EVENING. Front. POETRY: SELECTED Jfatmlus, THE MOST APPROVED AUTHORS, ANCIENT & MODERN. BY ANNE BOWMAN, AUTHOR OP "ESPERAN-ZA," ETC. ETC. "Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose." A NEW EDITION. LONDON: G. ROUTLEDGE AND CO. FARRINGDON STREET. KEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET. 1857. PREFACE. THERE are certainly many " Books of Poetry" already before the world ; but the taste of the public is fastidious or capricious : no one volume has ever won universal suffrage, and there still exists a " longing after something unpossessed." It is this unsatisfied craving which en- courages me to cast another little book on the waters. Fifty years ago, " Aikin's Poetry" stood unrivalled as a simple, pure, and elegant selection of pieces adapted for youthful minds. But the rapid progress of education in the last half-century has rendered a higher standard of poetry requisite even in the schoolroom ; and the school- boy, whose father wept over " The Beggar Man," and enjoyed the mingled humour and pathos of the " Mouse's Petition," repeats with delight the bold lyrics of Camp- bell, or aspires to emulate the glorious lays of Macaulay. The 19th century has been rich in poetic genius; the discoveries of science, the wide diffusion of useful know- ledge, have failed to quench the pure and ennobling flame of poetry. A long catalogue of immortal names Byron, 1C o J'V.n i~if\ OcWO f\J IV PREFACE. Scott, "Wordsworth, Shelley, Tennyson, &c. &c. may well form an excuse for remodelling the school-poetry of the day j for mingling with the amaranthine wreath of the elder poets a few of the gorgeous flowers of modern In my pleasant task, it has been my earnest intent to fulfil an important duty; the most splendid passages have been rejected, which might tend to sully the niind, or develop the latent seeds of evil passions ; and I venture to hope my little manual may excite emulation, form the taste, and foster noble and generous feelings, while it inculcates the pure spirit of morality and piety. A. B. INDEX. Mariana Tennyson Page 1 Patriotism Scott 4 | Age and Youth Southey 5 The Waterfowl Bryant 6 Ye Mariners of England Campbell 8 | The Burial of Sir John Moore "... Wolfe 10 | Lines written in Richmond Churchyard. . Herbert Knowles .... 11 The Cuckoo Logan 14 Wolsey's Advice to prom well Shakspeare 15 The Crucifixion M'dman 16 Eve's Lament on her Expulsion Milton 18 The Ocean Byron 19 The Palace of Ice Coieper 20 The Daisy James Montgomery . . 22 The Garden Shelley 24 How Sleep the Brave Collins 25 Insects Barbauld 2G The Reaper and the Flowers Longfellow 2S The Sabbath Hoir 29 The Homes of England He/nans 30 The "War-horse Drydcn's Virgil .... 31 The Lion Young 32 The Winter Night Shelley 33 The Shepherd and the Philosopher (Jay 34 VI INDEX. j Hohenlinden Campbell Page 37 The Deserted Village Goldsmith 38 To the Grasshopper Cowley 40 Prayer Johnson 41 Rome Byron 42 Lines written in Early Spring Words-worth 43 Restoration of Jerusalem Pope 45 I The Diffusion of Christianity ffeber 46 Scotland Leyden 47 The Melodies of Morning Beattie . . . . , 48 The Peaceful Garden From the German . . 49 The Snow-storm Tfiomson 50 The Firmament Habington 52 The Hour of Prayer Hemans 53 The Last Day Scott 54 Sleep Shakspeare 54 The Wreck of the Hesperus Longfellow 56 Hassan ; or, the Camel-driver Collins 60 April Warton 62 TomyMother Henry Kirlce While. . 63 The Frozen Shower Ambrose Philips .... 64 The Bee Souihey 65 The Destruction of Sennacherib Byron 66 Time Scott 67 Egypt R. Montgomery .... 68 Night Yowng 69 I The Battle of Blenheim SoutJiey 70 The Vanity of Greatness Sliirley 73 The Vanity of Human Wishes ........ Johnson 74 A Summer Evening Gilbert WJtite 75 Providence Addison 77 f We are Seven Wordsworth 78 The Dying Christian to his Soul Pope 81 INDEX. VII The Murdered Traveller Bryant Page 82 Home /. Montgomery .... 84 Sunrise on Westminster Bridge Wordsworth 85 The Cloud Shelley 86 Spring Showers Thomson 88 The Swiss Peasant Goldsmith 89 Evening Collins 91 The Turkey and the Ant Gay 92 The Moon Pope 93 Memories of Youth Rogers 94 Jerusalem Heber 96 To Blossoms Hcrrick 97 The Schoolmistress Shenstone 98 Charity Prior 99 Morning Milton 100 Sabbath Morning Grahams 101 The Banks of Ayr Burns 102 Lochiel's Warning Campbell 104 The Life of Man King 107 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns Longfellow 108 Birds Earbauld 110 Evening Byron 112 The Happy Man Dryden 113 The Alp-hunter Bulwer 114 The Favour of Princes Shakspeare *. 116 Sunshine after a Shower Warton 117 Qn a Distant Prospect of Eton College . . Gray 118 War for Liberty Addison 120 Flowers Milton 121 England Hervey 122 The Battle of Waterloo Byron 124 Evening Anon , 127 Mountain Scenery Scott 128 Vlll INDEX. The Emigrant's Sacred Song Marvel Page 130 Approach of Spring Careio 131 The Captive Jews in Babylon 132 The Moon Wordsworth 133 Grongar Hill Dyer 134 What of the Night ? Anon 136 Spring Earl of Surrey 137 Coronach Scott 13S Returning Spring Shelley 13D The Beleaguered City Longfellow 140 First Sounds in Eden Hartley Coleridge .. 142 Lines on Hearing a Thrush Bums 143 The Wonders of the Creation Pope 144 A Churchyard Dream 146 I Night Southey 148 The Vanity of State Massinger 149 The Last Day of Autumn Bryant 150 Virtue Herbert 151 The Fall of Poland Campbell 152 Midnight in a Wood Home 153 War Hannah Move 154 Schoolboy Recollections Cowper 155 The Marigold Wither 156 Trees Coioky 157 Happiness . .*. Goldsmith 158 Pastoral Song Kirkc White 158 Paul and Silas Mrs. Jley 160 Flowers Pickeriny 162 The Progress of Knowledge Pope 164 The Beauties of Spring Ben Jonson 165 The Alps at Daybreak Rogers 166 The Dirge of the Year SJuUey 166 Praise of a Country Life Sir Henry Wot ion . . 168 INDEX. ix The Trumpet Mrs. Hemans . . Page 1G9 The Coral Insect Mrs. Siyourncy .... 170 The Horse Young 172 Self-knowledge Wonlsivorlh 173 The Village Preacher Goldsmith 174 The Spirit of War J3yr. 112 EVENING. THE moon is up, and yet it is not night Sunset divides the sky with her a sea Of glory streams along the alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains ; heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be . Melted to one vast iris of the west, Where the day joins the past eternity ; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air an island of the blest ! A single star is at her side, and reigns With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains Roll'cl o'er the peak of the far Rhsetian hill, As day and night contending were, until Nature reclaim'd her order : gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose, Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which from afar Conies down upon the waters ; all its hues, From the rich sunset to the rising star, Their magical variety diffuse : THE HAPPY MAN. 113 And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till 'tis gone and all is grey. BYRON. THE HAPPY MAN. CONTENT with poverty my soul I arm, And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. "What is't to me, Who never sail on. Fortune's faithless sea, If storms arise, and clouds grow black ; If the mast split, and threaten wreck ? Then let the greedy merchant fear For his ill-gotten gain, While the debating winds and billows bear His wealth into the main. For me, secure of Fortune's blows, Secure of what I cannot lose, In my small pinnace I can sail, Contemning all the blust'ring roar ; And running with a merry gale, With friendly stars my safety seek Within some little winding creek, And see the storm ashore ! DRYDEN 114 THE ALP HUNTER. FROM SCHILLER. " WILT thou not, thy lamblings heeding. (Soft and innocent are they !) Watch them on the herbage feeding, Or beside the brooklet play 1 ?" " Mother, mother, let me go, O'er the mount to chase the roe." " Wilt thou not, around thee bringing, Lure the herds with lively horn ? Gaily go the clear bells ringing, Through the echoing forest borne ! " " Mother, mother, let me go, O'er the wilds to chase the roe." " Wilt thou not (their blushes woo thee !} In their sweet beds tend thy flowers ; Smiles so fair a garden to thee, Where the savage mountain lours?" " Leave the flowers in peace to blow ; " Mother, mother, let me go !" On, and ever onwards bounding, Scours the hunter to the chase ; On, and ever onwards bounding To the mountain's wildest space. THE ALP HUNTER. 115 Swift, as footed by the wind, Flies before, the trembling hind. Light and limber, upwards driven, On the hoar crag quivering, Or, through gorges thunder-riven Leaps she with her airy spring ! But behind her still the foe Near, and near the deadly bow ! Fast and faster on tmslackening ; Now she hangs above the brink, Where the last rocks, grim and blackening. Down the gxilf abruptly sink. Never pathway there may wind, Chasms below and death behind ! To the hard man dumb lamenting, Turns she, with her look of woe ; Turns in vain the unrelenting . Meets the look and bends the bow. Sudden, from the darksome deep, Rose the Spirit of the Steep ! And his god-like hand extending, From the hunter suatch'd the prey; ' Wherefore, woe and slaughter sending, To my solitary sway ? Why should my herds before thee fall 1 There's room upon the Earth for all !" BULWEK. r 2 116 THE FAVOUR OF PRINCES. FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, These many summers in a sea of glory ; B\it far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. "Vain- pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours ! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have : And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again ! SIIAKSPEARE. 117 SUNSHINE AFTER A SHOWER. EVER after summer shower, When the bright sun's returning power With laughing beam has chased the storm, And cheer'd reviving nature's form, By sweet-briar hedges, bathed in dew, Let me my wholesome path pursue. * There, issuing forth, the frequent snail Wears the dank way with slimy trail ; While, as I walk, from peai'led bush The sunny sparkling drop I brush, And all the landscape fair I view, Clad in a robe of fresher hue ; And so loud the blackbird sings, That far and near the valley rings : From shelter deep of shaggy rock The shepherd drives his joyful flock ; From bowering beech the mower blithe With new-born vigour grasps the scythe : While o'er the smooth unbounded meads Its last faint gleam the rainbow spreads. WARTON. 118 ON A DISTANT PEOSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. YE distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the watery glade, Where grateful science still adores Her Henry's holy shade ; And ye that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among, Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way : Ah ! happy hills, ah ! pleasing shade, Ah ! fields beloved in vain, Where once my careless childhood stray' d, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy rnargent green, The paths of pleasure trace, ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 119 Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave ? The captive linnet which enthral ? ' What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball ? While some, on earnest business bent, Their murm'ring labours ply, 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty ; Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry ; Still, as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possess'd ; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue ; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigour born ; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn. GRAY. 120 WAR FOE LIBERTY. MY voice is still for war. Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate "Which of the two to choose Slavery or Death ? No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And, at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe, break through the thick array Of his throng'd legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. Rise, fathers, rise 1 'tis Rome demands your help ! Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, Or share their fate ; the corpse of half her senate Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here deliberating in cold debates, If we should sacrifice our lives to honour, Or wear them out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame ! Our brothers of Pharsalia Point at their wounds, and cry aloud. To battle ! Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow ; And Scipio's ghost walks xmrevenged amongst us ! AUHDKHT. 121 FLOWERS. 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, That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers,. And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe* primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. MILTON. * Rathe, early ; hence the comparative, rather, which, in its original sense, signifies sooner. 122 ENGLAND. ISLE of the ocean ! Zion of the seas ! Child of the waves ! and nursling of the breeze ! How beauteous, Albion, on thy lonely steep Thou risest, like a vision, in the deep ! The temple of the brave, the good, the free, Built by some spirit in the circling sea ! Still hast thou floated, like a thing of light, Through all the darkness of the moral night, Alone upon the waves, the hallow'd ark Where Freedom shelter'd, when the world was dark Bade exiled Piety, Truth, Valour, come, And every bleeding virtue find a home ; While Science left her eastern home for thee, And nestled, like the halcyon, in the sea ! Above thee gentlest airs in gladness meet ; The billows break in music at thy feet ; And heaven's purest dews, and holiest dyes, Weep on thy breast, and brighten in thy skies. Rome of the waters ! on thy sea-girt rock, Far from the battle and the tempest's shock, Thou sittest proudly on thine ocean throne, A sceptred queen, majestic and alone ! In fairy state, on emerald couch reclined, Rock'd by the waves and cradled in the wind ! ENGLAND. 123 Far o'er the deep thy crimson flag unfurl'cl, Streams like a meteor to the gazing world. With stately necks and bounding motion, ride Thy gallant barks, like swans, upon the tide ; Lift up their swelling bosoms to the sky, And spread their wings, to woo the gales from high. ****** Gem of the ocean ! empress of the sea ! My heart could weep in fondness over thee. My soul looks forward, through a mist of tears, To pierce the darkness of the coming years, And dimly reads, amid the future gloom, Warning she dare not utter of thy doom. And canst thou perish, island of the free ? Shall Ruin dare to fling her shroud o'er thee 1 Thou who dost light the nations like a star In splitary grandeur from afar ! Thou who hast been, indeed, the pillar'd light For Israel's sons, in Superstition's night ! Can desolation reach thy hallow'd strand, While Shakspeare's spirit breathes along the land, While time o'er Milton's grave fleets powerless by, And Newton's memory links thee to the sky ? HERVEY. 124 THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose^jvlth its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it ? No ; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet But hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, ' As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm ! Arm ! it is it is the cannon's opening roar ! "Within a window'd niche of that high hall, Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. ( 125 And when they smiled because he deem'd it near His heart more truly knew that peal too well "Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell ! Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated. Who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And neai 1 , the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; While throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips The foe ! They come ! They come ! And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose ! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ; How in the noon of night her pibroch thrills, 126 THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. Savage and shrill ! But with the breath that fills Their mountain- pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring that instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's, fame rings in each clansman's ears I And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature's teardrops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow- In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour 1 , rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, the day Battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Eider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent f BYRON. 127 EVENING. 'TWAS eve. The lengthening shadows of the oak And sweeping birch, crept far ad own the vale ; And nought upon the hush and. stillness broke, Save the light whispering of the spring- tide gale, At distance dying ; and the measured stroke Of woodmen at their toil ; the feeble wail Of some lone stock dove ; soothing as it sank On the lull'd ear, its melody that drank. The sun had set ; but his expiring beams Yet linger'd in the west, and shed around Beauty and softness o'er the wood and streams, With coming night' s-first tinge of shade embrown'd The light clouds mingled, brighten'd with such gleams Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround, That in -the vision of the good descend, And o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend. ANON. 128 MOUNTAIN SCENERY. THE western waves of ebbing day Pioll'd o'er the glen their level way : Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow "Within the dark ravine below, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Hound many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle ; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the Pass ; Huge as the tower which builders vain, Presumptuous, piled on Shinar's plain, The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, Or seem'd fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Ci'ests wild as pagod ever deck'd, Or mosque of eastern architect. Nor were those earth-born castles bare, Nor lack'd they many a banner fair, For, from their shiver'd brows display 'd Far o'er th' unfathomable glade, MOUNTAIN SCENERY. 129 All twinkling with the dew-drops sheen, The brier-rose fell in streamers green. And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, Waved in the west wind's summer sighs. Boon Nature scatter'd, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalm'd the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; The primrose pale and violet flower Found in each cliff a narrow bower ; Night-shade and fox-glove, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Group'd their dark hues with every stain The weather-beaten crags retain. "With boughs that quaked at every breath, Gray birch and aspen wept beneath. Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; And higher yet the pine-tree hung His scatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrow sky. SCOTT. 130 THE EMIGRANT'S SACRED SONG. WHERE the remote Bermudas ride In th' ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that row'd along, The list'ning winds received their song. " What should we do, but sing His praise That led us through the wat'ry maze, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own ! " Where He the huge sea-monsters racks. That lift the deep upon their backs ; He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms and prelates' rage. " He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air. " He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. APPROACH OF SPRING. 131 " Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, "Which then perhaps, rebounding, may Echo beyond the Mexique bay." Thus sang they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note, And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. MARVEL. APPROACH OF SPKING. Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or calls an icy cream Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream ; But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender ; gives a second birth To the dead swallow ; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee. Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful spring. The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array, Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May. Now all things smile. 132 THE CAPTIVE JEWS IN BABYLON. LET the broad veil of darkness be roll'd from before thee, Oh, Lord ! and descend on the wings of the storni ! Dispersed or enslaved are the saints that adore thee, And the rude hands of strangers thy temple deform ; And Salem, our Salem, lies low and degraded, While far from her ruins in exile we pine ; Yet still is the hope of thy " remnant" unfaded The hand which implants it, Jehovah, is thine ! Alas ! we were warn'd, but we reck'd not the warning, Till our warriors grew weak in the day of despair ; And our glory was fled, as the light cloud of morning, That gleams for a moment, and melts into air. As the proud heathens trampled o'er Zion's sad daughter, She wept tears of blood in her guilt and her woe ; For the voice of her God had commission'd the slaughter ; The rod of his vengeance had pointed the blow. Though foul are the sins, oh, thou lost one ! which stain thee, The tear of repentance can wash them away j Though galling and base are the bonds that enchain thee, The God who imposed them can lighten their sway : THE MOON-. 133 For a star yet shall rise o'er the darkness of Judah, A branch yet shall flourish on Jesse's proud stem ; And Zion shall triumph o'er those that subdued her, Yea ! tiiumph in giving a Saviour to them ! THE MOON. As the ample moon, In the deep stillness of a summer even, Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light, In the green trees ; and, kindling on all sides Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil Into a substance glorious as her own, Yea, with her own incorporated, by power Capacious and serene ; like power abides In man's celestial spirit ; virtue thus Sets forth and magnifies herself ; thus feeds A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, From the incurnbrances of mortal life, From error, disappointment, nay, from guilt ; And sometimes, so relenting justice wills, From palpable oppressions of despair. WORDSWORTH. 134 GEONGAE HILL. Now I gain the mountain's brow, What a landscape lies below ! No clouds, no vapours intervene ; But the gay, the open scene, Does the face of nature show In all the hues of heaven's bow, And, swelling to embrace the light, Spreads around beneath the sight. Old castles on the cliffs arise, Proudly tow'ring in the skies ; Rushing from the woods, the spires Seem from hence ascending fires ; Half his beams Apollo sheds On the yellow mountain-heads, Gilds the fleeces of the flocks, And glitters on the broken rocks. Below me trees unnumber'd rise, Beautiful in various dyes ; The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, The yellow beech, the sable yew, The slender fir, that taper grows, The sturdy oak, with broad-spread boughs ; And beyond the purple grove, Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love, GRONGAR HILL. 135 Gaudy as the op'ning dawn, Lies along a level lawn, On which a dark hill, steep and high, Holds and charms the wand'ring eye : Deep are his feet in Towy's flood ; His sides are clothed with waving wood, And ancient towers crown his brow, That cast an awful look below ; Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, And with her arms from falling keeps : So both a safety from the wind On mutual dependence find ! Tis now the raven's bleak abode ; 'Tis now th' apartment of the toad ; And there the fox securely feeds ; And there the pois'nous adder breeds, Conceal'd in ruins, moss, and weeds ; While, ever and anon, there fall Huge heaps of hoary, moulder'd wall. Yet time has seen that lifts the low, And level lays the lofty brow Has seen this broken pile complete, Big with the vanity of state : But transient is the smile of fate ! A little rule, a little sway, A sunbeam in a winter's day, Is all the proud and mighty have Between the cradle and the grave. DYER. 13G WHAT OF THE NIGHT ? SAY, watchman, what of the night ? Do the dews of the morning fall ? Have the orient skies a border of light, Like the fringe of a funeral pall ? " The night is fast waning on high, And soon shall the dai'kness flee, And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky, And bright shall its glories be." But, watchman, what of the night, When sorrow and pain are mine, And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright, No longer around me shine ? " That night of sorrow thy soul May surely prepare to meet, But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll, And the morning of joy be sweet." But, watchman, what of that night, When the arrow of death is sped, And the grave, which no glimmering star can light, Shall be my sleeping-bed ? SPRING. 137 " That night is near, and the cheerless tomb Shall keep thy body in store, "Till the niorn of eternity rise on the gloom, And night shall be no more !" ANON. SPEING. THE sweet season that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale ; The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springe, The hart has hung his old head on the pale, The buck in brake his winter coat he flings, The fishes fleet with new-repaired scale ; The adder all her slough away she flings, The swift swallow pursues the flies small, The busy bee her honey now she mings ; "Winter is worn that was the flower's bale. And thus I see, among those pleasant things, Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. EARL OF SDIUUSY. 138 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, re-appearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow. The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory ; The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber ! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever. SCOTT. 139 RETURNING SPRING., AH, woe is me ! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year ; The airs and streams renew their joyous tone ; The ants, the bees, the swallows, re-appear ; Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead seasons' bier. The loving birds now pair in every brake, And build their mossy homes in field and brere ; And the green lizard and the golden snake, Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake. Through wood and stream and field and hill and ocean, A quickening life from the earth's heart has burst, As it has ever done, with change and motion, From the great morning of the world ! when first God dawn'd on chaos ; in its stream immersed, The lamps of heaven flash with a softer light _; All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst ; Diffuse themselves ; and spend in love's delight The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. SHELLEY. 140 THE BELEAGUERED CITY. I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, Some legend strange and vague, That a midnight host of spectres pale Beleaguer'd the walls of Prague. Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, With the wan moon overhead, There stood, as in an awful dream, The army of the dead. "White as a sea-fog, landward bound, The spectral camp was seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, The river flow'd between. No other voice nor sound was there, No drum, nor sentry's pace ; The mist-like banners clasp'd the air, As clouds with clouds embrace. But, when the old cathedral bell Proclaim'd the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarmed air. THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 141 Down the broad valley fast and far The troubled army fled ; Uprose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, That strange and mystic scroll, That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul. Encamp'd beside Life's rushing stream, In Fancy's misty light, Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam Portentous through the night. Upon its midnight battle-ground The spectral camp is seen, And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, Flows the Paver of Life between. No other voice nor sound is there, In the army of the grave ; No other challenge breaks the air, But the rushing of Life's wave. And, when the solemn and deep church-bell Entreats the soul to pray, The midnight phantoms feel the spell, The shadows sweep away. 142 FIRST SOUNDS IN DEN. Down the broad Yale of Tears, afar The spectral cainp is fled ; Faith shineth as a morning star, Our ghastly fears are dead. LONGFELLOW. FIRST SOUNDS IN EDEN. WHAT was't awaken'd first the untried ear Of that sole man who was all humankind 1 Was it the gladsome welcome of the wind, Stirring the leaves that never yet were sere ? The four mellifluous streams which flow'd so near, Their lulling murmurs all in one combined 1 The note of bird unnamed ? The startled hind Bursting the brake in wonder, not in fear Of her new lord ? Or did the holy ground Send forth mysterious melody to greet The gracious presence of immaculate feet ? Did viewless seraphs rustle all around, Making sweet music out of air as sweet ? Or his own voice awake him with its sound ? HARTLEY COLERIDGE, 143 LINES ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK IN JANUARY. SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough ; Sing on, sweet bird ; I listen to thy strain : See, aged winter, 'mid his surly reign, At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow. So in lone poverty's dominion drear, Sits meek content with light unanxious heart, "Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. I thank thee, Author of this opening day ! Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient skies ! Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, "What wealth could never give nor take away ! Yet come, thou child of poverty and care ; The mite high heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share. BUKXS. THE WONDEES OF THE CREATION. FAK as creation's ample range extends, The scale of sensual, mental powers ascends : Mark how it mounts, to man's imperial race, From the green myriads in the peopled grass. What modes of sight betwixt each wide exti*eme, The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam : Of smell, the headlong lioness between, And hound sagacious on the tainted green ; Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, To that which warbles through the vernal wood. The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine ! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line : In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true From poisonous herbs extracts the healing dew ? How instinct varies in the grovelling swine, Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine ! 'Twixt that and reason what a nice barrier ! For ever separate, yet for ever near ! *- * # * * Who taught the nations of the field and wood To shun their poison, and to choose their food ! Prescient the tides or tempests to withstand, Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand ? Who made the spider parallels design, Sure as Demoivre, without rule or line ? THE WONDERS OF THE CKEATIOX. 145 Who bid the stork, Columbus-like, explore Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before ? Who calls the councils, states the certain day ? Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ? God, in the nature of each being, founds Its proper bliss, and sets its proper bounds : But as he framed a whole, the whole to bless, On mutual wants built mutual happiness ; So from the first, eternal order ran, And creature link'd to creature, man to man. * * * * * -x- Thus then to man the voice of Nature spake Go, from the creatures thy instructions take : Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield ; Learn from the beast the physic of the field. Thy arts of building from the bee receive ; Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave ; Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. Here too all forms of social union find, And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind : Here subterranean works and cities see j There towns aerial on the waving ti-ee. Learn each small people's genius, policies, The ants' republic, and the realm of bees : How those in common all their wealth bestow, And anarchy without confusion know j And these for ever, though a monarch reign, Their separate cells and properties maintain. POPE. 146 A CHUECHYAED DEEAM. METHOUGHT that in a burial-ground, One still, sad, vernal day, Upon a little daisied mound, I, in a slumber, lay ; While faintly through my dream I heard The hymning of that holy bird, Who with more gushing sweetness sings, The higher up in heaven float his unweaiied wings ! In that my mournful reverie, Such song of heavenly birth The voice seem'd of a soul set free From this imprisoning earth ; Higher and higher still it soar'd, A thrilling rapture that adored, Till vanish'd song and singer blest In the blue depths of everlasting rest ! Just then a child, in sportive glee, Came gliding o'er the graves, Like a lone bird that on the sea Floats dallying with the waves ; Upon the lovely flowers awhile She pour'd the beauty of her smile, A CHUKCHYARD DREAM. 147 Then laid her bright cheek on the sod, And, overpower'd with joy, slept in the eye of God. The flowers that shine all round her head, May well be breathing sweet, For flowers are they that Spring hath shed To deck her winding-sheet ; And well the tend'rest gleams may fall Of sunshine on that hillock small On which she sleeps, for they have smiled O'er the predestined grave of that unconscious child ! In bridal garments, white as snow, A solitary maid Doth meekly bring a sunny glow Into that solemn shade. A churchyard seems a joyful place, In the visit of so sweet a face ; A soul is in that deep blue eye, Too good to live on earth, too beautiful tc die ! But Death, behind a marble tomb, Looks out upon his prey, And smiles to know that heavenly bloom Is yet of earthly clay : Far off I hear a wailing wide, And, while I gaze upon that bride, A silent wraith before me stands, And points unto a grave with cold, pale, clasped hands. ****** i 2 148 NIGHT. All dead ! the joyous, bright, and free, To whom this life was dear ! The green leaves shiver'd from the tree, And dangling left, the sere ! O dim wild world ! but from the sky, Down came the glad lark waveringly ; And, startled by his liquid mirth, I rose to walk in Faith the darkling paths of earth. NIGHT. . How beautiful is Night ! A dewy freshness fills the silent air j No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven : In full-orb'd glory yonder moon divine Rolls through the dark-blue depths. Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. How beautiful is Night ! SOUTHEY. 149 THE VANITY OF STATE. WHEREFORE pay you This adoration to a sinful creature ? I am flesh and blood as you are, sensible Of heat and cold, as much a slave unto The tyranny of my passions as the meanest Of my poor subjects. The proud attributes By oil-ton gued flattery imposed upon us, As sacred, glorious, high, invincible, The deputy of heaven, and in that Omnipotent, with all false titles else, Coin'd to abuse our frailty, though compounded And by the breath of sycophants applied, Cure not the least fit of an ague in us. "We may give poor men riches, confer honours On undeservers, raise or ruin such As are beneath us j and, with this puff'd up, Ambition would persuade us to forget That we are men : but He that sits above us, And to whom, at our utmost rate, we are But pageant properties, derides our weakness : In me, to whom you kneel, 'tis most apparent. Can I call back yesterday, with all their aids That bow unto my sceptre 1 or restore My mind to that tranquillity and peace It then enjoy'd ? MASSIXGER. 150 THE LAST DAY OF AUTUMN. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. THE year lies dying in this evening light : The poet, musing in autumnal woods, Hears melancholy sighs Among the wither'd leaves. Not so ! but like a spirit glorified, The angel of the year departs ; lays down His robes, once green in spring, Or bright with summer's blue ; And having done his mission on the earth Filling ten thousand vales with golden corn, Orchards with rosy fruit, And scattering flowers around, He lingers for a moment in the west With the declining sun, sheds over all A pleasant, farewell smile And so returns to God. BEYAXT. 151 VIETUB. SWEET day ! so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky ; The dews shall weep thy fall to-night For thou must die. Sweet rose ! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye ; Thy root is ever in its grave And thou must die. Sweet spring ! full of sweet days and roses ; A box where sweets compacted lie ; Thy music shows ye have your closes And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber never gives ; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. HERBERT. 152 THE FALL OF POLAND. WARSAW'S last champion from her height survey'd, "Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid ; " Oh, heaven !" he cried, " my bleeding country save !- Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Hise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread name we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live ! with her to die ! " He said, and on the rampart-heights array 'd His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd ; Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, Revenge or death, the watchword and reply ; Then peal'd the notes omnipotent to charm, And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm ! In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! .From rank to rank your volley 'd thunder flew ; Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! MIDNIGHT IN A WOOD. 153 Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career ; Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shriek'd, as Kosciusko fell ! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there ; Turrmltuous murder shook the midnight air : On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ; The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! Earth shook, red meteors flash'd along the sky, And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry ! CAMPBELL. MIDNIGHT IN A WOOD. How sweet and solemn is the midnight scene ! The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way Through skies where I could coimt each little star ; The fanning west-wind scarcely stirs the leaves ; The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed, Imposes silence with a stilly sound. In such a place as this, at such an hour (If ancestry can be in aught believed), Descending spirits have conversed with man, And told the secrets of the world unknown. HOME. 154 WAE. O WAE, what art thou ? After the brightest conquest, what remains Of all thy glories ? For the vanquish'd chains : For the proud victor what ? Alas ! to reign O'er desolated nations, a drear waste, By one man's crime, by one man's lust of pow'r, Unpeopled ! Naked plains and ravaged fields Succeed to smiling harvests, and the fruits Of peaceful olive, luscious fig and vine ! Here rifled temples are the cavern'd dens Of savage beasts, or haunt of birds obscene ; There populous cities blacken in the sun, And in the gen'ral wreck proud palaces Lie undistinguish'd, save by the dun smoke Of recent conflagration ! When the song Of dear-bought joy, with many a triumph swell'd, Salutes the victor's ear, and soothes his pride, How is the grateful harmony profaned With the sad dissonance of virgins' cries, Who mourn their brothers slain ! Of matrons hoar, Who clasp their wither'd hands, and fondly ask With iteration shrill their slaughter'd sons ! How is the laurel's verdure stain'd with blood, And soil'd with widows' tears ! HANNAH MORE. 155 SCHOOLBOY KECOLLECTIONS. THE wall on which we tried our graving skill, The very name we carved subsisting still ; The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd, Though mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy' d ; The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot, Playing our games, and on the very spot ; As happy as we once, to kneel and draw The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw j To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat : The pleasing spectacle at once excites Such recollection of our own delights, That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain Our innocent, sweet, simple years again. This fond attachment to the well-known place, Whence first we started into life's long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it even in age, and at our latest day. COWPER. 15G THE MAEIGOLD. WHEN with a serious musing I behold The grateful and obsequious marigold, How duly every morning she displays Her open breast, when Titan spreads his rays ; How she observes him in his daily walk, Still bending towards him her small slender stalk ; How, when he down declines, she droops and mourns, Bedew'd as 'twere with tears, till he returns ; And how she veils her flowers when he is gone, As if she scorn'd to be look'd on By an inferior eye ; or did contemn To wait upon a meaner light than him. When thus I meditate, methinks the flowers Have spirits far more generous than ours, And give us fair examples, to despise The servile fawnings and idolatries Wherewith we court these earthly things below, Which merit not the service we bestow. But, O my God, though grovelling I appear Upon the ground, and have a rooting here, Which hails me downward ; yet in my desire To that which is above me I aspire, And all my best aSections I profess To Him that is the Son of Righteousness- TREES. 157 Oh ! keep the morning of His incarnation, The burning noontide of His bitter passion, The night of His descending, and the height Of His ascension, ever in my sight ; That, imitating Him in what I may, I never follow an inferior way. WITHER. TREES. HAIL ! old patrician trees, so great and good, Hail ! ye plebeian underwood, Where the poetic birds rejoice, And for their quiet nests and plenteous food Pay with their grateful voice. Here Nature does a house for- me erect Nature, the wisest architect, Who those fond artists doth despise, That can the fair and living tree neglect, Yet the dead timber prize. Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying, Hear the soft sounds above me flying With all the wanton boughs dispute, And the more tuneful birds to both replying, Nor be myself too mute. COWLEY. 158 HAPPINESS. Bur where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims the happiest spot his own ; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease. The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His fii'st, best country ever is at home. GOLDSMITH* PASTOEAL SONG. COME, Anna, come ! the morning dawns, Faint streaks of radiance tinge the skies j Come let us seek the dewy lawns, And watch the early lark arise j While Nature, clad in vesture gay, Hails the loved return of day. PASTORAL SONG. Our flocks that nip the scanty blade Upon the moor, shall seek the vale ; And then, secure beneath the shade, We'll listen to the throstle's tale, And watch the silver clouds above, As o'er the azure vault they rove. Come, Anna ! come ! and bring thy lute, That with its tones, so softly sweet, In cadence with my mellow flute, We may beguile the noontide heat ; While near the mellow bee shall join, To raise a harmony divine. And then at eve, when silence reigns, Except when heard the beetle's hum, We'll leave the sober-tinted plains, To these sweet heights again we'll come ; And thou to thy soft lute shall play A solemn vesper to departing day. KIBKE WHITE, 160 PAUL AND SILAS. 'Tis night the heavens are calm and clear, O'er their blue depths no clouds do lower ; And crescent moon and twinkling star Come forth to grace the solemn hour. Hush'd are the birds, and every flower Sleeps on its stem till morn shall glow ; And scarce the drowsy breeze has power To stir one leaf on forest bough. Whence then those strains, which rise and fall As the soft night- wind floats along ? Do joyous guests in banquet-hall Yet weave the dance and raise the song ? No fled is Pleasure's glittering throng, The banquet-hall is dark and lone, And less to earth than heaven belong The lofty raptures of that tone. Is't, then, some solemn festal night, "When holy worshippers prepare With choral strain and sacred rite To mingle in the house of prayer ? No all is mute and lonely there, No votary breathes the vow divine, And where the torch is wont to glare, Nought but the silver moonbeams shine. PAUL Am> SILAS. 161 Go, wend thy way where dark and grim. Philippi's dungeon-towers arise ; There shalt thou hear the joyous hymn, Instead of weeping captives' sighs. Though man with cruel zeal applies Fetter and scourge, both, both are vain ; Through prison-gloom the spirit flies, Unconscious or of stripes or chain. Oh ! what to them is prison gloom, The strong man's might, the oppressor's pride, If, in the darkling hour of doom, Omnipotence be on their side 1 'Tis but the tempest to outride, Then, welcome heaven's eternal calm ! 'Tis but a few more pangs to bide, And then, the victor's crown and palm. MRS. HEY. M 162 FLOWERS. THE impatient morn, With gladness on his wings, calls forth, "Arise ! To trace the hills, the vales, where thousand dyes The ground adorn, "While the dew sparkles yet within the violets' eyes :" And when the day In golden slumber sinks, with accent sweet Mild evening comes to lure the willing feet With her to stray, Where'er the bashful flowers the observant eye may greet. Near the moist brink Of music-loving streams they ever keep, And often in the lucid fountains peep ; Oft, laughing, drink Of the mad torrent's spray, perch'd near the thundering steep : And everywhere Along the plashy marge and shallow bed Of the still waters, they innumerous spread ; Rock'd gently there The beautiful nymphsea pillows its bright head. FLOWERS. 163 Within the dell, Within the rocky clefts they love to hide ; And hang adventurous on the steep hill-side, Or rugged fell Where the young eagle waves his wings in youthful pride. In the green sea Of forest leaves, where Nature wanton plays, They modest bloom, though through the verdant maze The tulip-tree Its golden chalice oft triumphantly displays ; And of pure white, Embedded 'mid its glossy leaves on high, There the superb magnolia lures the eye ; While, waving light, The locusts' myriad tassels scent the ambient sky. But, O ye bowers, Ye valleys where the Spring perpetual reigns, And flowers unnumber'd o'er the purple plains Exuberant showers How Fancy revels in your lovelier domains ! All love the light j And yet what numbers spring within the shade, And blossom where no foot may ere invade ! 'Till comes a blight, Comes unaware, and then incontinent they fade ! H 2 164 THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. And thus they bloom, And thus their lives ambrosial breathe away ; Thus flourish too the lovely and the gay ; And the same doom Youth, beauty, flower, alike consigns to swift decay ! PICKERING. THE PROGRESS OF KNOWLEDGE. FIRED at first sight with what the muse imparts, In fearless youth, we tempt the heights of arts, While from the bounded level of our mind, Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; But, more advanced, behold with strange surprise New distant scenes of endless science rise ! So pleased at first the towering Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky ; The eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last : But, those attained, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthen'd way ; The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise ! POPE. 165 THE BEAUTIES OF SPEING. I HAVE not seen the place could more surprise, More beautiful in Nature's varied dyes. Lo ! the blue bind- weed doth itself unfold With honeysuckle, and both these entwine Themselves with briony and jessamine, To cast a kind and odoriferous shade. The balmy west-wind blows, and every sense Is soothed and courted : trees have got their heads, The fields their coats, the dewy shining meads Do boast the pansy, lily, and the rose, And every flower doth laugh as zephyr blowa. The seas are now more even than the earth, Or gently swell as curl'd by zephyr's breath ; The rivers run as smoothed by his hand ; The wanton heifer through the glassy land Plays wildly free, her horns scarce budding yet ; "While in the sunny fields the new-dropt lambs Gambol, rejoicing round their milky dams. Hark ! how each bough a several music yields ; The lusty throstle, early nightingale, Accord in tune, though vary in their tale ; The chirping swallow, call'd forth by the sun, And crested lark, doth her division run ; The yellow bees the air with music fill, The finches carol, and the turtles bill. BEN 166 THE ALPS AT DAYBEEAK. THE sunbeams streak the azure skies, And line with light the mountain's brow ; With hounds and horns the hunters rise, And chase the roebuck through the snow. The goats wind slow their wonted way, Up craggy steeps and ridges rude, Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey, From desert cave or hanging wood. And while the torrent thunders loud, And as the echoing cliffs reply, The huts peep o'er the morning cloud, Perch'd like an eagle's nest on high. KOGERS. THE DIRGE OF THE YEAK. ORPHAN hours, the year is dead, Come and sigh, come and weep ! Merry hours, smile instead, For the year is but asleep : See, it smiles as it is sleeping, Mocking your untimely weeping. THE DIRGE OP THE YEAR. 167 As an earthquake rocks a corse In its coffin in the clay, So white "Winter, that rough nurse, Rocks the dead-cold year to-day ; Solemn hours ! wail aloud For your mother in her shroud. As the wild air stirs and sways The tree-swung cradle of a child, So the breath of these rude days Rocks the year : be calm and mild, Trembling hours ; she will arise With new love within her eyes. January gray is here, Like a sexton by her grave ; February bears the bier, March with grief doth howl and rave ; And April weeps, but, O ye hours ! Follow with May's fairest flowers. SHELLEY. 168 PEAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE. MISTAKEN mortals ! did you know Where joy, heart's-ease, and comforts grow, You'd scorn proud towers And seek them in these bowers, Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, But blustering care could never tempest make, Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, Save of fountains that glide by us. Here's no fantastic masque or dance, But of our kids that frisk and prance ; Nor wars are seen, Unless upon the green Two harmless lambs are butting one another Which done, both bleating run each to his mother ; And wounds are never found, Save what the ploughshare gives the ground. Go ! let the diving negro seek For gems hid in some forlorn creek ; We all pearls scorn, Save what the dewy morn Congeals upon each little spire of grass, Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass ; And gold ne'er here appears, Save what the yellow harvest bears. SIR HENRY WOTTON. 169 THE TRUMPET. THE trumpet's voice hath roused the laud, Light up the beacon pyre ! A hundred hills have seen the brand, And waved the sign of fire. A hundred banners on the breeze Their gorgeous folds have cast And, hark ! was that the sound of seas ? A king to war went past. The chief is arming in his hall, The peasant by his hearth ; The mourner hears the thrilling call, And rises from the earth. The mother on her first-born son Looks with a boding eye They come not back, though all be won, Whose young hearts leap so high. The bard hath ceased his song, and bound The falchion to his side ; E'en for the marriage-altar crown'd, The lover quits his bride. And all this haste, and change, and fear, By earthly clarion spread ! How will it be when kingdoms hear The blast that wakes the dead 1 MRS. HEMANS. 170 THE COEAL INSECT. TOIL on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ; Toil on, for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures and domes of rock ; Your columns the fathomless fountains lave, And your arches spring up to the crested wave ; Ye 're a puny race, thus to boldly rear A fabric so vast in a realm so drear. Ye bind the deep with your secret zone, The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone j Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring, Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king ; The turf looks green where the breakers roll'd ; O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold ; The sea-snatch'd isle is the home of men, And mountains exult where the wave hath been. But why do you plant 'neath the billows dark The wrecking reef for the gallant bark j There are snares enough on the tented field, 'Mid the blossom'd sweets that the valleys yield ; There are serpents to coil, ere the flowers are up ; There's a poison-drop in man's purest cup ; There are foes that watch for his cradle-breath, And why need ye sow the floods with death ? THE CORAL INSECT. 171 With mouldering bones the deeps are white, From the ice-clad poles to the tropics bright ; The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold, And the gods of Ocean have frown'd to see The mariner's bed in their halls of glee ; Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread The boundless sea for the thronging dead ? Ye build, ye build, but ye enter not in, Like the tribes whom the Desert devour'd in their sin ; From the Land of Promise ye fade and die, Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye ; As the kings of the cloud-crown'd pyramid Their noteless bones in oblivion hid ; Ye slumber unmark'd 'mid the desolate main, While the wonder and pride of your works remain. MRS. SIGOUEITEY. 172 THE HORSE. SURVEY the warlike horse ! didst thou invest With thunder his robust distended chest ? ISTo sense of fear his dauntless soul allays ; 'Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze ; To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, And triumphs in the fulness of his might ; High raised he snuffs the battle from afar, And burns to plunge amid the raging war ; And mocks, at death, and throws his foam around, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground. How doth his firm, his rising heart advance, Full on the brandish'd sword and shaken lance ; While his fixed eye-balls meet the dazzling shield, Gaze, and return the lightning of the field. He sinks the sense of pain in generous pride, Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side ; But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful blast Till death ; and when he groans, he groans his last. YOUNG. 173 SELF-KNOWLEDGE. IF thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure, Stranger ! henceforth be warn'd ; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness j that he who feels contempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used ; that thought with him Is in its infancy. The man whose eye Is ever on himself doth look on one, The least of nature's works one -\vho might move The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds Unlawful ever. O ! be wiser, thou ! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love True dignity abides with him alone Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart. WOKDSWOKTH. 174 THE VILLAGE PEEACHER. NEAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year j Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place ; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for pow'r, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast ; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd ; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow,, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. THE VILLAGE PREACHER. 175 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings lean'd to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay 'd, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children follow'd, with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head ! GOLDSMITH, 176 THE SPIRIT OF WAR. HABK ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; Nor saved your brethren ei*e they sank beneath Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? The fires of death, The bale-fires flash on high ; from rock to rock Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon. Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Flashing afar and at his iron feet Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; For on this mom three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. BYRON. 177 THE GLORIES OF HEAVEN. I PRAISED the earth in beauty seen, With garlands gay of various green ; I praised the sea whose ample field Shone glorious as a silver shield ; And earth and ocean seem'd to say, " Our beauties are but for a day." I praised the sun whose chariot roll'd On wheels of amber and of gold ; I praised the moon whose softer eye Gleam'd sweetly through the summer sky ; And moon and sun in answer said, " Our days of light are numbered." O God, O good beyond compare ! If thus Thy meaner works are fair ; If thus Thy bounties gild the span Of ruin'd earth and sinful man ; How glorious must the mansion be Where Thy redeem'd shall dwell with Thee 1 HEBEK. 178 HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OP CHAMOUNI. HAST thou a charm to stay the morning-star In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc ! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Have ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass ; methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought ; entranced in prayer, 1 worshipp'd the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the mean while, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy, Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused Into the mighty vision passing there, As in her natural form swell'd vast to heaven ! Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN CHAMOUNI. 179 Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy ! Awake, Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn ! * -:: -:: -* -:: Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen, full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers Of loveliest hue spread garlands at your feet ! God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! God ! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, Gocl ! Ye living flowers that skirt th' eternal frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! Ye signs and wonders of the element ! Utter forth, God ! and fill the hills with praise ! COLERIDGE. N 2 180 GOD THE AUTHOR OF NATURE. THERE lives and works A soul in all things, and that soul is God. The beauties of the wilderness are His, That make so gay the solitary place, Where no eyes see them. And the fairer forms That cultivation glories in are His. He sets the bright procession on its way, And marshals all the order of the year ; He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, And blunts its pointed fury ; in its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ Uninjured, with inimitable art ; And sre one flowery season fades and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the next. The Lord of all, Himself through all diffused, Sustains and is the life of all that lives. Hature is but a name for an effect, Whose cause is God. One spirit His, Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, Rules \miversal nature ! Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, TO THE STARS. 181 In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth. Happy who walks with Him ! whom what he finds Of flavour or of scent, in fruit or flower, Or what he views of beautiful or grand In Nature, from the broad majestic oak To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God. COWPEB. TO THE STARS. ROLL on, ye stars ! exult in youthful prime, Mark with bright curves the printless steps of time ; Near and more near your beamy cars approach, And lessening orbs on lessening orbs encroach ; Flowers of the sky ! ye, too, to age must yield, Frail as your silken sisters of the field ! Star after star from heaven's high arch shall rush, Suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush, Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall, And death, and night, and chaos mingle all ! Till o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm, Immortal nature lifts her changeful form, Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame, And soars and shines, another and the same ! DARWIN. 182 LOCH KATKINE. To issue from, the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, Unless he climb with footing nice A far projecting precipice. The broom's tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid ; And thus an airy point he won, Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnish'd sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him roll'd ; In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light ; And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Benvenue Down on the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurl'd, The fragments of an earlier world ; A wildering forest feather'd o'er His ruin'd sides and summit hoar, While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. SCOTT. 183 THE FIRMAMENT. THE spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great original proclaim ; Th' unwearied sun, from day to day, Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What, though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball 1 What though nor real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found ? In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, For ever singing, as they shine, The hand that made us is divine ! ADDISON. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lonely beds, with the fair and good of ours : The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long ago, And the briar-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 185 But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; "When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill ; The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late it bore, And sighs to find them in the wood, and by the stream, no more. BRYANT. 186 THE MINSTREL'S HOPE. " O YE wild groves, oh, where is now your bloom. !" (The muse interprets thus his tender thought) Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom, Of late so grateful in the hour of drought ? Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake ? Ah ! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought ? For now the storm howls mournful through the brake, And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake. "Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool ? And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty crown'd '? Ah ! see, the unsightly slime and sluggish pool Have all the solitary vale embrown'd ; Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound, The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray : And hark ! the river, bursting every mound, Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful sway, Upyoots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks away. Yet such the destiny of all on earth : So flourishes and fades majestic man. Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan. Oh, smile, ye heavens, serene ; ye mildews wan, THE MINSTBEL'S HOPE. 187 Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balrny prime, Nor lessen of his life the little span. Borne on the swift though silent wings of time, Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime. And be it so. Let those deplore their doom Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn ; But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at fate, and wonder how they mourn. Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return ? Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed ? Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, And spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. " Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust, Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live ? Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive With disappointment, penury, and pain?" No : Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive, And man's majestic beauty bloom again, Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign. BEATTIE. 188 SPKING. THE spring is here the delicate-footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers ; And with it comes a thirst to be away, "Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours A feeling that is like a sense of wings, Restless to soar above these perishing things, We pass out from the city's feverish hum, To find refreshment in the silent woods ; And nature, that is beautiful and dumb, Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods. Yet, even there, a restless thought will steal, To teach the indolent heart it still must feel. Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, The waters tripping with their silver feet, The turning to the light of leaves in June, And the light whisper as their edges meet Strange, that they fill not, with their tranquil tone,. The spirit, walking in their midst alone. WILLIS. 189 THE BATTLE. ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall up with our English dead ! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility : But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; Let it fly through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, As fearfully as does a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height ! On, on, you noble English ! SHAKSPEARE. 190 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. O MAN ! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time ! Mispending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime ! Alternate follies take the sway ; Licentious passions burn ; Which tenfold force give nature's law, That man was made to mourn. Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might ; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right : But see him on the edge of life. With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, O ilt-match'd pair ! Show man was made to mourn. A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure's lap caress'd ; Yet, think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest ; But, oh ! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn. Through weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn. MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 191 Many and sharp the numerous ills Inwoven with our frame ! More pointed still we make ourselves Regret, remorse, and shame ! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn. Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast ; This partial view of humankind Is surely not the last. The poor, oppressed, honest man Had never sure been born, Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn ! BURNS, ooo- 192 TRUST IN GOD. HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state ; From brutes what men, from men what spirits know ; Or who could suffer being here below. The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. O blindness to the future ! kindly given, That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heaven, * ***** Hope, humbly, then ; with trembling pinions soar; "Wait the great teacher, Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast ; Man never is, but always to be blest : The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come. POPE, 193 THE UNCERTAINTY OF POPULARITY. " LENNOX, who would wish to rule This changeling crowd, this common fool ? Hear'st thou," he said " the loud acclaim, With which they shout the Douglas name ? With like acclaim, the vulgar throat Strain' d for King James their morning note ; With like acclaim, they hail'd the day When first I broke the Douglas sway ; And like acclaim would Douglas greet, If he could hurl me from my seat. Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, And fickle as a changeful dream ; Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as frenzy's fever'd blood. Thou many-headed monster-thing, O who would wish to be thy king ! " SCOTT. 194 THE POWER OF MUSIC. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold' st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubims : Such harmony is in immortal souls ; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. - * * * ;:- * * We are never merry when we hear sweet music. The reason is, our spirits are attentive : For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud,. Which is the hot condition of their blood ; If they but hear perchance a trumpet-sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a' modest gaze, By the sweet power of music : Therefore, the poet TRUE BEAUTY. 195 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature : The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet" sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted. SHAKSPEARE. TRUE BEAUTY. MEN call you fair, and you do credit it, For that yourself you daily such do see ; But the true fair, that is the gentle wit And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me. For all the rest, however fair it be, Shall turn to naught, and lose that glorious hue ; But only that is permanent and free From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue. That is true beauty, that doth ai'gue you To be divine, and born of heavenly seed ; Derived from that fair spirit from whom all true And perfect beauty did at first proceed. He only fair, and what he fair hath made ; All other fair, like flowers untimely fade. SPENSER. o 2 196 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, That thou, light-wing'd Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease., n. O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance and Provencal song, and sun- burnt mirth ! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. 197 III. Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; Where palsy shakes a few sad last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale and spectre-thin, and dies ; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs ; Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow. ir. Away, away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the queen moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry fays ; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. v. 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 198 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; White 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, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. VI. Darkling I listen ; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad, In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain To thy high requiem become a sod. VII. Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown ; Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for 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. AUTUMIf. 199 VIII. Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from tb.ee to my sole self ! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music : do I wake or sleep ? KEATS. AUTUMN. WHEN autumn, bleak and sunburnt, do appear, With his gold hand gilting the falling leaf, Bringing up winter to fulfil the year, Bearing upon his back the riped sheaf; When all the hills with woody seed are white, When levying fires, and lernes, do meet from far the sight When the fair apple, rudde as even sky, Do bend the tree unto the fructile ground ; When juicy pears, and berries of black dye, Do dance in air and call the eyne around ; Then, be the even foul, or even fair, Methinks my heartes joy is stained with some care. CllXTTERTOX. 200 EARTH AND HEAVEN". HAST thou not seen, impatient boy, Hast thou not read the solemn truth, That gray experience writes for giddy youtb On every mortal joy ? Pleasure must be dash'd with pain ; And yet, with heedless haste, The thii'sty boy repeats the taste, Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. The rills of pleasure never run sincere : Earth has no unpolluted spring, From the cursed soil some dangerous taint they bear So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting. In vain we seek a heaven below the sky ; The world has false but flattering charms ; Its distant joys show big in our esteem, But lessen still as they draw near the eye ; In our embrace the visions die ; And when we grasp the airy forms, We lose the pleasing dream. Earth, with her scenes of gay delight, Is but a landscape rudely drawn, With glaring colours and false light r Distance commends it to the sight> For fools to gaze upon ; KINDNESS OF YOUTH. 201 But bring the nauseous daubing nigh, Coarse and confused the hideous figures lie, Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye. Look up, rny soul, pant toward th' eternal hills ; Those heavens are fairer than they seem ; There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills, There not a dreg of guilt defiles, Nor grief disturbs the stream. That Canaan knows no noxious thing, No cursed soil, no tainted spring, Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting. WATTS. KINDNESS OF YOUTH. AH, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast ! This truth once known To bless is to be blest ! We led the bending beggar on his way (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray) ; Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. As in his scrip we dropt ouirlittle store, And wept to think that little was no more, He breathed his prayer, " Long may such goodness live !" 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give. ROGERS. 202 THE ABBOT'S ELM, EASBT ABBEY, YOBKSHIEE. ANCIENT of days ! that midst the dead Thy verdant crest still rears, Tell vis thy wondrous history, Sage of a thousand years ! Hid in thy forest sanctuary, Unreach'd by light divine, Thou may'st have view'd the unholy rites That stain'd the Druid's shrine ; Wild tribes of wandering strangers seen Invade thine island home ; Scatter'd thy leaves o'er savage Pict ; Shelter'd Imperial Rome j Seen Dane and Saxon pass ; Till, by the rural Swale, The conquering Norman paused, entranced, And claim'd the lovely vale. Then shone the axe, the forest falls ; Slow rise the massy piles ; The lordly castle crowns the hill ; Below, the cloister smiles. THE ABBOT'S ELSI. 203 Thine, the safe home of sacred walls ; And oft, beneath thy veil, Rose the deep sigh from burthen'd heart, The trembling sinner's wail ! In these calm, hallow' d bowers, For contemplation made, Has many a lofty thought had birth, To wither in thy shade. And thou hast shadow'd worldly schemes, Unscath'd by kingly hate ; Ambition's dreams ! that heard unmoved The martyr'd Becket's fate ! And now the crumbling walls decay, Their relics strew the ground ; While monumental ivy hangs Its mournful garlands round. Thou, midst the wreck, in changeless youth, Still mock'st the wintry blast ; Empires are crush' d, thou ling'rest on, Historian of the past ! And though the levelling scythe of Time Past glories may o'erwhelin, Woe to the wretch, whose caitiff hand Shall strike the Abbot's Elm ! 204 MAN. CAN he be fair, that withers at a blast 1 Or he be strong, that airy breath can cast ? Can he be wise, that knows not how to live 1 Or he be rich, that nothing hath to give ? Can he be young, that's feeble, weak, and wan ? So fair, strong, wise, so rich, so young is man. So fair is man, that death (a parting blast) Blasts his fair flower, and makes him earth at last ; So strong is man, that with a gasping breath He totters, and bequeaths his strength to death ; So wise is man, that if with death he strive, His wisdom cannot teach him how to live ; So rich is man, that (all his debts being paid) His wealth 's the winding-sheet wherein he's laid ; So young is man, that, broke with care and sorrow, He's old enough to-day to die to-morrow : Why bragg'st thou then, thou worm of five feet long. Thou'rt neither fair, nor strong, nor wise, nor rich, n' young, QUARLES. 205 AUTUMN. THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers arc dying, And the year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array ; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And, like dim shadows, watch by her sepulchre. The chill rain is falling, the night-worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the year ; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling ; Come, months, come away ; Put on white, black, and gray, Let your light sisters play, Ye follow the bier Of the dead cold year, . And make her grave green with tear on tear. SHELLEY. 206 LAKE LEMAN. CLEAR, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, With the wide world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction ; once I loved Torn ocean's roai*, but thy soft murmuring ' Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy mai'gin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ; He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill : At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, LAKE LE3IAN. 207 But that is fancy for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. The sky is changed ! and such a change ! O night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your sti'ength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among. Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, " But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! And this is in the night : Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now 'tis black, and now the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. BYRON. 208 THE SONG OF THE MARINER. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant inast ; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. " O for a soft and gentle wind ! " I heard a fair one cry ; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high ; And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud ; And hark the music, mariners, The wind is piping loud ; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing free While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea ! CUNNINGHAM. 209 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. OF Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand ; And the prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bul \varks on the brine ; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line ; It was ten of April morn by the chime : As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death, And the boldest held his breath, For a time. But the might of England flush' d To anticipate the scene ; And her van the fleeter rush'd O er the deadly space between. P 210 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. " Hearts of oak," our captains cried ! when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again ! again ! again ! And the havock did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane 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, Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then, As he hail'd them o'er the wave, " Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! And we conquer but to save : So peace instead of death let us bring : But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our King." Then Denmark bless'd our chief, That he gave her wounds repose ; And the sounds of joy and grief, From her people wildTy rose ; BATTLE OP THE BALTIC. 211 As Death withdrew his shades from the day ; While the sun look'd smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away ! Now joy, old England, raise ! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, While the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet amid that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died, With the gallant good Riou ! Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave ! While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing glory to the souls Of the brave ! CAMPBELL. p 2 212 THE SPANISH ARMADA. CLEAR shone the morn, the gale was fair, When from Corunna's crowded port, With many a cheerful shout and loud acclaim, The huge Armada passed. To England's shores their streamers point, To England's shores their sails are spread ; They go to triumph o'er the sea-gii*t land, And Rome has blest their arms. Along the ocean's echoing verge, Along the mountain-range of rocks, The clustering multitudes behold their pomp, And raise the votive prayer. Commingling with the ocean's roar, Ceaseless and hoarse their murmurs rise, And soon they trust to see the winged bark That bears good tidings home. The watch-tower now in distance sinks, And now Galicia's mountain rocks Faint as the far-off clouds of evening lie, And now they fade away. THE SPANISH ARMADA. 213 Each like some moving citadel, On through the waves they sail sublime ; And now the Spaniards see the silvery cliffs, Behold the sea-girt land ! O fools ! to think that ever foe Should triumph o'er that sea-girt land ! O fools ! to think that ever Britain's sons Should wear the stranger's yoke ! For not in vain hath Nature rear'd, Around her coast those silvery cliffs ; For not in vain old Ocean spreads his waves, To guard his favourite isle. On come her gallant mariners ! What now avail Rome's boasted charms ? Where are the Spaniard's vaunts of eager wrath ? His hopes of conquest now ? And hark ! the angry winds arise, Old Ocean heaves his angry waves ; The winds and waves against the invaders fight, To guard the sea-girt land. Howling around his palace-towers, The Spanish despot hears the storm ; He thinks upon his navies far away, And boding doubts arise. 214 THE EXAMPLE OF THE BEE. Long over Biscay's boisterous surge, The watchman's aching eye shall strain ! Long shall he gaze, but never winged bark Shall bear good tidings home. SOUTHEY. THE EXAMPLE OF THE BEE. THE bee observe : She too an. artist is, and laughs at man, Who calls on rules the sightly hexagon With truth to form ; a cunning architect, Who at the roof begins her golden work, And builds without foundation. How she toils, And still from bud to bud, from flower to flower Travels the livelong day. Ye idle drones, Who rather pilfer than your bread obtain By honest means like these, behold and learn How good, how fail', how honourable 'tis To live by industry. The busy tribes Of bees so emulous, are daily fed With Heaven's peculiar manna. 'Tis for them, Unwearied alchymists, the blooming world Nectarious gold distils. And bounteous Heav'n, Still to the diligent and active, good, Their very labour makes the certain cause Of future wealth. HUEDIS. 215 THE APPEOACH OF A STORM. ERE yet the rising winds begin to roar, The working seas advance to wash the shore ; Soft whispers run along the leafy woods, And mountains whistle to the murmuring floods ; Even the doubtful billows scarce abstain From the toss'd vessel on the troubled main ; When crying cormorants forsake the sea, And stretching to the covert wing their way ; When sportful coots run skimming o'er the strand ; When watchful herons leave their watery stand, And mounting upward, with erected flight, Gain on the skies, and soar above the sight. And oft before tempestuous winds arise, The seeming stars fall headlong from the skies, And shooting through the darkness, gild the night With sweeping glories, and long trails of light ; And chaff with eddy winds is whiii'd around ; And dancing leaves are lifted from the ground ; And floating feathers on the waters play. But when the winged thunder takes his way From the cold north, and east and west engage, And at their frontiers meet with equal rage, The clouds are crush'd, a flood of gather'd rain The hollow ditches fills, and floats the plain, And sailors furl their dropping sheets amain. DKYDEN. 21G MUSIC. THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds ; And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleased With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave ; Some chord in unison with what we hear, Is touched within us, and the heart replies. How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet ; now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on ! "With easy force it opens all the cells Where memory slept. Wherever I have heard A kindred melody, the scene recurs, And with it all its pleasures and its pains. COWPEE. THE ORDER OF PROVIDENCE. ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame ; THE ORDER QF PROVIDENCE. 21 T "Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; Lives through all life, extends through all extent ; Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns ; To him no high-, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. Cease, then, nor order imperfection name : Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. Know thy own point : This kind, this true degree Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows 011 thee. Submit. In this or any other sphere, Secure to be as bless'd as thou canst bear, Safe in the hand of one disposing power-, Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; All discord, harmony, not understood ; All partial evil, universal good. POPE. 118 THE GOBLIN CAVE. IT was a wild and strange retreat, As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest, Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast ; Its trench had staid full many a rock, Hurl'd by primeval earthquake snock From* Benvenue's gray summit wild ; And here, in random ruin piled, They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot, And form'd the rugged sylvan grot. The oak and birch, with mingled shade, At noontide there a twilight made, Unless when short and sudden shone Some straggling beam on cliff or stone, With such a glimpse as prophet's eye Gains on thy depth, Futurity. No murmur waked the solemn still, Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; But when the wind chafed with the lake, A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke The incessant war of wave and rock. Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway, Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray. From such a den the wolf had sprung, In such the wild cat leaves her young ; TREES. 219 Yet Douglas and his daughter fair Sought for a space their safety there. Gray Superstition's whisper dread Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread ; For there, she said, did fays resort, And satyrs hold their sylvan court, By moonlight tread their mystic maze, And blast the rash beholder's gaze. SCOTT. TREES. No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some, And of a wannish gray ; the willow such, And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf; And ash, far stretching his umbrageous arm. Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still, Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak ; Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun ; The maple, and the beech, of oily nuts Prolific ; and the lime, at dewy eve Diffusing odours ; nor unnoted pass The sycamore, capricious in attire, Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. COWPER. 220 MORNING IN SPRING. THE mist still hovers round the distant hills ; But the blue sky above us has a clear And pearly softness ; not a white speck lies Upon its breast ; it is a crystal dome. There is a quiet charm about this morn Which sinks into the soul. No gorgeous colours Has the undraperied earth, but yet she shows A vestal brightness : not the voice is heard Of sylvan melody, whether of birds Intent on song, or bees mingling their music With their keen labour ; but the twittering voice Of chaffinch, or the wild, unfrequent note Of the lone woodlark, or the minstrelsy Of the blest robin, have a potent spell, Chirping away the silence : not the perfume Of violet scents the gale, nor apple-blossom, Nor satiating bean-flower ; the fresh breeze Itself is purest fragrance. Light and air Are ministers of gladness ; where these spread Beauty abides and joy : wherever life is There is no melancholy. AKON. 221 LINES ON A CUCKOO. HAIL to thee, shouting cuckoo ! in my youth Thou wert long time the Ariel of my hope, The marvel of a summer ! It did soothe To listen to thee on some sunny slope, Where the high oaks forbade an ampler scope Than of the blue skies upward, and to sit Canopied, in the gladdening horoscope Which thou, my planet, flung a pleasant fit Long time my hours endear'd, my kindling fancy smit. And thus I love thee still thy monotone The selfsame transport flashes through my frame, And when thy voice, sweet sibyl, all is flown My eager ear, I cannot choose but blame. may the world these feelings never tame ! If Age o'er me her silver tresses spread, 1 still would call thee by a lover's name, And deem the spirit of delight xinfled, Nor bear, though gray without, a heart to nature dead ! WlFFEN. 222 THE EUINED CITY. THE days of old, though Time has reft The dazzling splendour which they cast ; Yet many a remnant still is left To shadow forth the past. The warlike deed, the classic page, The lyric torrent, strong and free, Are lingering o'er the gloom of age, Like moonlight on. the sea. A thousand years have roll'd along, And blasted empires in their pride ; And witness'd scenes of crime and wrong, Till men by nations died. A thousand summer suns have shone Till earth grew bright beneath their sway, Since thou, untenanted and lone, Wert render'd to decay. The moss-tuft and the ivy-wreath For ages clad thy fallen mould, And gladden'd in the Spring's soft breath ; But they grew wan and old. Now, Desolation hath denied That even these shall veil thy gloom : And Nature's mantling beauty died In token of thy doom. FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 223 Alas ! for the far years, when clad With the bright vesture of thy prime, The proud towers made each wanderer glad, Who hail'd thy sunny clime ! Alas ! for the fond hope, and dream, And all that won thy children's trust ! God cursed and none may now redeem, Pale city of the dust ! ECKHARD. FORGIVE thy foes, nor that alone, Their evil deeds with good repay ; Fill those with joy who owe thee none. And kiss the hand upraised to slay. So does the fragrant sandal bow In meek forgiveness to its doom, And o'er the axe, at every blow, Sheds in abundance rich perfume. HERBERT KNOWLES. 224: BIKDS. I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet inood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts in that sweet bower The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths : And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopp'd and play'd ; Their thoughts I cannot measure : But the least motion which they made, It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. 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. RETIREMENT. 223 From Heaven if tliis belief be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made ot man ? "WORDSWORTH. KETIKEMENT. THRICE happy he who, by some shady grove, Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own ; Though solitaiy, who is not alone, But doth converse with that eternal love. O ! how more sweet is birds' harmonious moan, Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove, Than those smooth whisp'rings near a prince's throne, Which good make doubtful, do the ill approve ! O ! how more sweet is Zephyr's wholesome breath, And sighs embalin'd, which new-born flowers unfold, Thau that applause vain Honour doth bequeath ! How sweet are streams to poison drunk in gold ! The world is full of horrors, troubles, slights ; Woods' harmless shades have only true delights. DRUMJIOND. Q 226 THE SHIPWRECKED SOLTTAEY'S SONG TO THE NIGHI. THOU Spirit of the spangled night ! I woo thee from the watch-tower high, "Where thou dost sit to guide the bark Of lonely mariner. The winds are whistling o'er the wolds, The distant main is moaning low ; Come, let us sit and weave a song A melancholy song ! Sweet is the scented gale of morn, And sweet the noontide's fervid beam, But sweeter far the solemn calm That marks thy mournful reign. I've pass'd here many a lonely year, And never human voice have heard ; I've pass'd here many a lonely year, A solitary man. And I have linger'd in the shade, From sultry noon's hot beam. And I Have knelt before my wicker door To sing my evening song. THE SHIPWRECKED SOLITARY'S SOXG. 227 And I have hail'd the gray mom high, On the blue mountain's misty brow, And tried to tune my little reed To hymns of harmony. But never could I tune iny reed, At morn, or noon, or eve, so sweet, As when upon the ocean shore I hail'd thy star-beam mild. The day-spring brings not joy to me, The moon it whispers not of peace ; But, oh ! when darkness robes the heavens, My woes are mix'd with joy. And then I talk, and often think Aerial voices answer me ; And, oh ! I am not then alone A solitary man. And when the blustering winter winds Howl in the woods that clothe my cave, I lay me on my lonely mat, And pleasant are my dreams. And Fancy gives me back my wife ; And Fancy gives me back my child ; She gives me back my little home, And all its placid joys. Q 2 228 MOONLIGHT. Then hateful is the morning hour That calls me from the dream of bliss, To find myself still loue, and hear The same dull sounds again. The deep-toned winds, the moaning sea, The whispering of the boding trees, The brook's eternal flow, and oft The condor's hollow scream. KIRKE WHITE. MOONLIGHT. THE stars are forth, the moon above the cops Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful ! I linger yet with nature, for the sight Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man ; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learn'd the language of another world. I do remember me, that in my youth, When I was wandering, upon such a night I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; The trees which grew along the broken arches Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar MOOXLIGIIT. 229 The watch-clog bay'd beyond the Tiber ; find More near from out the Csesars' palace came The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood Within a bowshot. . And thou didst shine, tliou rolling moon, upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which soften'd down the hoar austerity Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; Leaving that beautiful which still was so, And making that which was not, till the place Became religion, and the heart ran o'er With silent worship of the great of old ! The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule Our spirits from their urns. BYKOS. 230 LIBERTY. OH, Liberty ! thou goddess heavenly bright, Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight ! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling Plenty leads thy wanton train ; Eased of her load, subjection grows more light, And Poverty looks cheerful in thy sight ; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of Nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day ; Thee, goddess, thee Britannia's isle adores ; How has she oft exhausted all her stores, How oft in fields of death thy presence sought, Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought. On foreign mountains may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine ; With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil ; We envy not the warmer clime that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ; Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine ; 'Tis Liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile. ADDISON. 231 TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire ! Whose ruodest form, so delicately fine, Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the winds. Thee, when young Spring first question'd Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark the victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Serene thou open'st to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance. So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill Adversity : in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved ; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, Chastens her spotless purity of breast, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills oi life. KJKKE WHITE. 232 THE BAFxD. I. 1. " RUIN seize thee, ruthless king ! Confusion on thy banners wait ; Though fann'cl by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears ! " Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As clown 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. I. 2. On a rock, whose haughty brow 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) ; THE BARD. 233 And \vith a master's hand, and prophet's five, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : " Hark, how each giaiit oak, and desert cave, Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! O'er thee, O king ! their hundred arms they wave, . Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. I 3. " Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main ; Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed j Mountains ! ye mourn, in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. On dreary Arvon's shores they lie, 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 eye.-;, 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 grisly band, I see them sit ; they linger yet, Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 234 THE BARD. II. 1. " Weave the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race ; 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, through Berkeley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king ! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fa.ngs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait ! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. " Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies ! I^o pitying heart, no eye, afford 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. 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 at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ; THE BARD. 235 Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. II 3. " Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare, Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast. Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon ,their baffied guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray ? Lance to lance, and horse to horse ; Long years of havock urge their destined course, And through 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. Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread ; The bristled Boar in infant gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 236 THE BARD. III. 1. " Edward, lo ! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof, the thread is spun,) Half of thy heart we consecrate. (The web is wove, the work is done.) Stay, oh, stay ! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied here to mourn ; In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. Eut oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll ! Visions of glory, spare my aching sight ! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul ! No more our long -lost Arthur we bewail, All hail, ye genuine kings, Britannia's issue, hail ! III. 2. " Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty appear; In the midst a form divine ! Her eyes proclaims her of the Briton line ; Her lion front, 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 ! They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. TIIK BARD. 237 Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as sue sings, "Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour' d wings. III. 3. " The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd, In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear ; And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man ! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Eaised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day ? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nation with redoubled ray. Enough for me ; with joy I see The different dooms our fates assign. Be thine despair and sceptred care ; To triumph, and to die, are mine ! " He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. GRAY. 238 HOPE. UNFADING Hope ! when life's last embers burn When soul to soul, and dust to dust return, Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! Oh ! then thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power ! "What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and "closing eye ! Bl'ight to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day Then, then the triumph and the trance begin, And all the Phoenix spirit burns within ! Oh, deep-enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die ] Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun J Where time's far-wandering tide has never run, From your unfathom'd shades and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! HOPE. 239 Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul ! Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, Chased, on his night-steed, by the star of day ! The strife is o'er the pangs of Nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, The noon of Heaven, undazzled by the blaze, On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky, Float -the sweet tones of star -born melody ; Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill ! CAMPBELL. 240 THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame ; The child whom many fathers share Hath seldom known a father's care. Tis thus in friendship ; who depend On many, rarely find a friend. A hare, who in a civil way Complied with everything, like GAY, Was known by all the bestial train, Who haunt the wood or graze the plain ; Her care was never to offend, And every creature was her friend. As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprjukled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies ; She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; She hears the near advance of death ; She doubles, to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round ; 'Till, fainting in the public way, Half-dead with fear she gasping lay. What transport in her bosom grew When first the horse appear'd in view ! THE HARE AXD MANY FRIENDS. 241 " Let me," says she, " your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend : You know my feet betray my flight : To friendship every burden's light." The horse replied, " Poor honest Puss, It grieves my heart to see thee thus ; Be comforted, relief is near, For all your friends are in the rear." She next the stately bull implored, And thus replied the mighty lord : " Since every beast alive can tell That I sincerely wish you well ; I may, without offence, pretend To take the freedom of a friend. Love calls me hence : a favourite cow Expects me near the barley-mow ; And when a lady's in the case, You know all other things give place. To leaA r e you thus might seem unkind ; But see, the goat is just behind." The goat remark'd, her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye : " My back," says he, " may do you harm ; The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." The sheep was feeble, and coinplain'd His sides a load of wool sustam'cl ; Said he was slow ; confess'd his fears ; For hounds ate sheep as well as hares. She next the trotting calf address'd, To save from death a friend distress'd. 242 THE YEW-TREE OF LORTON. " Shall I," says he, " of tender age, In this important care engage 1 Older and abler pass'd you by ; How strong are those, how weak am I ! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then : you know my heart ; But dearest friends, alas ! must part. How shall we all lament ! Adieu ! For see, the hounds are just in view !" GAT. THE YEW-TREE OF LORTON. THERE is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton Yale, Which to this day stands single in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore ; Not loth to furnish weapons for the band Of Umfraville or Percy, ere they march'd To Scotland's heaths ; or those that cross'd the And drew their sounding bows at Agincourt, Perhaps at earlier Grecy or Poictiei-s. Of vast circumference and gloom profound This solitary tree ! A living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed, WORDSWORTH 243 .TIME. MUST the hill's coronal, the grove's array, Earth's flow'ry garlands, wither and decay, And all the summer's marvels pass away ? Linger, fleet Time, we would not have it so ! Must the green leaves, torn from the forest tree, Scatter'd by Autumn's blast unsparingly, In heap'd corruption perish hopelessly 1 Stay, sweeping Time, we would not have it so ! Must the rose-hues of Youth grow dim and wan, Beauty to loveless wrinkled Age pass on, The bounding, hopeful heart to dust go down ? Hold ! ruthless Time, we would not have it so ! But from the Summer's grave, the wind-swept dead, Once more the Life and Beauty mourn'd as fled In, new-born grace o'er earth's wide plains shall spread ! Haste ! bounteous Time, for we would have it so. And the chill'd hopes 1 The mouldering form that lies In earth's forgotten dust, again shall rise, Spring from corruption to unchanging skies ! Speed ! life- restoring Time, let it be so. R 2 244 TO A JESSAMINE TREE IN THE COURT OF NAWORTH CASTLE. MY slight and slender jessamine tree, That bloomest on. my Border tower, Thou art more dearly loved by me Than all the wreaths of foreign bower ; I ask not, while I near thee dwell, Arabia's spice, or Syria's rose ; Thy light festoons more freshly smell, Thy virgin white more purely glows. Sly wild and winsome jessamine tree. That climbest up the dark gray wall, Thy tiny flow'rets seem in glee, Like silver spray-drops, down to fall : Say, did they from their leaves thus peep, When mail'd moss-troopers rode the hill ; When helmed warders paced the keep, And bugles blew for Belted Will ? My free and feathery jessamine tree, Within the fragrance of thy breath You dungeon grated to its key, And the chain'd captive sigh'd for death : MEKCY. 24-5 On Border fray, on feudal crime I dream not, while I gaze on thee ; The chieftains of that stern old time Could ne'er have loved a jessamine tree. THE EARL OP CAK LISLE. MERCY. THE quality of mercy is not strain'd ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heav'n Upon the place beneath ; it is twice bless'd ; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes ; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself ; And earthly power doth then show like&t God's Vv r hen mercy seasons justice. SHAKSPEAI; 246 SIEGE OF VALENCIA. A SWORD is on the land ! He that bears down young tree and glorious flower, Death is gone forth, he walks the wind in power ! Where is the warrior's hand ? Our steps are in the shadow of the grave ; Hear us, we perish ! Father, hear, and save ! If in the days of song, The days of gladness, we have call'd on Thee, When mirthful voices rang from sea to sea, And joyous hearts were strong ; Now, that alike the feeble and the brave Must cry, " We perish !" Father, hear, and save ! The days of song are fled ! The winds come loaded, wafting dirge-notes by, But they that linger, soon unmourn'd must die ; The dead weep not the dead ! Wilt thou forsake us 'midst the stormy wave, We sink, we perish ! Father, hear, and save ! Helmet and lance are dust ! Is not the strong man wither'd from our eye ? The arm struck down that held our banners high ? THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. 247 . Thine is our spirit's trust ! Look through the gathering shadows of the grave ! Do we not perish 1 Father, hear, and save ! MRS. HEMANS. THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain, While I look upward to thee. It would seem As if God pour'd thee from his " hollow hand," And hung his bow upon thine awful front ; And spoke in that loud voice, which seem'd to him. Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, " The sound of many waters ;" and had bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back, And notch his cent'ries in the eternal rocks. " Deep calleth unto deep." And what are we, That hear the question of that voice sublime ? Oh ! what are all the notes that ever rung From War's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side ! Yea, what is all the riot man can make In his short life, to thy unceasing roar ! And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him, Who drown'd a world, and heap'd the waters far Above its loftiest mountains ? a light wave, That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might ! BRAINARD. 243 THE WINGED WORSHIPPERS. THE SWALLOWS IN THE CHURCH. GAY guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven 1 Ye have no need of prayer, Ye have no sins to be forgiven ! Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their Maker bend ? Can your pure spirits fear The God ye never could offend 1 Ye never knew The crimes for which we come to weep ; Penance is not for you, Blessed wanderers of the upper deep. To you 'tis given To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays ; Beneath the arch of heaven To chirp away a life of praise. Then spread each wing, Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, And join the choirs that sing In yon blue dome not rear'd with hands. THE CLIXD CHILD. 249 Or, if ye stay To note the consecrated hour, Teach me the airy way, And let me try your envied power. Above the crowd, On upward wings could I but fly, I'd bathe in yon bright cloud, And seek the stars that gem the sky. 'Twere heaven indeed, Through fields of trackless light to soar, On Nature's charms to feed, And Nature's own great God adore ! SPRAGUE. THE BLIND CHILD. WHERE'S the blind child, so admirably fair, With guileless dimples, and with flaxen hair That waves in ev'ry breeze 1 He's often seen Beside yon cottage wall, or 011 the green, With others match'd in spirit and in size, Health on their cheeks, and rapture in their eyes. That full expanse of voice to childhood dear, Soul of their sports, is duly cherish'd here : And, hark, that laugh is his, that jovial cry ; He hears the ball and trundling hoop brush by, 250 THE BLIND CHILD. And runs the giddy course with all his might, A veiy child in everything but sight ; With circumscribed, but not abated powers, Play, the great object of his infant hours. In many a game he takes a noisy part, And shows the native gladness of his heart ; But soon he hears, on pleasure all intent, The new suggestion and the quick assent ; The grove invites, delight fills every breast To leap the ditch, and seek the downy nest : Away they start ; leave balls and hoops behind, And one companion leave the boy is Blind ! His fancy paints their distant paths so gay, That childish fortitude awhile gives way : He feels his dreadful loss ; yet short the pain, Soon he resumes his cheerfulness again, Pondering how best his moments to employ, He sings his little songs of nameless joy ; Creeps on the warm green turf for many an hour, And plucks by chance the white and yellow flower ; Smoothing their stems, while resting on his knees, He binds a nosegay which he never sees ; Along the homeward path then feels his way, Lifting his brow against the shining day, And, with a playful rapture round his eyes, Presents a sighing parent with the prize ! BLOOMFIELD. 251 THE COUNTRY SWAIN. OH, happy, if he knew his happy state, The swain who, free from business and debate, Receives his easy food from Nature's hand, And just returns of cultivated land. No palace with a lofty gate he wants, To admit the tide of early visitants, With eager eyes devouring as they pass The breathing figures of Corinthian brass ; No statues threaten from high pedestals, ^No Persian arras hides his homely walls With antic vests, which, through their shadowy fold, Betray the streaks of ill- dissembled gold. He boasts no wool where native white is dyed With purple poison of Assyrian pride. No costly drugs of Araby defile, With foreign scents, the sweetness of his oil ; But easy quiet, a secure retreat, A harmless life that knows not how to cheat, With home-bred plenty the rich owner bless, And rural pleasures crown his happiness. Unvex'd with quarrels, undisturb'd by noise, The country king his peaceful realm enjoys. DBYDEN'S VIRGIL. 252 THE WARRIORS OF EODERICK DHU. HE whistled shrill, And he was answer'd from the hill ; Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew ; Instant, through copse and heath, arose Bonnets and spears, and bended bows ; On right, on left, above, below, Sprang up at once the lurking foe. From shingles grey their lances start, The bracken-bush sends forth the dart : The rushes and the willow wand Are bristling into axe and brand ; And every tuft of broom gives life To plaided warrior arm'd for strife. That whistle garrison'd the glen At once with full five hundred men, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterranean host had given. "Watching their leader's beck and will, All silent there they stood and still, Like the loose crags whose threatening mass Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass ; As if an infant's touch could urge Their headlong passage down the verge ; THE WARRIORS OF RHODERICK DIIU. 253 "With step and weapon forward flung, Upon the mountain-side they Lung. The mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side, Then fix'd his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James " How say'st thou now ? These are Clan- Alpine's warriors true ; And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu !" Fitz-James was brave ! Though to his heart The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start ; He mann'd himself with dauntless air, Return' d the Chief his haughty stare ; His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before : " Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I." SCOTT. 254: THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. THEY breathe no longer : let their ashes rest ; Clamour unjust and calumny They stoop'd not to confute ; but flung their breast Against the legions of your enemy, And thus avenged themselves : for you they die. "Woe to you, woe ! if those inhuman eyes Can spare no drops to mourn your country's weal ; Shrinking before your selfish miseries, Against the common sorrow hard as steel ; Tremble, the hand of death upon you lies ; You may be forced yourselves to feel. But, no what son of France has spared his tears For her defenders, dying in their fame ; Though kings return, desired through lengthening years. What old man's cheek is tinged not with her shame ? What veteran, who their lorame's treason hears, Feels not the quickening spark of his old youthful flame? Great heaven ! what lessons mark that one day's page 1 What ghastly figures that might crowd an age ! WINDSOR FOREST. 255 Hide from me, hide those soldiers overborne, Broken with toil ; with death-bolts crush'd and torn ; Those quivering limbs with dust denied, And bloody corses upon corses piled. Veil from mine eyes that monument Of nation against nation spent In struggling rage, that pants for breath ; Spare us the bands thou sparedst, Death ! Oh, VARUS ! where the warriors ihon hast led ? BESTOKE OUR LEGIONS ! give us back our Dead ! Translated from DE LA VIGNE* WINDSOR FOREST. THERE, interspersed in lawns and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades. Here in full light the russet plains extend, There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills ascend. E'en the wild heath displays her purple dyes, And 'midst the desert, fruitful fields arise, That, crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn, Like verdant isles the sable waste adorn. Let India boast her plants, nor envy we The weeping amber, or the balmy tree, "While by our oaks the precious loads are borne, And realms commanded which those trees adorn. POPE, 256 GREECE. WHERE'ER we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground ; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muses' tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon ; Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold, Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone ; Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares grey Marathon. The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ; Unchanged in all except its foreign lord. Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame The battle-field, where Persia's victim horde First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, As on the morn to distant glory dear, When Marathon became a magic word ; Which utter' d, to the hearer's eye appear The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career. The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; Mountains above, earth's, ocean's plain below ; Death in the front, destruction in the rear ! Such was the scene, what now rernaineth here ? TREES. 257 What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear 1 The rifled urn, the violated mound, The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger, spurns around ! BYUON. TREES. AND forth they pass, with pleasure forward led, Joying to hear the birds' sweet harmony, Which, therein shrouded from the tempests dread, Seem'd in their song to scorn the cruel sky j Much can they praise, the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine, the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, The builder oak, sole king of forests all ; The aspen good for staves ; the cypress funeral. The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage ; the fir that weepeth still ; The willow worn of forlorn paramours ; The yew obedient to the bender's will ; The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill, The myrrh sweet bleeding of the bitter wound, The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, The fruitful olive, and the platane round, The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound. SPENSER. s 258 SONG OF THE WILD BUSHMAN. LET the proud boor possess his flocks, And boast his fields of grain ; My home is 'mid the mountain rocks, The desert my domain. I plant no herbs or pleasant fruits, Nor toil for savoury cheer : The desert yields nie juicy roots And herds of bounding deer. The countless spring-boks are my flock> Spread o'er the boundless plain j The buffalo bends to my yoke, And the wild-horse to my rein ; My yoke is the quivering assagai, My rein the tough bow-string ; My bridle curb is a slender barb Yet it quells the forest king. The crested adder honoureth me, And yields, at my command, His poison-bag, like the honey-bee, When 1 seize him on the sand. Yea ! even the locusts' wasting swarai, Which mightiest nations dread, To me brings joy in place of harm, For I make of them, my bread. THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS. 259 Thus I am lord of the desert land, And I will not leave my bounds, To crouch beneath the Christian's hand, And kennel with his hounds \ To be a hound, and watch the flocks, For the cruel white man's gain. "No I the swart serpent of the rocks His den doth yet retain ; And none who there his sting provokes Shall find its poison vain ! PlUNGLE. THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEEEUS. CAN it be true ? so fragrant and so fair, To give thy perfume to the dews of night ! Can aught so beautiful shrink from the glare, And fade and sicken in the coming light ? Yes, peerless flower ! the heavens alone exhale Thy fragrance, while the glittering stars attest ; And incense, wafted from, the midnight gale Untainted rises from thy spotless breast. Sweet emblem of that Faith which seeks, apart From human, praise, to love and work unseen, That gives to heaven an undivided heart, In sorrow steadfast, and in joy serene ! Anchor'd in God, no adverse cloud can dim The eye, un alter' d, still is fix'd 011 Him ! ANON. s 2 260 PALMYRA. O'ER the hush'd plain where sullen horror broods, And darkest frown the Syrian solitudes, Where Morn's soft steps no balmy fragrance leave, And parch'd and dewless is the couch of Eve, Thy form, pale city of the waste, appears Like some faint vision of departed years. In mazy cluster still, a giant train, Thy sculptured fabrics whiten on the plain ; Still stretch thy column'd vistas far away The shadow'd dimness of their long array. But where the stirring crowd, the voice of strife, The glow of action, and the thrill of life ? Hear ! the loud crash of yon huge fragment's fall, The pealing answer of each desert hall, The night-bird shrieking from her secret cell, And hollow winds, the tale of ruin tell. See, fondly lingering, Mithras' parting rays Gild the proud towers once vocal with his praise ; But the cold altars clasping weeds entwine, And Moslems worship at the godless shrine. Yet here slow-pausing Memory loves to pour Her magic influence o'er this pensive hour ; PAL3IYRA. 261 And oft as yon recesses deep prolong The echoed sweetness of the Arab song, Recalls that scene where Wisdom's sceptred child First broke the stillness of the lonely wild. From air, from ocean, from earth's utmost clime, The summon'd genii heard the mutter'd rhyme ; The tasking spell their airy hands obey'd And Tadmor glitter'd in the paling shade. Lo ! to her feet the tide of ages brings The wealth of nations, and the pomp of kings ; And far her warrior-queen from Parthia's plain To the dark ^Ethiop spreads her ample reign ; Vain boast ! e'en she who Irnmee's field along Waked fiercer frenzy in the patriot throng, And sternly beauteous, like the meteor's light, Shot through the tempest of Emesa's fight While trembling captives round the victor wait, Hang on his eye, and catch the word of fate Zenobia's self must quail beneath his nod, A kneeling suppliant to the mimic god. But one stood there amid that abject throng, In truth triumphant and in virtue strong ; Beam'd on his brow the soul which, undismay'd, Smiled at the rod, and scorn'd the uplifted blade. O'er thee, Palmyra, darkest seem'd to lour The boding terrors of that fatal hour ; Far from thy glade indignant Freedom fled, And Hope, too, wither'd as Longinus bled. BARBER. HYMN OF THE CITY. NOT in the solitude Alone may man commune with heaven, or see Only in savage wood And sunny vale, the present Deity ; Or only hear his voice Where the winds whisper, and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty ! here, amidst the crowd, Through the great city roll'd, With everlasting murmur deep and loud, Choking the ways that wind, 'Mongst the proud piles, the works of human kind. Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwelling lies, And lights their inner homes ; For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores. Thy Spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; And this eternal sound, ADDRESS TO LIGHT. 2G3 Voices and foot-falls of the numberless throng, Like the resounding sea, Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. And when the hours of rest Come, like a calm upon the raid-sea brine, Hushing its billowy breast, The quiet of that moment, too, is Thine ; It breathes of Him who keeps The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. ADDRESS TO LIGHT. HAIL, holy light, offspring of heav'n first-born, Or of the .eternal coeternal beam May I express thee unblamed ? Since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate. Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream, "Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, Before the heav'ns thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, "Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detain'd 2G4 ADDRESS TO LIGHT. In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne, With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, I sung of chaos and eternal night ; Taught by the heav'nly muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp ; but thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, Or dim suffusion veil'd. Thus with the year Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark SuiTOunds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fail- Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works, to me expunged and razed, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers Irradiate ; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight. MILTON, 265 NOEFOLK'S REPLY TO BOLINGBROKE'? CHARGE OF TREASON. LET not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this. Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd. and nought at all to say : First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let hirn be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him ; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain ; Which to maintain, I would allow him odds ; And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Wherever Englishman durst set his foot : Meantime, let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. SHAKSPEAR, 260 THE SUMMER NOOX. No sound nor motion of a living thing The stillness breaks, but such as serve to soothe, Or cause the soul to feel the stillness more. The yellow-hammer by the wayside picks, Mutely, the thistle's seed ; but in her flight, So smoothly serpentine, her wings outspread To rise a little, closed to fall as far, Moving like sea-fowl o'er the heaving waves, With each new impulse chimes a feeble note. The russet grasshopper at times is heard, Snapping his many wings, as half he flies, Half hovers in the air. Where strikes the sun, With sultriest beams, upon the sandy plain, Or stony mount, or in the close, deep vale, The harmless locust of this western clime, At intervals, amid the leaves unseen, Is heard to sing with one unbroken sound, As with a long-drawn breath, beginning low, And rising to the midst with shriller swell, Then in low cadence dying all away. Beside the stream, collected in a flock, The noiseless butterflies, though on the ground, Continue still to wave their open fans Powder'd with gold ; while on the jutting twigs The spindling insects that frequent the banks, MORNING AFTER A STOEM. 267 Rest, with their thin transparent wings outspread As when they fly. Ofttimes, though seldom seen, The cuckoo, that in summer haunts our groves, Is heard to moan, as if at every breath Panting aloud. The hawk, in mid-air high, On his broad pinions sailing round and round, With not a flutter, or but now and then, As if his trembling balance to regain, Utters a single scream, but faintly heard, And all again is still. WILCOX. MORNING AFTER A STORM. THERE was a roaring in the wind all night ; The rain came heavily, and fell in floods ; But now the sun is rising calm and bright ; The birds are singing in the distant woods ; Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods ! The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters ; And all the air is fill'd with pleasant noise of waters. All things that love the sun are out of doors ; The sky rejoices in the morning's birth ; The grass is bright with rain-drops ; on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth ; And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. WORDSWORTH. 268 CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST. FEAR was within the tossing bark, When stormy winds grew loud, And waves came rolling high and davk, And the tall mast was bow'd. And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill But One was there, who rose and said To the mild sea, " Be still !" And the wind ceased it ceased, that word Pass'd through the gloomy sky ; The troubled billows knew their Lord, And sank beneath His eye. And slumber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the righteous falls asleep, When death's fierce throes ai*e past. Thou, that didst rule the angry hour, And tame the tempest's mood, Oh ! send Thy spirit forth in power, O'er our dark souls to brood ! HYMN TO THE MOON. 269 Thou, that didst bow the billow's pride Thy mandates to fulfil, So speak to Passion's raging tide, Speak, and say, " Peace, be still ! " MRS. HEMANS. HYMN TO THE MOON. QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess, excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heav'n to clear, when day did close : Bless us, then, with wished sight, Goddess, excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver ; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess, excellently bright. BEN JONSON. 270 ODE ON THE PASSIONS. Music, heavenly maid ! was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell Exulting, trembling^ raging, fainting, Possess'd beyond the Muses' painting ; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound ; And as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, for Madness ruled the hour, Would prove his own expressive power. First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords, bewilder'd laid ; And back recoil'd, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightning's own'd his secret stings ; In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings. ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 271 With woeful measures wan Despair Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled ; A solemn, strange, and mingled air j 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 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 ; And where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair : And longer had she sung but with a frown Revenge impatient rose : He threw 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 ; And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum ^Yith fui'ious heat ; And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. :272 ODE ON THE PASSIONS. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ; Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of diff'ring themes the veei-iug song was mix'd, And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, 'Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing : While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round, Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound : And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. O Music ! sphere-descended maid, Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid, Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside 1 As in that loved Athenian bower, You learn'd an all-commanding power ; Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear' d, Can well recall what then it heard, Where is thy native simple heart, Devote to virtue, fancy, art ? ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 273 Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime ! Thy -wonders in that godlike age Fill thy recording sister's page : Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all that charms this laggard age ; Ev'n all at once together found, Cecilia's mingled world of sound. Oh, bid our vain endeavours cease, Revive the just designs of Greece ; Return in all thy simple state ; Confirm the tales her sons relate ! COLLINS. 274 MIDNIGHT. MIDNIGHT was come, and every vital thing "With, sweet sound sleep their weary limbs did rest : The beasts were still, the little birds that sing, Now sweetly slept beside their mother's breast, The old and all well shrouded in their nest ; The waters cahn, the cruel seas did cease, The woods, and fields, and all things held their peace. The golden stars were whirl'd amid their race, And on the earth did laugh with their twinkling light, When each thing nestled in his resting-place, Forgot day's pain with pleasure of the night : The hare had not the greedy hounds in sight, The fearful deer of death stood not in doubt, The partridge dream'd not of the falcon's foot. The ugly bear now minded not the stake, Nor how the cruel mastiffs do him tear ; The stag lay still unroused from the brake ; O v The foamy boar fear'd not the hunter's spear : All things were still in desert, bush, and brere. " The quiet heart, now from their travails rest," Soundly they slept, in most of all their rest. SACKVILLE, 275 MANFRED'S FAREWELL TO THE SUN. MOST glorious orb ! thou wert a mystery ere The mystery of thy making was reveal'd ! Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, Which gladden'd, on the mountain tops, the hearts Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd Themselves in orisons ! Thou material god ! And representative of the Unknown, Who chose thee for His shadow ! Thou chief star ! Centre of many stars, which mak'st our earth Endurable, and temperest the lives And hearts of all who walk within thy rays ! Sire of the Seasons ! Monarch of the Climes And those who dwell in them ! for near or far Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee, Even as our outward aspects; thou dost rise And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee well ! I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance Of love and wonder was for thee, then take My latest look; thou wilt not beam on one To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been Of a more fatal nature ! BYRON. T 2 276 MILTON. MILTOK ! thou shouldst be living at this hour ; England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; Oh ! raise us up, return to us again, And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea : Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; So didst thou travel in life's common way, In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. WORDSWORTH. THE BUCCANEER. THE dawning of my youth, with awe And prophecy, the dalesmen saw ; For over Redesdale it came, As bodeful as their beacon-flame. THE BUCCANEER. 277 Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine, When, challenging the clans of Tyne, To bring their best my brand to prove, O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove ; But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, Held champion meet to take it down. My noontide, India may declare ; Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! Like him, to wood and cave bade fly Her natives, from my angry eye. Panama's maids shall long look pale, When Risingham inspires the tale ; Chili's dark nations long shall tame The fro ward child with Bertram's name. And now, my race of terror run, Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! No pale gradations quench his ray, No twilight dews his wrath allay ; With disk like battle-target red, He rushes to his burning bed ; Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, Then sinks at once and all is Night ! SCOTT. 278 MOUNTAIN ECHOES. YE spirits like the winds ! Ye, who around The rocks and these primeval mountains run, "With cries as though some thunder-god unbound His wings, to celebrate the set of sun, And leaning from yon fiery cloud Alarming blew his brazen horn aloud, And then with faint, and then with fainter voice, That bade the world rejoice, Proclaimed care asleep and earthly labour done. Oh ! spirits of the air and mountains, born And cradled in the cave where silence lies ! As from dusk night at once the tropic morn Springeth upon the struck beholder's eyes, In mid-day power bright and warm, So ye, call'd forth from some unholy calm, Mysterious, brooding, and prophetic, seem To rise as from a dream, And break your spell, but keep the secret of the charm. Not only like the thunder and the blast Are your high voices heard, for far away Ye gently speak, and as, when life is past, The white swan crowns with song her dying day ; So in music faint and sad Ye perish, who exultingly and glad LIBERTY. 279 Rush'd forward in your earlier course, Like rivers from a rocky source Fast flashing into light, and sinking soon to shade. BARKY CORNWALL. LIBERTY. YE clouds ! that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may control ! Ye ocean-waves ! that wheresoe'er ye roll Yield homage only to eternal laws ! Ye woods ! that listen to the night-bird's singing, Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, Save when your own imperious branches, swinging, Have made a solemn music of the wind ! Where, like a man beloved of God. Through glooms, which never woodman trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound, Inspired beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound ! O ye loud waves ! and ye forests high ! And O ye clouds that far above me soar'd ! Thou rising sun ! thou blue rejoicing sky ! Yea, everything that is, and will be free ! Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er you be, With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty. COLERIDGE. 280 A DROP OF DEW. SEE how the orient dew, Shed from the bosom of the morn Into the blowing roses, Yet careless of its mansion new, For the clear region where 'twas born, Round it itself encloses ; And in its little globe's extent Frames as it can, its native element. How it the purple flower does slight, Scarce touching where it lies ! But, gazing back upon the skies, Shines with a mournful light : Like its own tear, Because so long divided from the sphere. Restless it rolls and insecure, Trembling, lest it grow impure ; Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again. So the soul, that drop, that ray Of the clear fountain of eternal clay, Could it within the human flower be seen, Remembering still its former height, Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green ; And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater heaven in an heaven less. THE GRASSHOPPER. 281 Such did the manna's sacred dew distil, White and entire, although congeal'd and chill Congeal'd on earth ; but does, dissolving, run Into the glories of the Almighty sun. A. MAIIVEL. TKE GRASSHOPPER. THERE is the grasshopper, my summer friend, The minute sound of many a sunny hour Pass'd on a thymy hill, when I could send My soul in search thereof by bank and bower, Till lured far from it by a foxglove flower, Nodding too dangerously above the crag, Not to excite the passion and the power To climb the steep, and down the blossom drag ; Them the marsh-crocus joiu'd, and yellow water-flag; Shrill sings the drowsy wassailer in his dome, Yon gi'assy wilderness, where curls the fern, And creeps the ivy ; with the wish to roam He spreads his sails, and bright is his sojourn, 'Mid chalices with dews in every urn. All flying things a like delight have found Where'er I gaze, to what new region turn, Ten thousand insects in the air abound, Flitting on glancing wings that yield a summer sound, WlFFEN. 282 -MIDNIGHT. How calmly, gliding through the dark blue sky, The midnight moon ascends ! Her placid beams, Through thinly-scatter'd leaves, and boughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope ; Here o'er the chestnut's fretted foliage, gray And massy, motionless they spread ; here shine Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night Their chasms ; and there the glittering ai-gentry Ripples and glances on the confluent streams. A lovelier, purer light than that of day Rests on the hills, and oh ! how awfully, Into that deep and tranquil firmament, The summits of Auseva rise serene ! The watchman on the battlements partakes The stillness of the solemn hour ; he feels The silence of the earth ; the endless sound Of flowing water soothes him ; and the stars, "Which in that brightest moonlight well nigh quench' d, Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth Of yonder sapphire infinite, are seen, Draw on with elevating influence Towards eternity the attemper'd mind. Musing on worlds beyond the grave, he stands, And to the Virgin Mother, silently, Breathes forth her hymn of praise. SOUTH EY. 283 THE LAY OF THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. I. Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note 1 Ho, lictors, clear the way ! The knights will ride, in all their pride, Along the streets to-day. To-day the doors and windows Are hung with garlands all, From Castor in the Forum, To Mars without the wall. Each knight is robed in purple, With olive each is crown'd ; A gallant war-horse under each Paws haughtily the ground. While flows the Yellow River, While stands the Sacred Hill, The proud Ides of Quintilis Shall have such honour still. Gay are the Martian Kalends ; December's Nones are gay ; But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides, Shall be Rome's whitest day. ii. Unto the Great Twin Brethren We keep this solemn feast. Swift, swift the Great Twin Brethren Came spurring from the east. 284 THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS. They came o'er wild Parthenius, Tossing in waves of pine, O'er Cirrha's dome, o'er Adria's foam, O'er purple Apennine, From where with flutes and dances Their ancient mansion rings, In lordly Lacedsemon, The city of two kings, To where, by Lake Hegillus Under the Porcian height, All in the lands of Tusculum, Was fought the glorious fight. in. Now on the place of slaughter Are cots and sheep-folds seen, And rows of vines, and fields of wheat, And apple-orchards green : The swine crush the big acorns That fall from Corne's oaks. Upon the turf, by the fair fount, The reaper's pottage smokes. The fisher baits his angle ; The hunter twangs his bow : Little they think on those strong limbs That moulder deep below : Little they think how sternly That day the trumpets peal'd ; How in the slippery swamp of blood Warrior and war-horse reel'd ; THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. 285 How wolves came with fierce gallop, And crows on eager wings, To tear the flesh of captains, And peck the eyes of kings j How thick the dead lay scatter'd Under the Porcian height ; How through the gates of Tusculum Raved the wild stream of flight ; And how the Lake Regillus Bubbled with crimson foam, What time the thirty cities Came forth to war with Rome. But, Roman, when thou standest Upon that holy ground, Look thou with heed on the dark rock That girds the dark lake round. So shalt thou see a hoof-inai*k Stamp'd deep into the flint ; It was no hoof of mortal steed That made so strange a dint ; There to the Great Twin Brethren Vow thou thy vows, and pray That they, in tempest and in flight, Will keep thy head alway. v. Since last the Great Twin Brethren Of mortal eyes were seen, 286 THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS. Have years gone by an hundred And fourscore and thirteen, That summer a Virginius Was consul first in place ; The second was stout Aulus, Of the Posthumian race. The herald of the Latines From Gabii came in state ; The herald of the Latines Pass'd through Rome's eastern gate ; The herald of the Latines Did in our Forum stand ; And there he did his office, A sceptre in his hand. VI. " Hear, senators and people Of the good town of Rome ; The Thirty cities charge you To bring the Tarquins home ; And if ye still be stubborn To work the Tarquins wrong, The Thirty cities warn you, Look that your walls be strong. VII. Then spake the Consul Aulus, He spake a bitter jest : " Once the jays sent a message Unto the eagle's nest : THE BATTLE OP THE LAKE KEGILLUS. 287 ' Now yield thou up thine eyrie Unto the carrion-kite, Or come forth valiantly, and face The jays in deadly fight.' Forth look'd in wrath the eagle; And carrion-kite and jay, Soon as they saw his beak and claw, Fled screaming far away." VIII. The herald of the Latines Hath hied him back in state ; The Fathers of the City Are met in high debate. Then spake the elder Consul, An ancient man and wise, " Now hearken, Conscript Fathers, To that which I advise : In seasons of great peril 'Tis good that one bear sway; Then choose we a Dictator, Whom all men shall obey. Camerium knows how deeply The sword of Aulus bites ; And all our city calls him The man of seventy fights : Then let him be Dictator For six months and no more, And have a Master of the knights, And axes twenty-four." 288 THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. IX. So Aldus was Dictator, The man of seventy fights ; He made ^Ebutius Elva His master of the knights. On the third mom thereafter, At dawning of the day, Did Anlus and ^Ebutius Set forth with their array. Semprouius Atratinus Was left in charge at home With boys, and with grey-headed men, To keep the walls of Rome. Hard by the Lake Regillus Our camp was pitch'd at night ; Eastward a mile the Latines lay, Under the Porcian height ; Far over hill and valley Their mighty host was spread; And with their thousand watch-fires The midnight sky was red. Up rose the g.Iorioxis morning Over the Porciau height, The proud Ides of Quintilis Mark'd evermore with white. Not without secret trouble Our bravest saw the foes ; THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS. 289 For girt by threescore thousand spears, The thirty standards rose. From every wai'like city, That boasts the Latian name, Foredoom' d to dogs and vultures, That gallant army came ; From Setia's purple vineyards, From Norba's ancient wall, From the white streets of Tusculum r The proudest town of all ; From where the Witch's Fortress O'erhangs th dark blue seas ; From the still glassy lake that sleeps Beneath Aricia's trees. Those trees in whose dim shadow The ghastly priest doth reign, The priest who slew the slayer, And shall himself be slain ; From the drear banks of Uferis, Where flights ot marsh-fowl play, And buffaloes lie wallowing Through the hot summer's day ; From the gigantic watch-towers, No work of earthly men, Whence Cora's sentinels o'erlook The never-ending fen ; From the Laurentian jungle, The wild hog's reedy home; From the green steeps whence Anio leaps In floods of snow-white foam. * * * # # u 290 THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS. XXXVII. Sempronius Atratinus Sate in the eastern gate, Beside him were three Fathers, Each in his chair of state ; Fabius, whose nine stout grandsons That day were in the field, And Manlius, eldest of the Twelve Who keep the Golden shield ; And Sergius, the high Pontiff, For wisdom far renown'd ; In all Etruria's colleges Was no such Pontiff found ; And all around the portal, And high above the wall, Stood a great throng of people, But sad and silent all ; Young lads and stooping elders That might not bear the mail : Matrons with lips that quiver'd And maids with faces pale. Since the first gleam of daylight, Sempronius had not ceased To listen for the rushing Of horse-hoofs from the east. The mist of eve was rising, The sun was hastening down, When he was aware of a princely pair Fast pricking towards the town. THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE KEGILLUS. 291 So like they were, men never Saw twins so like before ; Red with gore their armour was, Their steeds were red with gore. XXXVIIL " Hail to the great asylum ! Hail to the hill-tops seven ! Hail to the fire that burns for aye, And the shield that fell from heaven ! This day by Lake Regillus Under the Porcian height, All in the lands of Tusculum, Was fought a glorious fight. To-morrow your Dictator Shall bring in triumph home The spoils of thirty cities, To deck the shrines of Rome !" xxxix. Then burst from that great concourse A shout that shook the towers, And some ran north, and some ran south, Crying, " The day is ours !" But on rode these strange horsemen, With slow and lordly pace ; And none who saw their bearing Durst ask their name or race. On rode they to the Forum, While laurel-boughs and flowers, 292 THE END. From house-tops and from windows, Fell on their crests in showers ;' When they drew nigh to Vesta, They vaulted down amain, And wash'd their horses in the well That springs by Vesta's fane. And straight again they mounted, And rode to Vesta's door ; Then, like a blast, away they pass'd, And no man saw them more. MACAULAY, THE END. You do look, my son, in a moved sort, As if you were dismay'd. Be cheerful, sir : Our revels now are ended : these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a wreck behind ! We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. SHAKSPEARE. PRINTED BY COX (BROS.) AND WTMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET. A 000105470 9 m v