens Never pry — Lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I. 20 Be a god and hold me With a charm ! Be a man and fold me With thine arm ! Teach me, only teach, Love ! 25 As I ought I wiU speak thy speech, Love, Think thy thought- Meet, if thou require it. Both demands, 30 Laying flesh and spirit In thy hands. Thaf shall be to-morrow Not to-night : I must bury sorrow 35 Out of sight : — Must a Uttle weep. Love, (Foolish me !) And so fall asleep, Love, Loved by thee. 40 R. Browning. 345 LIFE IN A LOVE Escape me ? Never — Beloved ! While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both, 6 Me the loving and you the loath. While the one eludes, must the other pursue. My life is a fault at last, I fear : 878 BROWNING It seems too much like a fate, indeed ! Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed. 10 But what if I fail of my purpose here ? It is but to keep the nerves at strain. To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, And baffled, get up and begin again, — So the chace takes up one's life, that's all. 15 Wliile, look but once from your farthest bound At me so deep in the dust and dark, No sooner the old hope goes to ground Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark, I shape me — 20 Ever Removed I R. Browning. 346 A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE Let US begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, 5 Cared-for till cock-crow : Look out if yonder be not daj^ again Rimming the rock-row ! That 's the appropriate country ; there, man's thought. Rarer, intenser, lo Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, Chafes in the censer. Ivcave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop ; Seek we sepulture On a tall momitain, citied to the top, 15 Crowded with culture ! All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels ; Clouds overcome it i BROWNING 379 No, yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summito 20 Thither our path hes ; wind we up the heights : Wait ye the warning ? Our low life was the level's and the night's ; He's for the morning. Step to a tune, square chests, erect each head, 25 'Ware the beholders ! This is our master, famous, cahn, and dead. Borne on our shoulders. Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft. Safe from the weather ! 30 He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, Singing together. He was a man born "with thy face and throat, Lyric ApoUo ! Long he lived nameless: how should spring take note Winter would follow ? 36 Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone I Cramped and diminished. Moaned he, ' New measures, other feet anon ! My dance is finished ' ? 40 No, that 'stheworld's way : (keep the mountain-side, Make for the city !) He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride Over men's pity ; Left play for work, and grappled with the world Bent on escaping : 46 ' What ' s in the scroll, ' quoth he, ' thou keepest furled ? Show me their shaping. Theirs, who most studied man, the bard and sage, — Give ! ' — So, he gowned him, 50 Straight got by heart that book to its last page : Learned, we found him. Yea, but we foiind him bald too, eyes like lead. Accents uncertain : ' Time to taste life,' another would have said, 55 ' Up with the curtain ! ' — This man said rather, ' Actual life comes next ? Patience a moment I 380 BROWNING Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, Still, there 's the comment. 60 Let me know all ! Prate not of most or least, Painful or easy ! Even to the crumbs I'd fain eat up the feast. Aye, nor feel queasy.' Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, 65 When he had learned it. When he had gathered all books had to give ! Sooner, he spurned it. Image the whole, then execute the parts — Fancy the fabric 70 Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz. Ere mortar dab brick ! (Here 's the town-gate reached : there 's the market- place Gaping before us.) Yea, this m him was the peculiar grace 75 (Hearten our chorus !) That before living he'd learn how to live — No end to learning : Earn the means first — God surely will contrive Use for our earning. 80 Others mistrust and say, ' But time escapes : Live now or never ! ' Hesaid, 'What'stime? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has Forever.' Back to his book then : deeper drooped his head : Calculus racked him : 86 Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead : Tussis attacked him. ' Now, master, take a little rest ! ' — not he ! (Caution redoubled, 90 Step two a-breast, the way winds narrowly 1) Not a whit troubled; Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) 95 Sucked at tlie flagon. BROWNING 381 Oh, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain, Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure, Bad is our bargain ! loo Was it not great ? did not he throw on God, (He loves the burthen) — God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen ? Did not he magnify the mind, show clear 105 Just what it all meant ? He would not discount hfe, as fools do here, Paid by instalment. He ventured neck or nothing — heaven's success Found, or earth's failure : lio 'Wilt thou trust death or not ? ' He answered 'Yes! Hence with life's pale lure ! ' That low man seeks a Uttle thing to do. Sees it and does it : Tliis high man, with a great thing to pursue, 115 Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one. His hundred 's soon hit : This liigh man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. 120, That, has the world here — should he need the next. Let the world mind him ! This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him. So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, Groimd he at grammar ; 126 Still, thro' the rattle, parts of speech wero^rife : While he could stammer He settled Moil's business — let it be ! — Properly based Oun — 130 Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, Dead from the waist down. Well, here 's the platform, here 's the proper place : Hail to yovu" purlieus, - All ye highfliers of the feathered race, * 135 SwaUows and curlews 1 882 BROWNING Here 's the top-peak ; the multitude below Live, for they can, there : Tliis man decided not to Live but Know — Bury this man there ? 140 Here — here 's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnmgs are loosened, Stars come and go I Let joy break with the storm, Peace let the dew send ! Lofty designs must close in like effects ; 145 Loftily lying, Leave him — still loftier than the world suspects. Living and dying. R, Browning. / 347 / PORPHYRI A'S LOVER / The rain set early in to-night. The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the ehn-tops down for spite. And did its worst to vex the lake : I hstened with heart fit to break, 5 When glided in Porphyria ; straight She shut the cold out and the storm. And kneeled and made the cheerless gi-ate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm ; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, II And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair faU, And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, 15 She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread o'er all her yellow hair, 20 Murmuring how she loved me — she Too weak, ior ail her heart s endeavour, BROWNING 383 To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me for ever. 25 But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain : So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I looked up at her eyes 31 Happy and proud ; at last I knew Porphyria worshipped me | surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. sa That moment she was mine, mine, fair. Perfectly pure and good : I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her Uttle throat around, 40 And strangled her. No pain felt she ; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her hds : again Laughed the blue eyes without a stain. 45 And I untightened next the tress About her neck ; her cheek once more Blushed bright beneath my buirning kiss : I propped her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder bore 50 Her head, wliich droops upon it still : The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost wUl, That all it scorned at once is fled, And I, its love, am gained instead ! 55 Porphyria' s love : she guessed not how Her darling one wish would be heard r And thus we sit together now. And aU night long we have not stirred. And yet God has not said a word ! ee R. BrowninGo BROWNING 348 RABBI BEN EZRA Grow old along with me ! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made : Our times are in His hand Wlio saith ' A whole I planned, 5 Youth shows but half ; trust God : see aU, nor be afraid I ' 2 Not that, amassing flowers. Youth sighed ' Which rose make ours. Which lily leave and then as best recall ? ' Not that, admiring stars, 10 It yearned ' Nor Jove, nor Mars ; Mine be some figured flame which blends, tran- scends them all I ' 3 Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate : folly wide the mark ! 15 Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed 20 On joy, to solely s^ek and find and feast : Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men ; Irks care the crop- full bird ? Frets doubt the maw-cramined beast ? BROWNING 385 5 Rejoice we are allied 25 To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive ! A spark disturbs our clod ; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, 1 must believe. 30 6 Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go ! Be our joys three-parts pain ! Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; 35 Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge the throe ! 7 For thence, — a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, — Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail : What I aspired to be, 40 And was not, comforts me : A brute I might have been, but woidd not sink i' the scale. 8 What is he but a brute Whose flesh hath soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play ? To man, propose this test — 46 Thy body at its best. How far can that project thy soul on its lone way ? 9 Yet gifts should prove their use : I own the Past profuse 50 Of power each side, perfection every turn : Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole ; Shoxild not the heart beat once ' How good to live and learn ' ? 133 O 386 BROWNING 10 Not once beat ' Praise be Thine ! 55 I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too : Perfect I call Thy plan : Thanks that I was a man ! Maker, remake, complete, — I, trust what Thou shalt do ! ' .60 11 For pleasant is this flesh ; Our soul in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest : Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold 65 Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as we did best! 12 Let us not always say ' Spite of this flesh to-day |I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole ! ' As the bird wings and sings, 70 Let us cry ' All good things iie ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul ! ' 13 Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, Life's struggle having so far reached its term : 75 Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for ay removed From the developed brute ; a God though in the germ. 14 And I shall thereupon . Take rest, ere I be gone 80 Once more on my adventure brave and new : Fearless and unperplexed, When I wage battle next, \'V1xat weapons to select, what armour to indue. BROWNING 387 15 Youth ended, I shall try 85 My gain or loss thereby ; Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold : And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame : Young, all lay in dispute ; I shall know, being old. 16 For note, when evening shuts, 91 A certain moment cuts The deed off, calls the glory fi-om the grey : A whisper fi'om the west Shoots — ' Add this to the rest, 95 Take it and try its wortii : here dies another day.' 17 So, still within this life, Though lifted o'er its strife. Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, ' This rage was right i' the main, 100 That acquiescence vain : The Future I may face now I have proved the Past.' 18 For more is not reserved To man, witii soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : 105 Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. 19 As it was better, youth Should strive, through acts imcouth, no Toward making, than repose on aught found made ; So, better, age, exempt From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age ; wait death nor be afraid ! 388 BROWNING 20 Enough now, if the Right 115 And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, With knowledge absolute. Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. 120 21 Be there, for once and aU, Severed great minds from small, Annoimce_d to each his station in the Past ! Was I, the world arraigned, Were they, my soul disdained, 125 Right ? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last ! 22 Now, who shall arbitrate ? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive ; Ten, who in ears and eyes 130 Match me : we all surmise. They, this thing, and I, that : whom shall my soul believe ? 23 I Not on the vulgar mass I Called ' work,' must sentence pass, * Things done, that took the eye and had the price ; I* O'er which, from level stand, 136 The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice : 24 But all, the world's coarse thumb If. And finger failed to plumb, HO ^ So passed in making up the main account ; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount s BROWNING 389 25 Thoughts hardly to be packed 145 Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped ; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me. This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 150 26 . Aye, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor ! and feel Way time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — Thou, to whom fools propound. When the wine makes its round, 155 ' Since life fleets, all is change ; the Past gone, seize to-day ! ' 27 Fool ! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall ; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure : What entered into thee, 160 That was, is, and shall be : Time's wheel runs back or stops ; Potter and clay endure. 28 He fixed thee mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest : Machinery just meant 166 To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee fortli, sufficiently impressed. 29 WTiat though the earlier grooves WTiich ran the laughing loves 170 Around thy base, no longer pause and press ? What though, about thy rim, SkuU-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress ? t 390 BROWNING 30 Look not thou down but up ! 176 To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, The new wine's foaming flow, The Master's lips aglow ! Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel ? 180 31 But I need, now as then, Thee, God, who mouldest men ; And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did 1, — to the wheel of life With shapes and colours rife, 185 Bound dizzily, — mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst : 32 So, take and use Thy work ! Amend what flaws may lurk, Wliat strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim ! My times be in Thy hand ! 190 Perfect the cup as planned ! Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same 1 R. Browning. 349 PROSPICE Fear death ? — to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing tlie place. The power of the night, the press of the storm, 5 The post of the foe ; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go : BROWNING 391 For the journey is done £nd the summit attained, And the barriers fall, lO Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, The best and the last ! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 15 And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. 20 For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end. And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave. Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, 26 O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest ! R. Browning. 350 THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE Come hither, Evan Cameron ! Come, stand beside jny knee — I hear the river roaring down Towards the wintry sea. There's shouting on the mountain-side, 5 There's war within the blast — Old faces look upon me. Old forms go trooping past : I hear the pibroch wailing Amidst the din of fight, 10 And my dim spirit wakes again Upon the verge of night. 392 AYTOUN 2 'Twas I that led the Highland host Through wild Lochaber's snows, What time the plaided clans came down 15 To battle with Montrose. I've told thee how the Southrons fell Beneath the broad claymore, And how we smote the Campbell clan By Inverlochy's shore. 20 I've told thee how we swept Dundee, And tamed the Lindsays' pride ; But never have I told thee yet How the great Marquis died. 3 A traitor sold him to his foes ; 25 O deed of deathless shame ! J charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet With one of Assynt's name — Be it upon the mountain's side, Or yet within the glen, 30 Stand he in martial gear alone. Or backed by armed men — Face him, as thou wouldst face the man Who wronged thy sire's renown ; Remember of what blood thou art, 35 And strike the caitiff down ! 4 They brought him to the Watergate, Hard bound with hempen span. As thoiigh they held a lion there, And not a fenceless man. 40 They set him high upon a cart — The hangman rode below — They drew his hands behind his back, And bared his noble brow. Then, as a hound is slipped from leash, 45 They cheered the common throng, And blew the note with yell and shout, And bade him pass along. AYTOUN 393 5 It would have made a brave man's heart Grow sad and sick that day, 50 To watch the keen mahgnant eyes Bent down on that array. There stood the Whig west-country lords In balcony and bow, There sat their gaunt and withered dames, 55 And their daughters all a-row. And every open window Was full as full might be With black-robed Covenanting carles. That goodly sport to see ! 60 But when he came, though pale and wan, He looked so great and high. So noble was his manly front. So calm his steadfast eye ; — The rabble rout forbore to shout, 65 And each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul Was face to face with death. And then a mournful shudder Through all the people crept, 70 And some that came to scoff at him Now turn'd aside and wept. 7 But onwards — always onwards, In silence and in gloom, The dreary pageant laboured, 75 Till it reached the house of doom. Then first a woman's voice was heard In jeer and laughter loud, And an angry cry and a hiss arose From the heart of the tossing crowd : SO Then, as the Graeme looked upwards, He saw the ugly smile Of him who sold his king for gold — The master-fiend Argyle ! 13S oa 894 AYTOUN 8 The Marquis gazed a moment, 85 And nothing did lie say, But the cheek of Argyle grew ghastly pale, And he turned his eyes away. The painted harlot by his side, She shook through every limb, 90 For a roar like thunder swept the street, And hands were clenched at him ; And a Saxon soldier cried aloud ' Back, coward, from thy place ! For seven long years thou hast not dared 95 To look him in the face.'' 9 Had I been there with sword in hand. And fifty Camerons by, That day through high Dunedin's streets Had pealed the slogan-cry. lOO Not all their troops of trampling horse. Nor might of mailed men — Not all the rebels in the south Had borne us backwards then ! Once more his foot on Highland heath 105 Had trod as free as air. Or I, and all who bore my name, Been laid around him there ! 10 It might not be. They placed him hext Within the solemn hall, 110 Where once the Scottish kings were throned Amidst their nobles all. But there was dust of vu-lgar feet On that polluted floor, And perjured traitors filled the place 115 Where good men sate before. With savage glee came Warristoun To read the murderous doom ; And then uprose the great Montrose In the middle of the room. 120 AYTOUN 395 11 ' Now, by my faith as belted knight, And by the name I bear. And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross That waves above us there — Yea, by a greater, mightier oath — 125 And oh, that such should be ! — By that dark stream of royal blood That lies 'twixt you and me — I have not sought in battle-field A wreath of such renown, 130 Nor dared I hope on my dying day To win the martyr's crown 1 12 ' There is a chamber far away Where sleep the good and brave, But a better place ye have named for me 1S5 Than by my father's grave. For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, This hand hath always striven, And ye raise it up for a witness still In the eye of earth and heaven. 140 Then nail my head on yonder tower — Give every town a limb — And God who made shall gather them : I go from you to Him ! ' 13 The morning dawned full darkly, 14 5 The rain came flashing down. And the jagged streak of the levin-bolt Lit up the gloomy town : The thunder crashed across the heaven, The fatal hour was come ; 150 Yet ay broke in with muffled beat The 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below, And anger in the sky. And young and old, and rich and poor, 155 Came forth to see him die. 396 AYTOUN 14 Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet ! How disnia] 'tis to see The great tall spectral skeleton, The ladder, and the tree ! 160 Hark ! hark ! it is the clash of arms — The bells begin to toll — ' He is coming ! he is coming ! God's mercy on his soul ! ' One last long peal of thunder — 165 The clouds are cleared away, And the glorious sun once more looks down Amidst the dazzling day. 15 ' He is coming ! he is coming ! ' Like a bridegroom from his room, 170 Came the hero from his prison To the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead, There was lustre in his eye. And he never walked to battle 175 More proudly than to die : There was colour in his visage, Though the cheeks of all were wan. And they marvelled as they saw him pass, That great and goodly man ! 180 16 He mounted up the scaffold, And he turned him to the crowd ; But they dared not trust the people. So he might not speak aloud. But he looked upon the heavcms, 185 And they were clear and blue, And in the liquid ether The eye of God shone through ! Yet a black and murky battlement Lay resting on the hill, 190 As though the thunder slept within — All else was calm and still. AYTOUN 397 17 The grim Geneva ministers With anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens flock 195 Around the dying deer. He would not deign them word nor sign, But alone he bent the knee ; And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace Beneath the gallows-tree. 200 Then radiant and serene he rose, And cast his cloak away : For he had ta'en his latest look Of earth and sim and day. 18 A beam of light feU o'er him, 205 Like a glory round the shriven, And he climbed the lofty ladder As it were the path to heaven. Then came a flash from out the cloud. And a stunning thmider-roll ; 210 And no man dared to look aloft. For fear was on every soul. There was another hea%^ sound, A hush and then a groan ; And darkness swept across the sky — 215 The work of death was done ! W. E. Aytoun. 351 TUBAL CAIN Old Tubal Cain was a man of might In the days when Earth was young ; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung ; And he lifted high his brawny hand 5 On the iron glowing clear, TiU the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. 398 MACKAY And he sang — ' Hurra for my handiwork ! Hurra for the spear and sword ! lO Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord ! ' To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, 14 And each one prayed for a strong steel blade As the crown of his desire : And he made them weapons sharp and strong. Till they shouted loud for glee. And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang — " Hurra for Tubal Cain, Wlio hath given us strength anew ! Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire, And hurra for the metal true ! ' 20 But a sudden change came o'er his heart, 25 Ere the setting of the sun. And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done ; He saw that men, with rage and hate. Made war upon their kind, 30 That the land was red with the blood they shed In their lust for carnage, blind. And he said — ' Alas ! that ever I made. Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword for men whose joy 35 Is to slay their fellow-man.' And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe ; And his hand forbore to smite the ore. And his furnace smouldered low. 40 But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright courageous eye. And bared his strong right arm for work. While the quick flames mounted high. JUACKAY 399 And he sang — ' Hurra for my handicraft ! ' 45 And the red sparks lit the air ; ' Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,' And he fashioned the &nt ploughshare. And men, taught wisdom from the past. In friendship joined their hands, 50 Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And ploughed the vrilling lands ; And sang — ' Hurra for Tubal Cain ! Our stanch good friend is he ; And for the ploughshare and the plough 55 To him our praise shall be. But while oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the Plough, We'll not forget the Sword ! ' 60 C. Mackay. 352 QUA CURSmi VENTUS As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side. Two towers of sail at dawn of day. Are scarce long leagues apart descried ; W^hen fell the night, upsprung the breeze, 5 And all the darkling hours tliey plied. Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side : E'en so — but why the tale reveal 9 Of those, whom year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew to feel. Astounded, soul from soul estranged ? At dead of night their sails were filled, And onward each rejoicing steered — All, neither blame, for neither willed, 15 Or wist, what first with dawn appeared ! 400 CLOUGH To veer, how vain ! On, onward strain, Brave barks ! In light, in darkness too. Through winds and tides one compass guides— To that, and your own selves, be true. 20 But O blithe breeze ! and O great seas, Though ne'er, that earliest parting past. On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought, 25 One purpose hold where'er they fare, — O bounding breeze, O rushing seas ! At last, at last, unite them there ! A. H. Clough. 353 Say not, the struggle naught availeth. The labour and the wounds are vain. The enemy faints not, nor faileth. And as things have been they remain. If hopies were dupes, fears may be liars ; 5 It may be, in yon smoke concealed. Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking. Seem here no painful inch to gain, 10 Far back, through creeks and inlets making. Comes silent, flooding in, the main. ; And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light, i In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 15 But westward, look, the land is bright. A. II. CLOUcn. . CLOUGH 401 354 / Where lies the land to which the ship would go ? / Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. / And where the Jand ghe travels fiom ? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say. On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face, 5 Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace ; Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below The foaming wake far widening as we go. On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave ! The dripping sailor on the reeling mast 11 Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. ^^Tiere lies the land to which the ship would go ? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from ? Away, Far, far behind, is aU that they can say. 16 A. H. Clough. 355 ' O MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE ' Longum illud tempus, quuni non ero, magis me movet> quam hoc exiguum. — Cicero, ad Att. xii. 18. O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence : live In pulses stirred to generosity. In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 5 For miserable aims that end with self. In thoughts subUme that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues. 402 GEORGE ELIOT So to live is heaven : To make undying music in the world, 10 Breathing as beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed, and agonized With widening retrospect that bred despair. 15 Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved ; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. 20 And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burthen of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be. And what may yet be better — saw within 25 A worthier image for the sanctuary. And shaped it forth before the multitude Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love — That better self shall live till human Time 30 Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb Unread for ever. This is life to corhe. Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach 36 That purest heaven, be to other soiils The cup of strength in some great agonj', Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, 40 And in diffusion ever more intense. So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the worlds- Geokge Eliot. KINGSLEY 403 356 AIRLY BEACON Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; Oh the pleasant sight to see Shires and towns from Airly Beacon, While my love climbed up to me ! Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; 5 Oh the happy hours we lay Deep in fern on Airly Beacon, Courting through the summer's day ! Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon ; Oh the weary haunt for me, 10 All alone on Airly Beacon, With his baby on my knee ! C. KiNGSLEY 357 THE SANDS OF DEE ' O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, /" And call the cattle home ' Across the sands of Dee ' ; The western wind was wild and dankwith foam, 5 And all alone went she. The western tide crept up along the sand. And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand. As far as eye could see. lo The rolling mist came down and hid the land : And never home came she. ' Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair 15 Above the nets at sea ? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes on Dee.' 404 KINGSLEY They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, 20 The cruel hungry foam, To her gi-ave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee. C. KiNGSLEY. 358 ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND Welcome, wild North-easter ! Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr ; Ne'er a verse to thee. Welcome, black North-easter ! 5 O'er the German foam ; O'er the Danish moorlands. From thy frozen home. Tired we are of summer, Tired of gaudy glare, 10 Showers soft and steaming, Hot and breathless air. Tired of listless dreaming. Through the lazy day : Jovial wind of winter, 15 Turn us out to play ! Sweep the golden reed-beds ; Crisp the lazy dyke ; Hunger into madness Every plunging pike. 20 Fill the lake with wild-fowl ; Fill the marsh with snipe ; While on dreary moorlands Lonely curlew pipe. Through the black fir-forest 25 Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snow-flakes Off the curdled sky. Hark ! The brave North-easter ! Breast-high lies the scent, 30 KINGSLEY 405 On by hoit and headland, Over heath and bent. Chime, ye dappled darlings. Through the sleet and snow. Who can over-ride you ? 35 Let the horses go ! Chime, ye dappled darlings, Down the roaring blast ; You shall see a fox die Ere an hour be past. 40 Go ! and rest to-morrow, Hunting in your dreams. While our skates are ringing O'er the frozen streams. Let the luscious South-wind 45 Breathe in lovers' sighs. While the lazy gallants Bask in ladies' eyes. What does he but soften Heart alike and pen ? 50 'Tis the hard grey weather Breeds hard English men. What's the soft South-wester ? 'Tis the ladies' breeze. Bringing home their trueloves 55 Out of all the seas : But the black North-easter, Through the snow-storm hurled. Drives our English hearts of oak Seaward round the world. 60 Come, as came our fathers. Heralded by thee, Conquering from the eastward, Lords by land and sea. Come ; and strong within us 65 Stir the Vikings' blood ; Bracing brain and sinew ; Blow, thou wind of God ! C. KiNGSLEY. 406 KINGSLEY 359 YOUNG AND OLD When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green ; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen ; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 5 And round the world away ; Young blood must have its course, lad. And every dog his daj'. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown ; 10 And all the sport is stale, lad. And all the wheels run down ; Creep home, and take your place there. The spent and maimed among : God grant you find one face there, 15 You loved when all was yoimg. C. I^NGSLEY. 360 O CAPTAIN ! ]MY CAPTAIN ! O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring, But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 6 O the bleeding drops of red ! Where on the deck my Captain lies. Fallen cold and dead. O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, 10 WHITMAN 407 For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; Here Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath your head ! It is some dream that on the deck 15 You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will ; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; 20 Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, FaUen cold and dead. Walt Whitman. ^ 361 ^-^ • Playing on the virginals, ■WTio but I ! Sae glad, sae free, Smelling for aU cordials. The green mint and marjorie i. Set among the budding broom, 6 Kingcup and daffodilly, By my side I made him room : O love my Willie ! ' Like me, love me, girl o' gowd,' Sang he to my nimble strain ; ^c Sweet his ruddy lips o'erflowed Till my heartstrings rang again ; By the broom, the bonny broom. Kingcup and daffodilly, In my heart I made him room : 15 O Jpve my Willie ! 408 INGELOW ' Pipe and play, dear heart,' sang he, ' I must go, yet pipe and play ; Soon I'll come and ask of thee For an answer yea or nay ; ' 20 And I waited till the flocks Panted in yon waters stilly, And the corn stood in the shocks : love my Willie ! I thought first when thou didst come 25 1 would wear the ring for thee, But the year told out its sum Ere again thou sat'st by me ; Thou hadst naught to ask that day By kingcup and daffodilly ; 30 I said neither yea nor nay : O love my Willie ! Jean Ingelow. 362 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE (1571) The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three ; ' Pull, if ye never pulled before ; Good ringers, pull your best,' quoth he. ' Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 5 Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe " The Brides of Enderby," Men say it was a stolen tyde — The Lord that sent it. He knows all ; But in myne ears doth still abide 10 The message that the bells let fall : And there was naught of strange, beside The flight of mews and peewits pied By millions crouched on the^bld sea wall. INGELOW 409 I sat and spun within the doore, 15 My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies ; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, 20 My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. ' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! ' calling. Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song, ' Cusha ! Cusha ! ' all along ; 25 ^Vhere tlie reedy Lindis fioweth, Floweth, fioweth, From the meads where melick groweth Faintly came her milking song. ' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! ' calling, 30 ' For the dews will soone be falling ; Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow ; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 36 Hollow, hollow ; Come uppe Jetty, rise and foUow, From the clovers lift your head ; Come uppe Wliitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 41 Jetty, to the milking shed.' If it be long, aj^e, long ago, \Mien I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, 45 Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong ; And all the aire, it seemeth mee. Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee). That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 60 And not a shadowe mote be seene. 410 INGELOW Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple towered from out the greene ; And lo ! the gi-eat bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side 55 That Saturday at eventide. The swanherds where their sedges are Moved on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre, And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; 60 Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free, The ' Brides of Mavis Enderby.' Then some looked uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows 65 To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, ' And why should this thing be ? What danger lowers by land or sea ? They ring the tune of Enderby ! 70 ' For evil news fi'om Mablethorpe, Of pyrate gallej^s warping down ; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe. They have not spared to wake the towne : But while the west bin red to see, 75 And storms be none, and pyrates flee. Why ring " The Brides of Enderby " ? ' I looked without, and lo ! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main : He raised a shout as he drew on, so Till all the welkin rang again, ' Elizabeth ! Elizabeth ! ' (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) ' The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe, 85 The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place-' INGELOW 411 He shook as one that looks on death : ' God save you, mother ! ' straight he saith ; ' \Miere is my wife, Ehzabeth ? ' 91 ' Good Sonne, where Lindis winds away, With her two bairns I marked her long ; And ere yon bells beganne to play Afar I heard her milking song.' 95 He looked across the grassy lea. To right, to left, ' Ho Enderby ! ' They rang ' The Brides of Enderby ! ' With that he cried and beat his breast ; For, lo ! along the river's bed 100 A mighty eygre reared his crest. And uppe the Lindis raging sped. It swept with thunderous noises loud ; Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, Or like a demon in a shroud. 105 And rearing Lindis backward pressed Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout — Then beaten foam flew round about — ill Then all the mighty floods were out. So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat, Before a shallow seething wave 115 Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet : The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. Upon the roofe we sate that night, 120 The noise of bells went sweeping by : I marked the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high — A lurid mark and dread to see ; And awesome bells they were to mee, 125 That in the dark rang 'Enderby,' 412 INGELOW They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; And I — my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed : 130 And yet he moaned beneath his breath, ' O come in life, or come in death ! O lost ! my love, Elizabeth.' And didst thou visit him no more ? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare ; The waters laid thee at his doore, 136 Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 140 That flow strewed wrecks about the grass. That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! To manye more than myne and mee : But each will mourn his own (she saith), 145 And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, ' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! ' calling, 150 Ere the early dews be falling ; I shall never hear her song, ' Cusha ! Cusha ! ' all along Where the suimy Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth ; 155 From the meads where melick groweth. When the water winding down. Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 160 Shiver, quiver ; Stand beside the sobbing river, Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling To the sandy lonesome shore ; INGELOW 413 I shall never hear her callinff, 165 ' Leave your meadow grasses mellow, MeUow, mellow ; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot ; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, 170 Hollow, hollow ; Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow ; Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head ; Come uppe Jetty, foUo^y, follow, 175 Jetty, to the milking shed.' Jean Ingelow. 363 / THE FORSAKEN MERMAN Come, dear children, let us away : Down and away below ! ' Now my brothers call from the bay ; Now the great winds shoreward blow ; Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 5 Now the wild white horses play. Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. Children dear, let us away ! This way, this way ! Call her once before you go. 10 Call once yet. In a voice that she will know : ' Margaret ! Margaret ! ' Cliildren's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear : 15 Children's voices, wild with pain — • Surely she Aviil come again. Call her once and come away ; This way, this way ! ' Mother dear, we cannot stay.' 20 The wild white horses foam and fret. Margaret ! Margaret ! 414 ARNOLD Come, dear children, come away down ! Call no more ! One last look at the white-walled town, 25 And the little grey church on the windy shore. Then come down. She will not come thoTigh you call all day. Come awa}^ come away ! Children dear, was it yesterday 30 We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and 'through the swell, The far-off sound of a silver bell ? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35 Wliere the winds are all asleep ; Wliere the spent lights quiver and gleam ; Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; WTiere the sea-beasts ranged all round Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground ; 40 Wliere the sea-snakes coil and twine, Dry their mall and bask in the brine ; Wliere great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, v,ith unshut ej^e, Round the world for ever and ay ? 45 When did music come this way ? Children dear, was it yesterday ? Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went avt'^ay ? Once she sate with you and me, 50 On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, When down swung the soimd of the far-off bell. She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea ; She said : ' I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 56 In the little grey church on the shore to-day. 'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me ! And I lose my poor soul. Merman, here with thee,' I said : ' Go up, dear heart, through the waves ! GO Say thy prayer, and come backto^the kind sea-caves I ' i ARNOLD 415 She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. Children dear, was it yesterday ? Children dear, were we long alone ? ' The sea grows stormy, the little ones raoan.. 65 Long prayers,' I said, ' in the world they say. Come ! ' I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down ^\Tiere the sea-stocks bloom, to the white- walled town. Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, To the little gxey church on the windy hill. 71 From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers. But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climbed on the graves, on the' stones, worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small-leaded panes. 75 She sate by the pillar ; we saw her clear : ' Margaret, hist ! come quick, we are here. Dear heart,' I said, ' we are long alone. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.' But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 For her eyes were sealed to the holy book ! Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more ! Come away, come down, call no more ! Down, down, down! 85 Down to the depths of the sea ! She sits at her wheel in the humming town. Singing most joyfully. Hark, what she sings : ' O joy, O joy, 89 For the humming street, and the child with its toy ! For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well — For the wheel where I spun. And the blessed light of the sun ! ' And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, 95 416 ARNOLD Till the shuttle falls from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks at the sand. And over the sand at the sea ; And her eyes are set in a stare ; lOO And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye. And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh ;, 105 For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, And the gleam of her golden hair. Come away, away children! Come children, come down ! The hoarse wind blows colder ; 110 Lights shhie in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door ; She will hear the winds howling. Will hear the waves roar. 115 We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Smging : ' Here came a mortal, 120 But faithless was she 1 And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea.' But, children, at midnight, When soft the winds blow, 125 When clear falls the moonlight. When spring-tides are low ; When sweet airs come seaward From heaths starred with broom, And high rocks throw mildly 130 On the blanched sands a gloom ; Up the slill, glistening beaclies, Up the creeks we will hie, ARNOLD 417 Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 We will gaze, from the sand-hills, At the white, sleeping town ; At the church on the hill-side — And then come back down. Singing : ' There dwells a loved one, 140 But cruel is she ! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea.' M. Arnold. 364 THE SONG OF CALLICLES ON ETNA Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts. Thick breaks the red flame ; All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame. Not here, O Apollo ! 5 Are haunts meet for thee. But, where Helicon breaks down In cliff to the sea, Where the moon-silver'd inlets Send far their hght voice 10 Up the still vale of Thisbe, O speed, and rejoice ! On the sward at the cliff-top Lie strewn the white flocks ; On the cUff-side the pigeons 15 Roost deep in the rocks. In the moonlight the shepherds, Soft lull'd by the rills, Lie wi-apt in their blankets, Asleep on the hills. 20 133 P 418 ARNOLD — Wliat forms are these coming So white through tlie gloom ? What garments out-gUstening The gold-flower'd broom ? Wliat sweet-breathing presence 25 Out-perfumes the thyme ? A^liat voices enrapture The night's balmy prime ? — 'Tis Apollo comes leading His choir, the Nine. 30 — The leader is fairest, But all are divine. They are lost in the hollows ! They stream up again ! What seeks on this mountain 35 The glorified train ? — They bathe on this mountain, In the spring by their road ; Then on to Olympus, Their endless abode 1 40 — "Whose praise do they mention? Of what is it told ?— What will be for ever ; What was from of old. First hymn they the Father 45 Of ail things ; — and then, The rest of immortals, The action of men. The day in his hotncss. The strife with the palm ; 50 The night in her silence, The stars in their calm. M. Arnold. ARNOLD 419 365 SHAKESPEARE Others abide our question — Thou art free ! g We ask and ask— Thou sniilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge ! So some sovran hill WTio to the stars vmcrowns his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 5 Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling- place, Spares but the border, often, of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality ; And thou, whose head did stars and sunbeams know, Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self- secure, 10 Didst walk on earth unguess'd at. — Better so ! All pains the immortal spirit must endure, All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow, Find their sole voice in that victorious brow. y' M. ARNom^ 366 ^ y A SUMMER NIGHT In the deserted moon-blanch'd street How lonely rings the echo of my feet ! Those windows, which I gaze at, frown, Silent and white, unopening down, Repellent as the world ; — but see ! 5 A break between the housetops shows The moon, and, lost behind her, fading dim Into the dewy dark obscurity Down at the far horizon's rim, Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose, lO And to my mind the thought Is on a sudden brought Of a past night, and a far different scene. Headlands stood out into the moon-lit deep As clearly as at noon ; 15 The spring-tide's brimming flow Heaved dazzhngly between ; / 420 ARNOLD Houses with long white sweep Girdled the glistening bay ; Behind, through the soft air, 20 The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away. Tliat night was far more fair — ■ But tlie same restless pacings to and fro, And the same vainly throbbing heart was there, And the same bright calm moon. 25 And the calm moonlight seems to say : Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast. Which never deadens into rest, Nor ever feels the fiery glow That zvhirls the spirit from itself away, 30 But fluctuates to and fro. Never by passion quite possess''d. And never quite benumb'd by the world's sway 'i And I, I know not if to pray Still to be what I am, or yield, and be 35 Like all the other men I see. For most men in a brazen prison live, Where in the sun's hot eye, With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly Their lives to some unmeaning taskwork give, 40 Dreaming of nought beyond their prison-wall. And as, year after year. Fresh products of their barren labour fall From their tired hands, and rest Never yet comes more near, 45 Gloom settles slowly down over their breast; And while they try to stem The waves of mournful thought by which they are prest. Death in their prison reaches them, Unfreed, having seen nothing, still unblest. 50 And the rest, a few. Escape their prison, and depart On the wide ocean of life anew. There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart Listeth, will sail ; 55 ARNOLD 421 Nor doth he know how there prevail, Despotic on that sea, Trade- winds which cross it from eternity. Awhile he holds some false way, undebarr'd By thwarting signs, and braves 60 The freshening wind and blackening waves. And then the tempest strikes him; and between The lightning- bursts is seen Only a driving wreck. And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck 65 With anguish' d face and flying hair Grasping the rudder hard, Still bent to make some port he knows not where. Still standing for some false impossible shore. And sterner comes the roar 70 Of sea and wind, and through the deepening gloom Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom, And he too disappears, and comes no more. Is there no life, but these alone ? Madman or slave, must man be one ? 75 Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain ! Clearness divine ! Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign Of languor, though so calm, and though so great Are yet untroubled and unpassionate ! 80 ^Vho, though so noble, share in the world's toil. And, though so task'd, keep free from dust and soil! I will not say that your mild deeps retain A tinge, it may be, of their silent pain Wlio have long'd deeply once, and long'd in vain ; But I will rather say that you remain 86 A world above man's head, to let him see Plow boundless might his soul's horizons be, How vast, yet of what clear transparency I How it were good to Uve there, and breathe free ! How fair a lot to fill 9) Is left to each man stilll M. Arnold. 422 ARNOLD 367 MORALITY I We cannot kindle when we will I The fire which in the heart resides, \( The spirit bloweth and is still, I In mystery our soul abides ; f But tasks in hours of insight will'd 5 Can be through hours of gloom fulfiU'd. "With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. lO Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern. Then, when the clouds are off the soul, When thou dost bask in Nature's eye, Ask, how she view'd thy self-control, 15 Thy struggling, task'd morality — Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air. Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair. And she, whose censure thou dost dread, Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek, 20 See, on her face a glow is spread, A strong emotion on her cheek ! ' Ah, child ! ' she cries. ' that strife divine. Whence was it, for it is not mine ? ' There is no effort on tny brow — 25 I do not strive, I do not weep ; I rush with the swift spheres and glow In joy, and, when I will, I sleep I Yet that se^^erc, that earnest air, I saw, I felt it once — but where ? 30 ARNOLD 423 * I knew not yet the gauge of time, Nor wore the manacles of space ; I felt it in some other chme ! I saw it in some other place ! 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, 35 And lay upon the breast of God.' M. Arnold. 368 THE FUTURE A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Time ; Brimming with wonder and joy He spreads out his arms to the light, 5 Rivets his gaze on the banks of the stream. As what he sees is, so have his thoughts been. Whether he wakes Where the snowy mountainous pass. Echoing the screams of the eagles, 10 Hems in its gorges the bed Of the new-born clear-flowing stream ; Whether he first sees light Where the river in gleaming rings Sluggishly winds through the plain ; 15 Whether in sound of the swallowing sea — As is the world on the banks. So is the mind of the man. Vainly does each as he glides Fable and dream 20 Of the lands which the river of Time Had left ere he woke on its breast, Or shall reach when his eyes have been clos'd. Only the tract where he sails He wots of ; only the thoughts, 25 Raised by the objects he passes, are his. 424 ARNOLD Who can see the green earth any more As she was by the sources of Time ? Who imagines her fields as they lay In the sunshine, unworn by the plough ? 30 Who thinks as they thought, The tribes who then roam'd on her breast, Her vigorous primitive sons ? What girl Now reads in her bosom as clear 35 As Rebekah read, when she sate At eve by the palm-shaded well ? Who guards in her breast As deep, as pellucid a spring Of feeling, as tranquil, as sure ? 40 Wliat bard. At the height of his vision, can deem Of God, of the world, of the soul, With a plainness as near, As flashing as Moses felt, 45 When he lay in the night by his flock On the starlit Arabian waste ? Can rise and obey The beck of the Spirit like him ? This tract which the river of Time 50 Now flows through with us, is the plain. Gone is the calm of its earlier shore. Border'd by cities, and hoarse With a thousand cries is its stream. . And we on its breast, our minds 55 Are confused as the cries which we hear. Changing and shot as the sights which we see. And we say that repose has fled For ever the course of the river of Time. That cities will crowd to its edge 60 In a blacker incessanter line ; That the din will be more on its banks, Denser the trade on its stream, ARNOLD 425 Flatter the plain where it flows, Fiercer the sun overhead. 65 That never will those on its breast See an ennobling sight, Drink of the feeling of quiet again. But what was before us we know not, And we know not what shall succeed. 70 Haply, the river of Time, As it grows, as the towns on its marge Fling their wavering lights On a wider, statelier stream — May acquire, if not the calm 75 Of its early mountainous shore. Yet a solemn peace of its own. And the width of the waters, the hush Of the grey expanse where he floats. Freshening its current and spotted with foam As it draws to the Ocean, maj'^ strike 81 Peace to the soijI of the man on its breast ; As the pale waste widens aroimd him — As the banks fade dimmer away — As the stars come out, and the night- wind 85 Brings up the stream Murmurs and scents of the infinite Sea. M. Arnold. 369 PHILOMELA / Hark ! ah, the nightingale ! The tawny-throated ! Hark ! from that moonlit cedar what a burst ! What triumph ! hark — what pain ! O wanderer from a Grecian shore, 5 Still, after many years, in distant lands, Still nourishing in thy bewilder'd brain That wild, unquench'd, deep - sunken, old - world pain — Say, will it never heal ? 133 Fa 426 ARNOLD And can this fragrant lawn 10 With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, And inoonshine, and the dew, To thy rack'd heart and brain Afford no balm ? 15 Dost thou to-night behold, Here, through the moonlight on this English grass. The unfriendly palace in the Thracian wild ? Dost thou again peruse With hot cheeks and sear'd eyes 20 The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's shame ? Dost thou once more assay Thy flight, and feel come over thee. Poor fugitive, the feathery change Once more, and once more seem to make resound With love and hate, triumph and agony, 26 Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian vale ? Listen, Eugenia — How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves ! Again — thou hearest ? 30 Eternal passion ! Eternal pain ! M. Arnold. / 370 REQUIESCAT Strew on her roses, roses. And never a spray of yew. In quiet she reposes ; Ah i would that I did too. Her mirth the world required ; She bathed it in smiles of glee. But her heart was tired, tired, And now they let her be. ARNOLD 427 Her life was turning, turning. In mazes of heat and sound ; lO But for peace her soul was yearning, And now peace laps her roimd. Her cabin'd, ample spirit, It fluttered and fail'd for breath ; To-night it doth inherit 15 The vasty hall of death. M. Arnold. 371 / THE SCHOLAR GIPSY / ' There was very lately a lad in the University of Oxford, who was by his poverty forced to leave his studies there ; and at last to join himself to a company of vagabond gipsies. Among these extravagant people, by the insinuating subtilty of his carriage, he quickly got so much of their love and esteem as that they discovered to him their mystery. A fter he had been a pretty while well exercised in the trade, there chanced to ride by a couple of scholars, who had formerly been of his acquaintaDce. They quickly spied out their old friend among the gipsies ; and he gave them an account of the necessity which drove him to that kind of life, and told them that the people he went with were not such impostors as they were taken for, but that they had a traditional kind of learning among them, and could do wonders by the power of imagination, tlieJT fancy binding that of others : that himself had learned much of their art, and when he had compassed the whole secret, he intended, he said, to leave their company, and give the world an account of what he had learned.' — Glanvil's Vanity oj^ Dogmatizing, 1661. Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill ! Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes ! No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed. Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats, Nor the cropp'd grasses shoot another head ! But when the fields are still, 6 And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest, And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanch' d green, Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest! le 428 ARNOLD Here, where the reaper was at work of late — In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse, And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves, Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use — 15 Here will I sit and wait. While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, With distant cries of reapers in the corn — All the live murmur of a summer's day. 20 Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field, And here till sun -down, shepherd, will I be ! Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep. And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see Pale blue convohoilus in tendrils creep ; '25 And air-swept lindens yield Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid. And bower me from the August sun with shade; And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book — Come, let me read the oft-read tale again 1 32 The story of that Oxford scholar poor, Of shining parts and quick inventive brain, Who, tired of knocking at preferment's door, One summer morn forsook His friends, and went to learn the gipsy lore. And roam'd the world with that wild brother- hood, 38 And came, as most men deem'd, to little good, But came to Oxford and Ills friends no more. But once, years after, in the country-lanes, Two scholars whom at college erst he knew • Met him, and of his way of life inquir'd. 43 ARNOLD 429 Whereat he answer'd, that the gipsy crew, His mates, had arts to rule as they desired The workings of men's brains ; 46 And they can Bind them to what thoughts they will. ' And I,' he said, ' the secret of their art, When fully learn'd, will to the world impart ; But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill ! ' This said, he left them, and return'd no more. — But rumours hung about the country-side 62 That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray, Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied, In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey. The same the gipsies wore. 56 Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring ; At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors, On the warm ingle-bench, the smock-frock'd boors Had found him seated at their entering, 60 But, mid their drink and clatter, he would fly ; — And I myself seem half to know thy looks. And put the shepherds, wanderer, on thy trace; And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast pass'd their quiet place ; Or in my boat I lie 66 Moor'd to the cool bank in the summer heats. Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. And watch the warm green-muffJedCumner hills. And wonder if thou haunt' st their shy retreats. For most, I know, thou Iflv'st retired ground 1 71 Thee, at the ferry, Oxford riders blithe, Returning home on summer nights, have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Babiock-hithe, Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet. As the punt's rope chops round ; 76 And leaning backward in a pensive dream. And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers. And tliine eyes resting on the moonlit stream'I 430 ARNOLD And then they land, and thou art seen no more ! Maidens who from the distant hamlets come To dance aromid the Fyfield elm in May, Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam, Or cross a stile into the public way. 85 Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers — the frail-leaf'd, white anemone, Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves. And purple orchises with spotted leaves — But none has words she can report of thee, 90 And, above Godstow Bridge, when liay-time 's here In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames, Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Wliere black -wing'd swallows haunt the glittering Thames, To bathe in the abandon'd lasher pass, 95 Have often pass'd thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown ; Mark'd thine outlandish garb, thy figure spare, Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air — But, when they came from bathing, thou wert gone ! 100 At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills, Where at her open door the housewife darns. Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate To watch the thresheus in the mossy bams. Children, who early range these slopes and late For cresses from the rills, 106 Have known thee watching, all an April day. The springing pastures and the feeding kine ; And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine. Through the long dewy grass move slow away. In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley-wood, ill Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked ten ts, and every bush you see ARNOLD 431 With scarlet patches tagg'd and shreds of grey, Above the forest-ground call'd Thessaly — The blackbird picking food lis Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all ! So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt, twirhng in thy hand a wither'd spray, And waiting for the spark from Heaven to fall. And once, in winter, on the causeway chill 121 Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go. Have I not pass'd thee on the wooden bridge Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow, Thy face toward Hinksey and its wintry ridge ? And thou hast climb'd the hill 126 i\nd gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range ; Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snoAvflakes fall, The line of festal hght in Christ-Church hall — Then sought thy straw in some sequester' d grange. 130 But what — I dream I Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls. And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe That thou wert wander' d from the studious walls To learn strange arts, and join a gipsy tribe. And thou from earth art gone 136 Long since, and in some quiet churchyard laid ! Some country nook, where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white flowering nettles wave — Under a dark red-fruited yew-tree's shade. 140 — No, no, thou hast not felt the lapse of hours ! For what wears out the life of m.ortal men ? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls ; 'Tis that repeated shocks, again, again. Exhaust the energy of strongest souls, 145 432 ARNOLD And numb the elastic powers. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen, And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit, To the just-pausing Genius we remit 149 Our well-worn life, and are — what we have been ! Thou hast not lived, why should'st thou perish, so ? Thou hadst owe aim, one business, one desire ! Else wert thou long since number' d with the dead — Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire ! The generations of thy peers are fled, 155 And we ourselves shall go ; But thou possessest an immortal lot, And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page, Because thou hadst — what we, alas, have not ! For early didst thou leave the world, with powers Fresh, undiverted to the world without, 162 Firm to their mark, not spent on other things ; Free from the sick fatigue, the languid doubt. Which much to have tried, in much been baffled, brings. O life unlike to ours ! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope, 167 Of whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives, And each half lives a hundred different lives ; Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope. 170 Thou waitest for the spark from Heaven : and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds. Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will'd. Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, - Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill' d ; 175 For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new ; Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day — Ah, do not we, wanderer, await it too ? 180 ARNOLD 433 Yes ! we await it, but it still delays, And then we suffer ! and amongst us one. Who most has suffer'd, takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne ; And aU his store of sad experience he 185 Lays bare of wretched days ; Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs, And how the dying spark of hope was fed. And how the breast was soothed, and how the head, * And all his hourly varied anodynes. 190 This for our wisest ! and we others pine, And wish the long imhappy dream would end, And waive all claim to bliss, and try to bear. With close-lipp'd patience for our only friend. Sad patience, too near neighbour to despair ; But none has hope like thine ! 196 Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray. Roaming the country-side, a truant boy, Nursing thy project in unclouded joy. And every doubt long blown by time away. 200 O bom in daj'^s when wits were fresh and clear, And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames ; Before this strange disease of modern life. With its sick hurry, its divided aims. Its heads o'ertax'd, its palsied hearts, was rife — Fly hence, our contact fear ! 206 Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood ! Averse, as Dido did with gesture stern From her false friend's approach in Hades turn. Wave us away, and keep thy solitude ! 2]0 Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade. With a free onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silver'd branches of the glade — Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue, On some mild pastoral slope 21 6 434 ARNOLD Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales, Freshen thy flowers, as in former years, With dew, or hsten with enchanted ears. From the dark dingles, to the nightingales ! But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly ! 221 For strong the infection of our mental strife, Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest ; And we should win thee from thy own fair life. Like us distracted, and lilce us unblestl 225 Soon, soon thy cheer would die. Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix'd thy powers. And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made ; And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours. Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles ! — As some grave Ty^^^i trader, from the sea, Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the oool-hair'd creepers stealthily. The fringes of a southward-facing brow 235 Among the Aegean isles ; And saw the merry Grecian coaster come. Freighted v/ith amber grapes, and Chian wine. Green bursting figs, and tunnies steep'd in brine ; 239 And knew the intruders on his ancient home. The young light-hearted masters of the waves ; And snatch'd his rudder, and shook out more sail, And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale. Betwixt the Sj^rtes and soft Sicily, 245 To where the Atlantic raves Outside the western straits, and unbent sails There, where down cloudy cliffs, through siieets of foam. Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come ; And on the beach undid his corded bales. 250 M. Arnold. A-' / ARNOLD 435 372 RUGBY CHAPEL November, 1857 Coldly, sadly descends The autumn evening ! The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of viither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, 5 Silent ; — hardly a shout From a few boys late at their play ! The lights come out in the street. In the school-room windows ; but cold, Solemn, vmlighted, austere, 10 Through the gathering darkness, arise The chapel-walls, in whose bound Thou, my father ! art laid. There thou dost lie, in the gloom Of the autunm evening. But ah ! 15 That word, gloom, to my mind Brings thee back in the light Of thy radiant vigour again ! In the gloom of November we pass'd Days not of gloom at thy side ; 20 Seasons impair'd not the ray Of thine even cheerfulness clear. Such thou wast ! and I stand In the autmnn evening, and think "Of bygone autumns with thee. 25 Fifteen years have gone round Since thou arosest to tread. In the summer morning, the road Of death, at a call unforeseen, Sudden ! For fifteen years, 30 We who till then in thy shade Rested as under the boughs Of a mighty oak, have endured Sunshine and rain as we might, 436 ARNOLD Bare, unshaded, alone, 35 Lacking the shelter of thee ! () strong soul, by what shore Tarriest thou now ? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain ! Somewhere, surely, afar, 40 In the sounding labour-house vast Of being, is practised that strength, Zealous, beneficent, firm 1 Yes, in some far-shining sphere, Conscious or not of the past, 45 Still thou performest the word Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live — Prompt, unwearied, as here ! Still thou upraisest with zeal The humble good from the ground, 50 Sternly repressest the bad ! Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse Those who with half-open eyes Tread the border-land dim 'Twixt vice and virtue ; reviv'st, 55 Succourest ! — this was thy work. This was thy life upon earth. What is the course of the life Of mortal men on the earth ? — Most men eddy about 60 Here and there — eat and drink, Chatter and love and hate. Gather and squander, are raised Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust. Striving blindly, Tichieving 65 Nothing ; and then they die — Perish ! and no one asks Who or what they have been. More than he asks what waves. In the moonlit solitudes mild 70 Of the midmost Ocean, have swell'd, Foam'd for a moment, and gone. ARNOLD 437 Aiid there are some, whom a thirst Ardent, unquenchable, fires, Not with the crowd to be spent — V5 Not without aim to go round In an eddy of purposeless dust, Effort unmeaning and vain. Ah yes, some of us strive Not without action to die 80 Fruitless, but something to snatch From dull oblivion, nor all Glut the devouring grave ! We, we have chosen our path — Path to a clear-purposed goal, 85 Path of advance ! — but it leads A long, steep journey, through sunk Gorges, o'er mountains in snow ! Cheerful, with friends, we set forth — Then, on the height, comes the storm ! 90 Thunder crashes from rock To rock, the cataracts reply ; Lightnings dazzle our eyes ; Roaring torrents have breach'd The track — the stream-bed descends 95 In the place where the wayfarer once Planted his footstep — the spray Boils o'er its borders ! aloft. The unseen snow-beds dislodge Their hanging ruin ; — alas, 100 Havoc is made in our train ! Friends who set forth at our side Falter, are lost in the storm ! We, we only, are left ! With frowning foreheads, with lips 105 Sternly compress'd, we strain on, On — and at nightfall, at last. Come to the end of our way. To the lonely inn 'mid the rocks ; Wliere the gaunt and taciturn host HO Stands on the thresliold, tiie wind Shaking his thin wliite hairs — 438 ARNOLD Holds Iiis lantern to scan Our storm-beat figures, and asks : ^Vliom in our party we bring ? 115 Whom we have left in the snow ? Sadly we answer : We bring Only ourselves ! we lost Sight of the rest in the storm ! Hardly ourselves we fought through, l'20 Stripp'd, without friends, as we are ! Friends, companions, and train The avalanche sw^ept from our side. But thou would'st not alone Be saved, my father ! alone 125 Conquer and come to thy goal, Leaving the rest in the wild. We were weary, and we Fearful, and we, in our march. Fain to drop down and to die. 130 Still thou turnedst, and still Beekonedst the trembler, and still Gavest the weary thy hand ! If, in the paths of the world. Stones might have wounded thy feet, 135 Toil or dejection have tried Thy spirit, of that we saw Nothing ! to us thou wert still Cheerful, and helpful, and firm. Therefore to thee it was given 140 Many to save with thyself ; And, at the end of thy day, O faithful shepherd ! to come, Bringing thy sheep in thy hand. And through thee I believe 145 In the noble and great who are gone ; Pure souls honour'd and blest By former ages, who else — Such, so soulless, so poor. Is the race of men whom I see — 150 ARNOLD 439 Seem'd but a dream of the heart, Seem'd but a cry of desire. Yes 1 I beheve that there hved Others like thee in the past, Not Hke the men of the crowd 155 \\Tio all round me to-day Bluster or cringe, and malce life Hideous, and arid, and vile ; But souls temper'd with fire. Fervent, heroic, and good, 160 Helpers and friends of mankind. Servants of God ! — or sons Shall I not call you ? because Not as servants ye knew Your Father's innermost mind, 165 His, who unwillingly sees One of his little ones lost— Yours is the praise, if mankind Hath not as yet m its march Fainted, and fallen, and died ! 170 See ! in the rocks of the world Marches the host of mankind, A feeble, wavering line ! Where are they tending ? — A God Marshall'd them, gave them their goal. — Ah, but the way is so long ! 176 Years they have been in the wild ! Sore thirst plagues them ; the rocks, Rising all round, overawe. Factions divide them — their host 180 Threatens to break, to dissolve. — Ah, keep, keep them combined ! Else, of the myriads who fill That army, not one shall arrive ! Sole they shall stray ; in the rocks 185 Labour for ever in vain, Die one by one in the waste. 440 CORY Then, in such hour of need Of your fainting, dispirited race, Ye, like angels, appear, 190 i Radiant with ardour divine. fi Beacons of hope, ye appear ! Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word, ^ Weariness not on your brow. 195 Ye alight in our van ! at your voice, Panic, despair, flee away. Ye move through the ranks, recall The stragglers, refresh the outworn, Praise, re-inspire the brave ! 200 < Order, courage, return. • Eyes rekindling, and prayers, Follow your steps as ye go. ^e till up the gaps in our files. Strengthen the wavering line, 205 Stablish, continue our march, On, to the bound of the waste. On, to the City of God ! M. Arnold. 373 MiaiNERMUS IN CHURCH You promise heavens free from strife, Pure truth, and perfect change of will ; But sweet, sweet is this human life. So sweet, I fain would breathe it still ; Your chilly stars I can forgo, 5 This warm kind world is all I know. You say there is no substance here, One great reality above : Back from that void I shrink in fear, And childlike hide myself in love : 10 Show me what angels feel. Till then, I cling, a mere weak man, to men. CORY 441 You bid me lift my mean desires From faltering lips and fitful veins To sexless souls, ideal quires, 15 Unwearied voices, wordless strains : My mind with fonder welcome owns One dear dead friend's remembered tones. Forsooth the present we must give To that which cannot pass away ; 20 All beauteous things for which we live By laws of time and space decay. But oh, the very reason why I clasp them, is because they die. . W. J. Cory. / 374 / HERACLITUS / They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead, They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I ViCpt, as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. 4 And now that thou art lying;, my dear old Carian guest , A handful of grey ashes, long long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. W. J. Cory. 375 ML'VTURUS Somewhere beneath the sun, These quivering heart-strings prove it, Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul, to move it ; Some one that hides her sweetness 5 From neighbours whom she slights, Nor can attain completeness. Nor give her heart its rights ; Some one whom I could court With no great change of manner, lo 442 CORY Still holding reason's fort, Though waving fancy's banner ; A lady, not so queenly As to disdain my hand, Yet born to smile serenely 15 Like those that rule the land ; Noble, but not too proud ; With soft hair simply folded. And bright face crescent-browed, And throat by Muses moulded ; 20 And eyelids lightly falling On little glistening seas, Deep-calm, when gales are brawling. Though stirred by every breeze : Swift voice, like flight of dove 25 Through minster arches floating, With sudden turns, when love Gets overnear to doting ; Keen lips, that shape soft sayings Like crystals of the snow, 30 With pretty half-betrayings Of things one may not know ; Fair hand, whose Jouches thrill, Like golden rod of wonder, VMiich Hermes wields at will 35 Spirit and flesh to sunder ; Light foot, to press the stirrup In fearlessness and glee, Or dance, till finches chirrup, And stars sink to the sea. 40 Forth, Love, and find this maid, Wherever she be hidden : Speak, Love, be not afraid, But plead as thou art bidden ; And say, that lie who taught thee 45 His yearning want and pain. Too dearly, dearly bought thee To part with thee in vain. W. J. Cory. PATMORE 443 376 THE MARRIED LOVER Why, having won her, do I woo ? Because her spirit's vestal grace Provokes me always to pursue. But, spirit-Hke, eludes embrace ; Because her womanhood is such 5 That, as on court-days subjects kiss The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch Affirms no mean familiarness ; Nay, rather ijiarks more fair the height Which can with safety so neglect 10 To dread, as lower ladies might, That grace could meet with disrespect ; Thus she with happy favour feeds Allegiance from a love so high That thence no false conceit proceeds 15 Of difference bridged, or state put by ; Because, although in act and word As lowly as a wife can be, Her manners, when they call me lord. Remind me 'tis by courtesy ; 20 Not with her least consent of will. Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the noble style that still Imputes an luiattain'd desert ; Because her gay and lofty brows, 25 When all is won which hope can ask. Reflect a light of hopeless snows That bright in virgin ether bask ; Because, though free of the outer court I am, this Temple keeps its shrine 30 Sacred to Heaven ; because, in short. She's not and never can be mine. C. Patmore. 444 PATMORE / 377 THE TOYS My little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, I struck him, and dismiss'd With hard words and unkiss'd, 5 — His Mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, But found him slumbering deep. With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet 10 From his late sobbing wet.. And I, with moan, Kissing away his tears, left others of my own ; For, on a table drawn beside his head, He had put, within his reach, 15 A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone, A piece of glass abraded by the beach, And six or seven shells, A bottle with bluebells. And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art, ■ 20 To comfort his sad heart. So when that night I pray'd To God, I wept, and said : Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath. Not vexing Thee in death, 25 And Thou rememberest of what toys We made our joys, How weakly understood Thy great commanded good. Then, fatherly not less 30 Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, ' I will be sorry for their childishness.' /■ C. PatmomT. '/ DOBELL 445 378 KEITH OF RAVELSTON The murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, ' Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line ! ' Ravelston, Ravelston, 5 The merry path that leads Down the golden morning hill, And thro' the silver meads ; Ravelston, Ravelston, The stile beneath the tree, 10 The maid that kept her mother's kine, The song that sang she ! She sang her song, she kept her kine, She sat beneath the thorn, "S'NTien Andrew Keith of Ravelston 15 Rode thro' the Monday morn. His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, His belted jewels shine ! Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line ! 20 Year after year, where Andrew came. Comes evening down the glade, And still there sits a moonshine ghost Where sat the sunshine maid. Her misty hair is faint and fair, 23 She keeps the shadowy kine ; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line ! I lay my hand upon the stile, The stile is lone and cold ; 30 The burnie that goes babbling by Says naught that can be told. 446 DOBELL Yet, stranger ! here, from year to year. She keeps her shadowy kine ; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, 35 The sorrows of thy Une ! Step out three steps, where Andrew stood — Why blanch thy cheeks for fear ? The ancient stile is not alone, 'Tis not the burn I hear ! 40 She makes her immemorial moan, She keeps her shadowy kine ; Oh, Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line ! S. DOBELL. 379 THE BLESSED DAMOZEL The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven ; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even ; She had three lilies in her hand, 5 And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn. But a white rose of Mary's gift. For service meetly worn ; 10 Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe corn. Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers ; The wonder was not yet quite gone 15 From that still look of hers ; Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. (To one, it is ten years of years. . . Yet now, and in this place, 20 D. G. ROSSETTI 447 Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair Fell all about my face . . . Nothing : the autumn fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace.) It was the rampart of God's house 25 That she was standing on ; By God built over the sheer depth The which is Space begun ; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun. 30 It lies in Heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth 35 Spins like a fretful midge. Heard hardly, some of her new friends Amid their loving games Spake evermore among themselves Their virginal chaste names ; 40 And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm ; Until her bosom must have made 45 The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce 50 Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce Its path ; and now she spoke as when The stars sang in their spheres. The sun was gone now ; the curled moon 55 Was like a httle feather 448 D. G. ROSSETTI Fluttering far down the guH ; and now She spoke through the still weather. Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together. co (Ah sweet ! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there, Fain to be hearkened ? When those bells Possessed the mid-day air, Strove not her steps to reach my side 65 Down all the echoing stair ?) ' I wish that he were come to me, For he will come,' she said. ' Have I not prayed in Heaven ? — on earth, Lord, Lord, has he not prayed ? 70 Are not two prayers a perfect strength ? And shall I feel afraid ? ' When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him 75 To the deep wells of light ; We will step down as to a stream. And bathe there in God's sight. ' We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, 80 Whose lamps are stirred continually With praj^er sent up to God ; And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud. ' We two will lie i' the shadow of 85 That living mystic tree. Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His Name audibly. 90 * And I myself will teach to him, I myself, lying so, The songs I sing here ; which his voice Shall pause hi, hushed and slow, D. G, ROSSETTI 449 And find some knowledge at each pause, 95 Or some new thing to know.' (Alas ! We two, we two, thou say 'st 1 Yea, one wast 'thou with me That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity lOO The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee ?) * W^e two,' she said, * will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names 105 Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys. * Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded ; 110 Into the fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread, To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead. * He shall fear, haply, and be dumb : 115 Then will I lay my cheek To his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak : And the dear Mother will approve My pride, and let me speak. 120 ' Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To Him round whom all souls Kneel, the clear-ranged imnumbered heads Bowed with their aureoles : And angels meeting us shall sing 125 To their citherns and citoles. ' There wiU I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me : — Only to live as once on earth With Love. — only to be, 130 As then awhile, for ever now Together, I and he.' 133 Q 450 D. G. ROSSETTI She gazed and listened and then said, Less sad of speech than mild, — ' All this is when he comes.' She ceased. 136 The light thrilled towards her, filled With angels in strong level flight. Her eyes prayed, and she smiled^ (I saw her smile.) But soon their path Was vague in distant spheres : 140 And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. And laid her face between her hands, And wept. (I heard her tears.) D. G. ROSSETTI. / 380 REST O Earth, lie Jieavily upon her eyes ; Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth ; Lie close around her ; leave no room for mirth With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. She hath no questions, she hath no replies, 5 Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth Of all that irked her from the hour of birth ; With stillness that is almost Paradise. Darkness more clear than noon-day holdeth her. Silence more musical than any song ; 10 Even her very heart has ceased to stir : Until the morning of Eternity Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be ; And when she wakes she will not think it long. C. G. ROSSETTI. 381 SONG When I am dead, my dearest. Sing no sad songs for me ; Plant thou no roses at my head. Nor shady cypress tree : C, G. ROSSETTI 451 Be the green grass above me 5 With showers and dewdrops wet ; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain ; 10 I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain ; And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, 15 And haply may forget. C. G. ROSSETTI. 382 REMEMBER / Remember me when I am gone away. Gone far away into the silent land ; When you can no more hold me by the hand. Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day 5 You teU me of our future that you planned : Only remember me ; you understand It will be late to coimsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve : 10 For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had. Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you shovild remember and be sad. C. G. ROSSETTI. 383 UP-HILL / / Does the road wind up-hill all the way ? ^■ Yes, to the very end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day ? From morn to night, my friend. 452 C. G. ROSSETTI But is there for the night a resting-place ? 5 A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face ? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? Those who have gone before. lo Then must I knock, or call when just in sight ? They will not keep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? Of labour you shall find the sum. Willtliere be beds for me and all wh o seek? 15 "^e a,^5e d s for alF who come. C. G. ROSSETTI. 384 SONG Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime ; But pluck an i^^ branch for me Grown old before my time. Oh violets for the grave of youth, 5 And bay for those dead in their prime ; Give me the withered leaves I chose Before in the old time. C. G. ROSSETTI. .38.5 A BIRTHDAY My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a watered shoot ; My heart is hkc an appletree Whose boughs are bent with thickset fniit ; My heart is like a rainbow shell £ That paddles in a halcyon sea ; My heart is gladder than all these Because my love is come to me. SMITH 453 Raise me a dais of silk and down ; Hang it with vair and purple dyes ; 10 Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes ; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys 5 Because the birthday of my life 15 Is come, my love is come to me. C. G. ROSSETTI. 388 BARBARA On the Sabbath-day, Through the churchyard old and grey, Over the crisp and yellow leaves, I held my rustling way ; And amid the words of mercy, falling on my soul like bahns, 'IVIid the gorgeous storms of music — in the mellow organ-calms, 5 'Mid the upward-streaming prayers, and the rich and solenrn psalms, I stood careless, Barbarac My heart was otherwhere While the organ shook the air, And the priest, with outspread hands, blessed the people with a prayer ; 10 But, when rising to go homeward, with a mild and saint-like shine Gleamed a face of airy beauty with its heavenly eyes on mine — Gleamed and vanished in a moment — O that face was surely thine Out of heaven, Barbara ! O pallid, pallid face I 15 O earnest eyes of grace ! When last I saw thee, dearest, it was in another place. 454 SMITH You came running forth to meet me with my love-gift on your wrist : The flutter of a long wliite dress, then all was lost in mist — 19 A purple stain of agony was on the mouth I kissed, That wild morning, Barbara. I searched, in my despair. Sunny noon and midnight air ; I could not drive away the thought that you were lingering there. many and many a winter night I sat when you were gone, 25 My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire alone — Within the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing on your stone, You were sleeping, Barbara. 'Mong angels, do you think Of the precious golden link ' 30 1 clasped around your happy arm while sitting by yon brink ? Or when that night of gliding dance, of laughter and guitars, Was emptied of its music, and we watched, through latticed bars. The silent midnight heaven creeping o'er us with its stars. Till the day broke, Barbara ? 35 In the years I've changed ; Wild and far my heart hath ranged. And many sins and errors now have been on me avenged ; But to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I lacked : I loved you, and above my life still hangs that love intact — id Your love the trembling rainbow, I the reckless cataract — StiU I love you, Barbara. SMITH 455 Yet, love, I am unblest ; With many doubts opprest, a I wander like a desert wind, without a place of rest. Could I but win you for an hour from off that starry shore, The hunger of my soul were stilled, for Death hath told you more Than the melancholy world doth know ; things deeper than all lore You could teach me. Barbara. In vain, in vain, in vain, 50 You will never come again. There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe of rain : The gloaming closes slowly round, loud winds are in the tree, Round selfish shores for ever moans the hurt and wounded sea, There is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death and thee, 55 Barbara I A. Smith. 387 OLD LOVE ' You must be very old. Sir Giles,' I said ; he said : ' Yea, very old t ' WTiereat the mournfuUest of smiles Creased his dry skin v.ith many a fold. * They hammer'd out my basnet point 5 Into a round salade,' he said, ' The basnet being quite out of joint, Natheless the salade rasps my head.' He gazed at the great fire awhile ; • And you are getting old, Sir .John ; ' lO (He said this with that cunning smile That was most sad ;) ' we both wear on. 456 MORRIS * Knights come to court and look at me. With eyebrows up, except my lord, And my dear lady, none 1 see 16 That know the ways of my old sword.' (My lady ! at that word no pang Stopp'd all mj'^ blood.) * But tell me, John, Is it quite true that pagans hang So thick about the east, that on 20 ■ The eastern sea no Venice flag Can fly unpaid for ? ' ' True,' I said, * And in such w^ay the miscreants drag Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread * That Constantine must fall this year.' 25 Within my heart : * These things are small ; This is not small, that things outwear I thought were made for ever, yea, all, * AH things go soon or late ; ' I said — I saw the duke in court next day ; 30 Just as before, his grand great head Above his gold robes dreaming lay, Only his face was paler ; there I saw his duchess sit by him ; And she — she was changed more ; her hair 35 Before my eyes that used to swim. And make me dizzy with great bliss Once, when I used to watch her sit — Her hair is bright still, yet it is As though some dust were thrown on it. 4,0 H After he came in here ; I cut away the cord From the neck of my brother dear. He did not strike one blow, For the recreants came behind, 20 In a place where the hornbeams grow, A path right hard to find, For the hornbeam boughs swing so, That the twilight makes it blind. They lighted a great torch then, 25 When his arms were pinion'd fast, Sir John the knight of the Fen, Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast, With knights threescore and ten. Hung brave Lord Hugh at last. 30 I am threescore and ten. And my hair is all turn'd grey, But I met Sir John of the Fen Long ago on a summer day, 34 And am glad to think of the moment when I took his life away. I am threescore and ten, And my strength is mostly pass'd, But long ago I and my men, v\Tien the sky was overcast, 40 And the smoke roU'd over the reeds of the fen, Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast. And now. knights all of you, I pray you pray for Sir Hugh, A good knight and a true, 45 And lor Alice his wife, pray too. W Morris. MORRIS 459 THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS Had she come all the way for this, To part at last without a kiss ? Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain That her own eyes might see him slain Beside the haystack in the floods ? 5 Along the dripping leafless woods. The stirrup touching either shoe, She rode astride as troopers do ; With kirtle kilted to her knee. To which the mud splash' d wretchedly ; lo And the wet dripp'd from every tree Upon her head and heavy hair. And on her eyelids broad and fair ; The tears and rain ran down her face. By fits and starts they rode apace, 15 And very often was his place Far off from her ; he had to ride Ahead, to see what might betide When the roads cross'd ; and sometimes, when There rose a murmuring from his men, 20 Had to turn back with promises ; Ah me ! she had but little ease ; And often for pure doubt and dread She sobb'd, made giddy in the head By the swift riding ; while, for cold, 25 Her slender fingers scarce could hold The wet reins ; yea, and scarcely, too. She felt the foot within her shoe Against the stirrup : ail for this, To part at last without a kiss 30 Beside the haystack in the floods. For when they near'd that old soak'd hay. They saw across the only way That Judas, Godmar, and the three Red rxinning lions dismally 36 460 MORRIS Grinn'd from his pennon, under which, In one straight line along the ditch, They counted thirty heads. So then, While Robert turn'd round to his men, She saw at once the -wretched end, 4