LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVCRSlTY OF 
 CM.UORN1A 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 ENGLISH LYRICS
 
 ENGLISH LYRICS 
 
 CHAUCER TO POE 
 1340-1809 
 
 SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY 
 
 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 
 
 A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 
 A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, and Thou 
 
 Beside me singing in the Wilderness 
 O, Wilderness were Paradise enow. 
 
 Omar Khayyam. 
 
 LONDON : METHUEN AND CO. 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 1897
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
 
 TO 
 
 GEORGE WYNDHAM 
 
 IN GRATITUDE FOR 
 
 MUCH GOOD TALK GOOD COUNSEL 
 
 AND GOOD FEELING
 
 PREFACE 
 
 BEGINNING with Chaucer, this book should have ended with 
 Tennyson. As it could not end with Tennyson, it begins with 
 the Beginner of English Poetry, and ends, by a piece of chrono- 
 logical good luck, with the one American I know who, thus far, 
 can claim fellowship with the greater English Poets. Its object is 
 to present a fairly representative collection of such among the 
 purely lyrical treasures of our tongue as were amassed between 
 Chaucer and Poe. Whether or not it achieves that object is not, 
 of course, for me to say. But I may be pardoned for pointing out 
 that it has two features which I believe to be novel. Acting on 
 the principle that verse in English is, ipso facto, English verse, 
 and realising that the English Lyric has lived in Scotland when it 
 was moribund, or worse, in England, I have included, with the 
 work of the aforesaid American, examples of certain old-world 
 Scots, nameless and other : not much read, I fear, in the land 
 which gave them birth, but, as seems to me, worth reading any- 
 where. Again, the Authorised Version is a monument of English 
 Prose. But the inspiration and the effect of many parts of it are 
 absolutely lyrical ; and on those parts I have drawn for such a series 
 of achievements in lyrism as will be found, I trust, neither the least 
 interesting nor the least persuasive group in an anthology which 
 pretends to set forth none but the choicest among English lyrics. 
 
 It is easy to tell a lyric when you see one. It is not so easy to 
 say what a lyric is. ' Lyrical,' says Mr. Palgrave in his Preface to 
 the best-read anthology in the language, has been presumably, 
 therefore, should be ' held to imply that each Poem shall turn on 
 some single thought, feeling, or situation.' I would rather say that 
 unless 'thought,' and 'feeling,' and 'situation' all are single, and 
 are all present, and so present that in the final result 'feeling'
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 shall oblige us to forget the others, or at least to consider them as 
 chiefly essential to its triumphing expression, that result is not a lyric. 
 In Ruth, for instance, the situation may be described (perhaps) as 
 ' single ' ; but the ' thought ' is so full of change, the ' feeling ' so 
 placid and so impersonal, that to make Ruth a lyric is to make 
 lyrics of most of the stories in lyrical forms we have. Again, 
 both ' thought ' and ' situation ' are ' single ' in Gray's Ode on a 
 Distant Prospect of Eton College ; but, though the intention of the 
 thing is lyrical, it finds no place in this anthology, for the reason 
 that, to me at least, it lacks that quality without which no piece 
 of verse, whatever its appearance on the printed page, can ever be 
 held a lyric. I mean the quality of emotion : or, as Mr. Palgrave 
 calls it, 'feeling.' It is the absence of this quality, or its presence 
 in the smallest doses, and these extremely disguised, which makes 
 the lyrical output of the years between Rochester and Blake so 
 scant in quantity and so poor in kind. And this, as I believe, is 
 rather due to a radical vice in the authors of that output than to 
 the tyranny of any literary fashions in deference to which they may 
 have worked. Distinction in speech, clarity of phrase, elegance of 
 form, reserve in utterance that these Augustan ideals, all essential 
 to good verse in any age, are compatible, however mannered and 
 made modish and so in a sense estranged, with true lyrism is shown 
 in the work of Collins, and is shown there for the fundamental 
 reason that Collins had what I must call the Lyrical Temperament, 
 and was therefore, in fact as well as in design, a Lyric Poet. 
 Apply this temperamental test to Marvell's Horatian Ode (257), or 
 Chaucer's Merciless Beauty (3), or Jonson's Epithalamy (161), or 
 Herrick's To Daffodils (214), or Dunbar's Lament (4), or Keats's 
 Belle Dame Sans Merci (400) in fact to any number in this book, 
 as I believe and your result will be the same. Apply it to 
 anything of Addison's and Prior's and Shenstone's, and to well 
 nigh everything of Pope's and Thomson's and Gay's, and your 
 result is different. Marvell and those others had the Lyrical 
 Temperament, and could be Lyrists at will ; Addison and those 
 others lacked it, and could not. The nameless poet of The 7wa 
 Corbies (265) had it, and The Twa Corbies is unmatched among 
 objective and impersonal lyrics. Southey, to take an example 
 from the antipodes of letters Southey had it not ; and you shall 
 search his dozen volumes in vain for so much as a trace of it.
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 There is plenty of verse in those volumes that would fain be lyrical 
 if it could. But it never can ; for Southey was not thus gifted. 
 And, just as there is little or nothing in all Shelley which has not 
 at least the lyrical thrill, so there is never a lyric in all Southey. 
 
 As I think, then, the specific attribute, the saving and essential 
 virtue, of verse that is lyrical to ear and heart as distinguished 
 from verse that is lyrical to the eye alone, is temperamental in 
 origin and emotional in effect. If a poet have the Lyrical Tempera- 
 ment, his effect will be lyrical whenever, and in whatever form, 1 
 he is moved to pass on an emotion, or a sequence of emotions, 
 from himself to his hearers, whether present or to be, in the terms 
 of art. The emotion thus distinguished may be grave, or gay, or 
 anything you please. It may soar to a rapture of supplication as 
 in Drayton's famous quatorzain (102) ; of gaiety as in Green 
 Grow the Rashes (326) ; of exultant vision and anticipation as in 
 Spenser's Epithalarnion (76). Or it may decline upon such a mood 
 of tender human feeling, half-generous and half-playful, as Con- 
 greve's False Though She Be (281) ; or on such a joyous yet 
 desperate recognition of the fleeting excellence of life as Jordan's 
 Careless Gallant (246) : 
 
 ' Let "s eat, drink, and play, ere the worms do corrupt us, 
 For I say that Post Mortem 
 Nulla Voluptas! 
 
 Let 's deal with our damsels, that we may from thence 
 Have broods to succeed us a hundred years hence.' 
 
 1 The Lyrical Temperament is above form, and is largely independent of it : for 
 the reason that its output, whatever shape it assume, is inevitably a Lyric. The 
 complexity of Chaucer, in The Complaynt of Mars, is bewildering, but its 
 effect is lyrical ; so is that of the sumptuous and stately stanzas of Spenser's 
 two great bridal songs ; and so is that of the curious rhythmus of Montgomerie's 
 Banks of Helicon (71). But, so too is that of what is in comparison the bell- 
 man's verse of Since First I Saw Your Face (150). Milton and Tennyson 
 have shown, each in his own way, that the noblest lyrical effects are to be got 
 out of new-created rhymeless rhythms and unrhyming heroic iambics. Then, 
 Crashaw's loose-hung dithyrambs (248-50) are absolutely lyrical ; but so, on the 
 other hand, are the elegant yet simple cadences of Ben Jonson's Drink to Me 
 Only (157) and Queen and Huntress (153) ; so is the magical blending of in- 
 tensity with utter sweetness, music the loveliest with perfect strength, in some 
 of Shakespeare's Sonnets (115-127). And, to pass to an extreme instance, what 
 is more lyrical in sound and substance and spirit than the passages which I 
 have excerpted from the English Bible (27-69) ?
 
 x PREFACE 
 
 But (and this is my contention) the result is ever a Lyric. The 
 emotion projected may be touched with humour as in so much of 
 the true Burns's best (316, 319, 325) ; with the mystery and the 
 romance of Life and Death as in Proud Maisie (340) ; with modish 
 extravagance as in What Shall I Do (274) ; with drink as in The 
 Happy Trio (316) and in Vulcan, Contrive Me Sttch a Cup (284) ; 
 with all the agonies and the gallantries of a mystical piety as in 
 Crashaw (248-50) ; with a right feeling for ' old unhappy far-off 
 things ' as in Jean Elliot (297) and Dunbar (4) ; with wonder 
 and terror as in The Tiger (312) ; with a true man's weariness 
 as in We '// Go No More A- Roving (377) ; with a transforming sense 
 of the picturesque in character and history as in Bonny Dundee 
 (347) ar >d Donald Caini (345) or of troubled and anxious happi- 
 ness as in My Dear Mistress (257) ; with an overpowering 
 apprehension of the great inevitable processes of nature as in the 
 Ode to the West Wind (381). It may be hope, or remorse, or 
 desire, or contemplation, or despair any passion of which the 
 human heart is capable. But, whatever its character and quality, 
 there it must be, and it must be projected through a temperament. 
 Or Lyric there is none. 
 
 A single emotion temperamentally expressed in the terms of 
 poetry that is a Lyric. And note that the Lyrical Temperament 
 has nothing whatever to do with the capacity for feeling. They 
 may co-exist in a Lyric Poet as they do in Shakespeare and Byron 
 and Keats. But it is in nowise necessary that they should. What 
 English-speaking man was ever, so far as we know, the prey of a 
 more desperate passion and a more poignant sense of the greater 
 issues than Swift ? And which of us, so far as we know, was ever 
 more careless of those issues than Herrick? Yet Herrick was 
 an unique lyrist, and Swift was no lyrist at all ; and Swift could 
 no more have written Bid Me to Live (212), or any song of 
 Herrick's, than Herrick could have written Gulliver or the Direc- 
 tions to Servants, or any line of Swift's. It is a matter of, 
 not genius but, gift. Fifty Ilerricks would not have made a 
 Swift. But Herrick had the gift, and the greater man had 
 not ; and Herrick is a master-lyrist, and Swift left never a lyric 
 line. In the same way, we may take for granted that John- 
 son's capacity for feeling was certainly as great as, if not greater 
 than, Milton's. Yet Johnson's essays in lyrical verse are frigid
 
 PREFACE xi 
 
 trifles, 1 while Milton's Invocations to Sabrina (240) and to Echo 
 (243), with Lycidas (242) and the Song for Comus (239), are lyrics 
 whose essential quality is now as fresh, as clear, and as flawless as 
 when it first took shape in enchanted words. We know nothing 
 which will help my argument of either the man Lyly or the man 
 Shirley. But we can see for ourselves that Shirley's share of the 
 gift was greater than Lyly's, for Shirley could write such lyrics as 
 0, Fly, My Soul (222) and Earth's Victories (223), while Lyly's 
 best-known attempt at lyrism : 
 
 'Cupid and my Campaspe played,' etc. : 
 
 is plainly no lyric but an epigram. I might go on exampling the 
 true Lyric and the false, the Lyric (that is) which is temperamental 
 and the Lyric which is not ; but I think that I have done enough. 
 And if I add that I have seen things so essentially anti-lyrical, to 
 me at least, as Bacon's : 
 
 1 The world 's a bubble, and the life of man 
 Less than a span,' etc. : 
 
 as Wordsworth's Simon Lee : 
 
 ' Few months of life has he in store, 
 
 As he to you will tell, 
 For still, the more he works, the more 
 
 Do his weak ankles swell. 
 My gentle Reader, I perceive 
 
 How patiently you Ve waited, 
 And now I fear that you expect 
 
 Some tale will be related ' : 
 
 and as Wotton's beautiful and famous epitaph : 
 
 ' He first deceased ; She for a little tried 
 To live without him, liked it not, and died ' : 
 
 all quoted as Lyrics, I shall have said as much as I need to indicate 
 the lines on which this book is done. 
 
 To insist on the paramount importance of the Lyrical Tempera- 
 ment is not in any sense to diminish or deny the importance of ex- 
 ample and environment. Both are such influences, indeed, that it is 
 possible to conceive a Jonson who, writing in an age of circulating 
 
 1 I except the verses on Frank Levett : which should, perhaps, have found 
 a place in this anthology.
 
 xii PREFACE 
 
 libraries, would put out his Alchymists and Epicccties as novels, and 
 a Dickens, who, the tune being set him by his time, would express 
 the Pickwickians in the terms of drama, and send his Gamp to rival 
 Mrs. Quickly on the boards. And that this is so the English Lyric 
 shows as well as any form in which the literary genius of the race 
 has ever expressed itself. A poet of immense genius, an artist 
 unsurpassed (I take it) by any Englishman of any time, Chaucer 
 wrote Lyrics, as he wrote everything that was writing in his time. 
 But example and environment were against him, and, though he 
 had the Lyrical Temperament, as (I believe) he had all the others, 
 the forms imposed upon him were so complex, and the effects, as 
 The Compleynt of Mars, he achieved in them are so remote, that 
 I have been able to quote from him only two numbers whose 
 intention and result are lyrical : together with a third for which 
 he is responsible only in so far as he is author of the lovely 
 narrative from which it is excerpted. Chaucer dead, a hush fell 
 on the English Muse. There was Henryson in Scotland, the 
 Master's greatest pupil, an admirable poet but no lyrist ; while 
 in England there were only such founts of tedium as Lydgate 
 and Gower and IJawes, and, till the coming of Dunbar, whose 
 lyrical gift is shown, imperfectly but irresistibly, in my quotations 
 from him (4-6), English Lyrics there were none. After Dunbar 
 Skelton ; and with Skelton, rough and ragged as his verses are, 
 a breath of true lyrism, which makes his songs in praise of 
 Johanna Scoope and Isabel Pennell (I wish I could quote his 
 Mannerly Margery, but ! ) lyrically alive unto this day. With 
 Skelton came the turn. The age of Henry vm. was lyrically 
 given ; and, if in the long run one think little of Wyatt, one re- 
 members that the King himself wrote verses, and sang them, one 
 makes the best one can of the general lyrical drift of the collection 
 called Tottefs Miscellany (I shall deal with the shining exception 
 presently), and one rejoices in the quatrain which I have quoted 
 from the Royal MS. (19) as a true burst of temperament, a lyrical 
 beginning which has never found its Burns. With this last I have 
 grouped the anonymous numbers well-meant, and more, in 
 English ; well metricised, and more, in Scots culled from Tottel 
 and from that precious manuscript which James Bannatyne, an 
 Edinburgh citizen, wrote in a time of pestilence (1568), when needs 
 must he do something to keep his mind off the grisly work that
 
 PREFACE xiii 
 
 was getting done outside. Signed or unsigned, however, there is 
 nothing in The Bannatyne MS. (with the exception of 25, as to 
 which see my Note) to lower the crest of Alexander Scott (14-17) : 
 just as in the Miscellany there is none so brilliant as to be in any 
 way comparable tothe brilliancy of Surrey (9-11), 'Son of theMorn- 
 ing," by whose execution such a blow was dealt to English letters 
 as is scarce equalled by that they met in the murder of Marlowe. 
 Come now the noble numbers passionate, affecting, essentially 
 lyrical from one of the two greatest books in English. They are 
 selected and repeated from the Authorised Version (1613), for that 
 achievement in art is, like so much else that is perdurable in art, 
 the outcome of a tradition, begun when Tyndale (Pentateucfi, 
 1530 ; Jonah, 1531) and Coverdale (the Old and New Testaments, 
 1535) made the great body of Hebrew poetry and history and 
 legend an English book. Between Coverdale's Bible and the 
 Authorised Version some six or seven translations, all widely read 
 and each owing something to the others, were given to the English 
 people ; so it is safe to say that the Authorised Version, unknown 
 to Wyatt and Surrey and Scott, was known, in one or other of its 
 early metamorphoses, to Gascoigne and Breton and Spenser. The 
 rest is plain sailing in open water ; for these three stand at the 
 head of that unrivalled reach of lyrism which, spreading to and 
 shining in its utmost capacities of breadth and splendour in the 
 times of Jonson and Fletcher and Shakespeare, was presently 
 illuminated and refreshed by the concourse of such freshets and such 
 streams of song as Carew and Herrick and Suckling, the Milton 
 of Comus and Samson Agonistes, Crashaw, the Caroline Shelley, 
 the Dryden of the Saint Cecilia odes and certain parts of the Anne 
 Killigrew ; and, at its last term wofully dimmed and shrunken, 
 a little quickened and refreshed by the song of Sedley, Mrs. 
 Behn, and Rochester this last, with his wild heart and his 
 broken life and his notable gift of temperament, easily first (since 
 Milton is a belated sublimation of Elizabethanism) after Dryden 
 among the Restoration lyrists. In the 'Augustan' atmosphere 
 of Addison and Pope the English Lyric all but died again was 
 practically dead, in fact, but for Collins, and a stray burst from 
 Goldsmith, and the humble work of certain Scots, who had a sounder 
 tradition than the Augustans, and followed it as best they might. 
 It was the dark hour before the dawn ; and the dawn was Blake,
 
 xiv PREFACE 
 
 that Elizabethan, and something more, born into an age of prose, 
 and Burns, the humourist of genius, the unrivalled artist, who so 
 vamped the folk-song of a nation that he breathed new life into it 
 at the same time that he made it seem his own. And the day of 
 that dawn was Wordsworth and Sir Walter, was Landor, the pro- 
 test and the restraint, and Coleridge, the universal inspiration, and 
 Byron, in whom passion was figured, and the master-lyrist, Shelley, 
 and Keats, besides performances the most glorious possibility in all 
 the range of English Verse. And after Keats there is no fresh note, 
 until we hear from over the Atlantic, the artful, subtle, irresistible 
 song of Poe : the New Music which none that has heard it can 
 forget, and which, if you listen for it, you will catch in much of the 
 melody that has found utterance since Mr. Swinburne, working after 
 Baudelaire, shocked and enchanted the world with his First Series 
 of Poems and Ballads. It is with the beginnings of this New Music 
 that my concert ends. The Coleridge-Keats School culminated in 
 Tennyson ; and I would fain have made my close an harmonious 
 and beautiful contrast between Old and New. But this, for reasons 
 which I need not discuss, was not to be. W. E. II. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. My thanks are due to Mr. F. T. Palgrave for 
 permission to reprint his redaction of a famous Scots ballad (266) ; 
 to Mr. George Wyndham for the hint that Shakespeare's theory of 
 the quatorzain is based on the practice of not Daniel nor Drayton 
 but Surrey, and the suggestion, among others, that the numbers 
 excerpted from Chaucer's Troilus (2) might well be found lyrical in 
 the true sense and to the finest purpose ; to Mr. T. F. Henderson 
 for revising and correcting the glossarial element, and to Mr. James 
 Fitzmaurice-Kelly for compiling and redacting the bibliographical 
 matter, in the Notes.
 
 ENGLISH LYRICS
 
 FIVE CENTURIES OF SONG 
 
 BALLADE TO HIS LADY 
 
 HIDE, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere ; 
 Ester, lay thou thy meekness all a-doun ; 
 Hide, lonathas, all thy friendly manure ; 
 Penalopee and Marcia Catoun, 
 Make of your wifehood no comparisoun ; 
 Hide ye your beauties, Isoude and Eleyne : 
 My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne ! 
 
 Thy faire body, let it not appere, 
 
 Lavyne ; and thou, Lucrece of Rome toun, 
 
 And Polixene, that boughten love so dere, 
 
 And Cleopatre, with all thy passioun, 
 
 Hide ye your trouthe of love and your renoun ; 
 
 And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love such peyne : 
 
 My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne ! 
 
 Herro, Did6, Laud6mia, all y-fere, 
 
 And Phyllis, hanging for thy Demophoun, 
 
 And Canace", espie"d by thy chere, 
 
 Ysiphile", betrayse'd with Jasoun, 
 
 Maketh of your trouth neither boast nor soun, 
 
 Nor Ypermistre or Adriane, ye tweyne : 
 
 My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne ! 
 
 Geoffrey Chaucer. 
 A
 
 CHAUCER 
 
 THE COMPLAINT OF TROILUS 
 
 Therewith -when he was ware, and gan behold 
 How shut was every window of the place, 
 As frost, him thought, his herti gan to cold ; 
 For which with changed, deedlich, paleface, 
 With-outen word, he forth began to pace ; 
 And, as God would, he gan so fasti ride, 
 That no wight of his countenance espied. 
 
 Then said he thus : ' O palace desolate, 
 O house of houses whilom best y-hight, 
 O palace empty and disconsolate, 
 O thou lantern, of which quaint is the light, 
 O palace, whilom day, that now art night, 
 Well oughtest thou to fall, and I to die, 
 Since she is went that wont was us to gye ! 
 
 O palace, whilom crown of houses all, 
 
 Enlumined with sun of alle bliss ! 
 
 O ring fro which the ruby is out-fall ! 
 
 O cause of woe, that cause hast been of lisse ! 
 
 Yet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss 
 
 Thy colde dores, durst I for this route . 
 
 And farewell shrine, of which the saint is out ! ' 
 
 Fro thenne'sforth he rideth up and down, 
 And everything com him to remembrance 
 As he rood forth by places of the town, 
 In which he whilom had all his pleasance : 
 ' Lo, yond saw I mine owen lady dance ; 
 And in that temple, with her eyen clere, 
 Me caughte first my righte lady dere. 
 
 And yonder have I heard full lustily 
 My dere herte' laugh, and yonder play 
 Saw I her ones eke full blissfully. 
 And yonder ones to me gan she say : 
 " Now goode swete, love me well, I pray." 
 And yond so goodly gan she me behold, 
 That to the death mine herte is to her hold.
 
 CHAUCER 
 
 And at that corner, in the yonder house, 
 Heard I mine alderlevest lady dere 
 So womanly, with voice melodious, 
 Singing so well, so goodly, and so clere, 
 That in my soul yet methinketh I hear 
 The blissful sound ; and, in that yonder place, 
 My lady first me took unto her grace.' 
 
 A song of wordes but a few, 
 Somewhat his woful herte for to light. 
 And when he was from every mannes sight, 
 With softe -voice he, of his lady dear, 
 That was absent, gan sing as ye may hear: 
 
 ' O star, of which I lost have all the light, 
 With herte sore well ought I to bewail, 
 That ever dark in torment, night by night, 
 Toward my death with wind in stern I sail ; 
 For which the tenthe night, if that I fail 
 The guiding of thy beme's bright an hour, 
 My ship and me Carybdis will devour.' 
 
 This song when he thus songen hadde, sone 
 
 He fell again into his sickness old ; 
 
 And every night, as was his wont to done, 
 
 He stood the brighte mone' to behold, 
 
 And all his sorrow he to the mone told ; 
 
 And said : ' I wis, when thou art horned new, 
 
 I shall be glad, if all the world be true ! 
 
 ' I saw thine homes old eke by the morrow, 
 
 When hennes rode my righte lady dere, 
 
 That cause is of my torment and my sorrow ; 
 
 For which, O brighte Lucina the clere, 
 
 For love of God, run fast about thy sphere ! 
 
 For when thy homes newe ginne spring, 
 
 Then shall she come, that may my blisse bring ! ' 
 
 Upon the wallesfast eke would he walk, 
 And on the Greekls host he wolde see, 
 And to himself right thus he wolde talk :
 
 CHAUCER 
 
 ' Lo, yonder is mine owcin lady free, 
 Or elle's yonder, there tho' tente's be ! 
 And thennes comth this air, that is so sote 
 That in my soul I feel it doth me bote. 
 
 And hardely this wind, that more and more 
 Thus stoundemele increaseth in my face, 
 Is of my lady's depe sicknesse sore. 
 I prove it thus, for in no other place 
 Of all this town, save only in this space, 
 Feel I no wind that souneth so like pain. 
 It saith : " Alas ! why twinned be we twain ? " ' 
 
 Geoffrey Chaucer. 
 
 MERCILESS BEAUTY 
 I. Captivity 
 
 YOUR eye'n two will slay me suddenly : 
 
 I may the beauty of hem not sustene, 
 
 So woundeth it through-out my herte kene. 
 
 And but your word will helen hastily 
 My hertes wounde, while that it is green, 
 Your eye'n two will slay me sodenly : 
 I may the beauty of hem not sustene. 
 
 Upon my troth I say you faithfully, 
 That ye be of my life and death the queen, 
 For with my death the truthe shall be seen : 
 Your eye'n two will slay me sodenly : 
 I may the beauty of hem not sustene, 
 So woundeth it through-out my herte kene. 
 
 II. Rejection 
 
 So hath your beauty from your herte chased 
 Pity, that me ne availeth not to plain : 
 For Daunger halt your mercy in his chain. 
 
 Guiltless my death thus have ye me purchased ; 
 
 I say you sooth, me needeth not to feign : 
 
 So hath your beauty from your herte chased 
 Pity, that me ne availeth not to plain.
 
 DUNBAR 
 
 Alas ! that nature hath in you compassed 
 So great beauty", that no man may attain 
 To mercy, though he sterve for the pain ! 
 
 So hath your beauty from your herte chased 
 Pity, that me ne availeth not to plain ; 
 For Daunger halt your mercy in his chain. 
 
 Hi. Escape 
 
 Since I from Love escaped am so fat, 
 I never think to ben in his prison lean ; 
 Since I am free, I count him not a bean. 
 
 He may answer, and saye this or that ; 
 
 I do no force, I speak right as I mean : 
 Since I from Love escaped am so fat, 
 I never think to ben in bis prison lean. 
 
 Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat, 
 And he is strike out of my bookes clean 
 For evermore ; there is none other mean. 
 Since I from Love escaped am so fat, 
 I never think to ben in his prison lean ; 
 Since I am free, I count him not a bean ! 
 
 Geoffrey Chaucer, 
 
 DUNBAR'S LAMENT WHEN HE WAS SICK 
 
 I THAT in health was and gladness, 
 Am troubled now with great sickness, 
 And feebled with infirmity : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 Our plesance here is all vain glory, 
 This false world is but transitory, 
 The flesh is brukle, the Fiend is slee : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 The state of man does change and vary, 
 Now sound, now sick, now blithe, now sary, 
 Now dansand merry, now like to dee : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
 DUNBAR 
 
 No state in earth here standes sickir ; 
 As with the wind waves the wickir, 
 So waves this world's vanity : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 Unto the dead goes all Estates, 
 Princes, Prelates, and Potestates, 
 Both rich and poor of all degree : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 He takes the knights in to the field, 
 Enarmed under helm and shield ; 
 Victor he is at all mellee : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 That strong unmerciful tyrand 
 Takes, on the mother's breast sowkand, 
 The babe full of benignity : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 He takes the campion in the stour, 
 The captain closit in the tour, 
 The lady in bower full of beauty : 
 Timor Mortis conturlat me. 
 
 He spares no lord for his piscence, 
 No clerk for his intelligence ; 
 His awful stroke may no man flee : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 Art -magicians and astrologues, 
 Rethors, logicians, theologues. 
 Them helpes no conclusions slee : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 In medicine the most practicians, 
 Leeches, surrigians, and physicians, 
 Themselves from death may not supplee :-~ 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me. 
 
 I see that makars amonjj the lave 
 Plays here their pageant, syne goes to grave ; 
 Spared is not their faculty : 
 Timor Mortis eonturbat me.
 
 DUNBAR 
 
 He has done petuously devour 
 The noble Chaucer, of makars flower, 
 The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. . . . 
 
 Since he has all my brothers tane, 
 He will not let me live alane ; 
 Of force I must his next prey be : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 Since for the dead remeid is none, 
 Best is that we for death dispone, 
 After our death that live may we : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 William Dunbar. 
 
 MEDITATION IN WINTER 
 
 IN to these dirk and drumlie days, 
 When sabill all the hewin arrays 
 With misty vapours, clouds, and skies, 
 Nature all courage me denies 
 Of sangis, ballads, and of plays. 
 
 When that the night does lenthin hours, 
 With wind, with hail, and heavy showers, 
 My dule spreit does lurk for schoir j 
 My heart for languor does forloir 
 For lack of Summer with his flowers. 
 
 I walk, I turn, sleep may I not ; 
 I vexed am with heavy thought ; 
 This world all o'er I cast about, 
 And ay the mair I am in doubt, 
 The mair that I remeid have sought. 
 
 I am assailed on every side. 
 Despair says ay : ' In time provide, 
 And get some thing whereon to leif, 
 Or with great trouble and mischeif 
 Thou shall in to this court abide. '
 
 DUNBAR 
 
 Then Patience says : ' Be not aghast : 
 Hold Hope and Truth within thee fast ; 
 And let Fortune work forth her rage, 
 When that no reason may assuage, 
 Till that her glass be run and past.' 
 
 And Prudence in my ear says ay : 
 ' Why would thou hold that will away ? 
 Or crave that thou may have no space, 
 Thou tending to another place, 
 A journey going every day ? ' 
 
 And then says Age : ' My friend, come near, 
 And be not strange, I thee requeir ! 
 Come, brother, by the hand me take : 
 Remember thou has compt to make 
 Of all thy time thou spended here.' 
 
 Syne Death casts up his yettis wide, 
 Saying : ' These opens shall ye abide ! 
 Albeit that thou were never so stout, 
 Under this lintel shall thou lowt ; 
 There is none other way beside.' 
 
 For fear of this all day I drowp ; 
 No gold in kist, nor wine in cowp, 
 No lady's beauty, nor luifs bliss 
 May let me to remember this, 
 How glad that ever I dine or sowp. 
 
 Yet, when the night begins to short, 
 It does my spreit some part comfort, 
 Of thought oppressed with the showers. 
 Come, lusty Summer ! with thy flowers, 
 That I may live in some disport ! 
 
 William Dvnbar. 
 
 6 
 
 VANITAS VANITATUM 
 
 O WRETCH, beware ! This world will wend thee fro, 
 Which has beguiled many great estate. 
 
 Turn to thy friend, believe not in thy foe ; 
 Since thou must go, be graithing to thy gait ;
 
 SKELTON 
 
 Remeid in time, and rue not ail-too late ; 
 Provide thy place, for thou away must pass 
 
 Out of this vale of trouble and dissait : 
 Vanitas Vanitatum, el omnia Vanitas ! 
 
 Walk forth, pilgrame, while thou has day's light ; 
 
 Dress from desert, draw to thy dwelling-place ; 
 Speed home, for why ? Anone comes the night 
 
 Which does thee follow with ane ythand chace ! 
 
 Bend up thy sail, and win thy port of grac^ ; 
 For and the death o'ertake thee in trespass, 
 
 Then .may thou say these wordis with allace ! 
 Vanitas Vanitatum, et omnia Vanitas ! 
 
 Here naught abides, here standes no thing stabill, 
 
 For this false world ay flittes to and fro ; 
 Now day up bright, now night all black as sabill, 
 
 Now ebb, now flood, now friend, now cruel foe ; 
 
 Now glad, now sad, now well, now into woe ; 
 Now clad in gold, dissolvit now in ass ; 
 
 So does this world transitory go : 
 Vanitas Vanitatum> ct omnia Vanitas! 
 
 William Dunbar. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF JOHANNA SCROOPE 
 
 How shall I report 
 All the goodly sort 
 Of her features clere, 
 That hath no earthly pere ? 
 Her favour of her face 
 Ennewe"d all with grace, 
 Comfort, pleasure, and solace, 
 Mine heart doth so embrace, 
 And so hath ravished me 
 Her to behold and see, 
 That in words plain 
 I cannot me refrain 
 To look on her again : 
 Alas ! what should I feign ? 
 It were a pleasant pain 
 With her ay to remain.
 
 io SKELTON 
 
 Her eyen gray and stepe 
 
 Causeth mine heart to lepe t 
 
 With her brows bent 
 
 She may well represent 
 
 Fair Lucrece, as I wene, 
 
 Or else fair Polexene, 
 
 Or else Caliope, 
 
 Or else Penolope : 
 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 
 This blossom of fresh co!6ur, 
 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 The Indy sapphire blew 
 Her veins doth ennew. 
 The orient pearl so clere, 
 The witness of her lere. 
 The lusty ruby ruddes 
 Resemble the rose buddes. 
 Her lips soft and merry 
 Embloomed like the cherry, 
 It were an heavenly bliss 
 Her sugared mouth to kiss ! 
 Her beauty to augment, 
 Dame Nature hath her lent 
 A wart upon her cheek. 
 Whoso list to seek 
 In her visage a scar, 
 That seemeth from afar 
 Like to the radiant star, 
 All with favour fret, 
 So properly it is set ! 
 She is the violet, 
 The daisy delectable, 
 The columbine commendable, 
 The jelofer amidble : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh co!6ur, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 And when I perceived 
 Her wart, and conceived, 
 It cannot be denayd 
 But it was well convayd,
 
 SKELTON n 
 
 And set so womanly, 
 And nothing wantonly, 
 But right conveniently 
 And full congruently, 
 As Nature could devise, 
 In most goodly wise 1 
 Whoso list behold. 
 It maketh lovers bold 
 To her to sue for grace, 
 Her favour to purchase: 
 The scar upon her chin, 
 Enhatched on her fair skin , 
 Whiter than the swan. 
 It would make any man 
 To forget deadly sin 
 Her fav6ur to win : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh co!6ur, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 Soft, and make no din. 
 For now I will begin 
 To have in remembrance 
 Her goodly dalyaunce 
 And her goodly pastaunce ! 
 So sad and so demure, 
 Behaving her so sure, 
 With words of pleasure 
 She would make to the lure, 
 And any man convert 
 To give her his whole hert. 
 She made me sore amazed 
 Upon her when I gazed. 
 Me thought mine hert was crazed, 
 My eyen were so dazed : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh colour, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 And to amend her tale, 
 When she list to avail, 
 And with her fingers smale,
 
 12 SKELTON 
 
 And hands soft as silk, 
 Whiter than the milk, 
 That are so quickly veined, 
 Wherewith my hand she strained, 
 Lord, how I was pained ! 
 Unneath I me refrained, 
 How she me had reclaimed, 
 And me to her retained, 
 Embracing therewithall 
 Her goodly middle small 
 With sides long and straight ! 
 To tell you what conceit 
 I had then in a trice, 
 The matter were too nice, 
 And yet there was no vice, 
 Nor yet no villainy, 
 But only fantasy : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh co!6ur, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 But whereto should I note 
 How often did I tote 
 Upon her pretty fote ? 
 It raised mine hert-rote 
 To see her tread the ground 
 With heels short and round ! 
 She is plainly express 
 Egeria, the goddess, 
 And like to her image, 
 Emportured with courage, 
 A lover's pilgrimage ! 
 There is no beast savage, 
 Nor no tiger so wood, 
 But she would change his mood, 
 Such relucent grace 
 Is forme'd in her face : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh co!6ur, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 So goodly as she dresses, 
 So properly she presses, 
 The bright golden tresses
 
 SKELTON 13 
 
 Of her hair so fine 
 Like Phoebus' beams shine ! 
 Whereto should I disclose 
 The gartering of her hose ? 
 It is for to suppose 
 How that she can wear 
 Gorgeously her gear, 
 Her fresh habiliments 
 With other implements 
 To serve for all entents, 
 Like Dame Flora, queen 
 Of lusty summer green : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh col6ur, 
 So Jupiter me succour, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 Her kirtle so goodly laced, 
 And under that is braced 
 Such pleasures that I may 
 Neither write nor say. 
 Yet though I write not with ink. 
 No man can let me think : 
 For thought hath liberty, 
 Thought is frank and free : 
 To think a merry thought 
 It cost me little or naught. 
 Would God mine homely style 
 Were polished with the file 
 Of Cicero's eloquence, 
 To praise her excellence ! 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh colour, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 My pen it is unable, 
 My hand it is unstable, 
 My reason rude and dull 
 To praise her at the full, 
 Goodly mistress Jane, 
 Sober, demure Diane ! 
 Jane, this mistress hight 
 The lode-star of daylight,
 
 14 SKELTON 
 
 Dame Venus of all pleasure, 
 The well of worldly treasure, 
 She doth exceed and pass 
 In prudence dame Pallas : 
 For this most goodly flower, 
 This blossom of fresh co!6ur, 
 So Jupiter me succ6ur, 
 She flourisheth fresh and new 
 In beauty and virtue ! 
 
 John Skelton. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF ISABEL PENNELL 
 
 BY Saint Mary, my lady, 
 Your mammy and your daddy 
 Brought forth a goodly baby ! 
 
 My maiden Isabell, 
 Reflaring rosabell, 
 The flagrant camamell, 
 
 The ruddy rosary, 
 
 The sovereign rosemary, 
 
 The pretty strawberry, 
 
 The columbine, the nepte, 
 The ieloffer well set, 
 The proper violet, 
 
 Ennewed, your colour 
 Is like the daisy flower 
 After the April shower ! 
 
 Star of the morrow gray, 
 The blossom on the spray, 
 The freshest flower of May ; 
 
 Maidenly demure, 
 
 Of womanhood the lure, 
 
 Wherefore I make you sure : 
 
 It were an heavenly health, 
 It were an endless wealth, 
 A life for God himself,
 
 WYATT 
 
 To hear this nightingale, 
 Among the birds smale, 
 Warbling in the vale : 
 
 Dug, dug, 
 
 lug, iug, 
 
 Good year and good luck, 
 
 With chuk. chuk, chuk, chuk ! 
 
 John Skelton. 
 
 TO HIS LUTE 
 
 MY lute, awake, perform the last 
 Labour that thou and I shall waste, 
 And end that I have now begun, 
 And, when this song is sung and past, 
 My lute, be still, for I have done 1 
 
 As to be heard where ear is none, 
 As lead to grave in marble stone, 
 My song may pierce her heart as soon : 
 Should we, then, sigh or sing or moan ? 
 No, no, my lute, for I have done ! 
 
 The rocks do not so cruelly 
 Repulse the waves continually, 
 As she my suit and affection : 
 So that I am past remedy : 
 Whereby my lute and I have done. 
 
 Proud of the spoil that thou hast got 
 Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot, 
 By whom unkind thou hast them won, 
 Think not he hath his bow forgot, 
 Although my lute and I have done ! 
 
 Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain, 
 That mak'st but game of earnest pain. 
 Trow not alone under the sun 
 Unquit to cause thy lover's plain, 
 Although my lute and I have done.
 
 16 SURREY 
 
 Now cease, my lute, this is the last 
 Labour that thou and I shall waste, 
 And ended is that we begun : 
 Now is this song both sung and past 
 My lute, be still, for I have done. 
 
 Thomas Wyatt. 
 
 IO 
 
 IN HIS LADY'S PRAISE 
 
 GIVE place, ye lovers, here before 
 That spent your boasts and brags in vain ! 
 My Lady's beauty passeth more 
 The best of yours, I dare well sayen, 
 Than doth the sun the candle light, 
 Or brightest day the darkest night. 
 
 And thereto hath a troth as just 
 As had Penelope the fair ; 
 For what she saith, ye may it trust, 
 As it by writing sealed were : 
 And virtues hath she many moe 
 Than I with pen have skill to show. 
 
 I could rehearse, if that I would, 
 The whole effect of Nature's plaint, 
 When she had lost the perfect mould, 
 The like to whom she could not paint : 
 With wringing hands, how she did cry, 
 And what she said, I know it, I ! 
 
 I know she swore with raging mind, 
 Her kingdom only set apart, 
 There was no loss, by law of kind, 
 That could have gone so near her heart ; 
 And this was chiefly all her pain : 
 ' She could not make the like again. ' 
 
 Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, 
 To be the chiefest work she wrought ; 
 In faith, methink ! some better ways 
 On your behalf might well be sought 
 Than to compare, as ye have done, 
 To match the candle with the sun. 
 
 Howard, Earl of Surrey.
 
 SURREY 17 
 
 II 
 
 VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY HOWSOEVER 
 HE BE REWARDED 
 
 SET me whereas the sun doth parch the green, 
 
 Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice ; 
 
 In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen j 
 
 In presence prest of people, mad or wise j 
 
 Set me in high, or yet in low degree ; 
 
 In longest night, or in the shortest day ; 
 
 In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be ; 
 
 In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray ; 
 
 Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell, 
 
 In hill, or dale, or in the foaming flood ; 
 
 Thrall or at large, alive whereso I dwell ; 
 
 Sick or in health, in evil fame or good : 
 Hers will I be, and only with this thought 
 Content myself, although my chance be nought ! 
 
 Howard, Earl of Surrey. 
 
 12 
 
 COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
 LOVER 
 
 GOOD ladies ! ye that have your pleasures in exile, 
 
 Step in your foot, come, take a place, and mourn with me awhile ! 
 
 And such as by their lords do set but little price, 
 
 Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance come on the. 
 
 dice. 
 
 But ye whom Love hath bound, by order of desire, 
 To love your lords, whose good deserts none other would require 
 Come ye yet once again, and set your foot by mine, 
 Whose woful plight, and sorrows great, no tongue may well 
 
 define ! 
 
 My love and lord, alas ! in whom consists my wealth, 
 Hath fortune sent to pass the seas, in hazard of his health. 
 Whom I was wont t'embrace with well contented mind, 
 Is now amid the foaming floods at pleasure of the wind, 
 Where God well him preserve, and soon him home me send 
 Without which hope my life, alas 1 were shortly at an end ! 
 Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell me plain, 
 With short return he comes anon, yet ceaseth not my pain. 
 The fearful dreams I have ofttimes do grieve me so, 
 That when I wake, I lie in doubt wh'er they be true or no. 
 
 B
 
 i8 GRIMALD 
 
 Sometime the roaring seas, me seems, do grow so high, 
 
 That my dear lord, ay me ! alas ! methinks I see him die ! 
 
 Another time the same doth tell me he is come, 
 
 And playing, where I shall him find, with his fair little son ; 
 
 So forth I go apace to see that liefsome sight, 
 
 And with a kiss, methinks I say : ' Welcome, my lord, my 
 
 knight ! 
 
 Welcome, my sweet, alas ! the stay of my welfare, 
 Thy presence bringeth forth a truce betwixt me and my care.' 
 Then lively doth he look, and salueth me again, 
 And saith : ' My dear, how is it now that you have all this pain?' 
 Wherewith the heavy cares, that heap'd are in my breast, 
 Break forth and me dischargen clean of all my huge unrest. 
 But when I me awake, and find it but a dream, 
 The anguish of my former woe beginneth more extreme, 
 And me tormenteth so that unneath may I find 
 Some hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing of my mind. 
 Thus every way you see, with absence how I burn, 
 And for my wound no cure I find but hope of good return, 
 Save when I think by sour how sweet is felt the more, 
 It doth abate some of my pains, that I abode before ; 
 And then unto myself I say : ' When we shall meet, 
 But little while shall seem this pain, the joy shall be so sweet ! ' 
 Ye winds, I you conjure, in chiefest of your rage, 
 That ye my lord me safely send, my sorrows to assuage, 
 And that I may not long abide in this excess, 
 Do your good will to cure a wight that liveth in distress ! 
 
 Howard, Earl of Surrey. 
 
 13 
 A TRUE LOVER 
 
 WHAT sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, 
 
 What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me ! 
 
 As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed, 
 
 As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening' 
 
 weed, 
 
 As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be : 
 So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see ! 
 The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray, 
 The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay, 
 Or I my love let slip out of mine entire heart, 
 So deep reposed in my breast is she for her desart ! 
 For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land, 
 Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand !
 
 SCOTT 19 
 
 Yet, land, more is thy bliss, that in this cruel age 
 
 A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage, 
 
 Among the Muses Nine a tenth if Jove would make, 
 
 And to the Graces Three a fourth, her would Apollo take ! 
 
 Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold : 
 
 With her so I may live and die, my weal cannot be told. 
 
 Nicholas Grimald. 
 
 14 
 
 HENCE, HEART, WITH HER THAT MUST 
 DEPART 
 
 HENCE, heart, with her that must depart, 
 And hald thee with thy sovereign, 
 For I had liever want ane heart, 
 Nor have the heart that does me pain. 
 Therefore, go, with thy love remain, 
 And let me leif thus unmolest, 
 And see that thou come not again, 
 But bide with her thou luve's best. 
 
 Sen she that I have served lang 
 Is to depart so suddenly, 
 Address thee now, for thou sail gang 
 And bear thy lady company. 
 Fra she be gone, heartless am I, 
 For why ? thou art with her possest ! 
 Therefore, my heart, go hence in high, 
 And bide with her thou luve's best. 
 
 Though this belappit body here 
 Be bound to servitude and thrall, 
 My faithful heart is free entire 
 And mind to serve my lady at all. 
 Would God that I were perigall, 
 Under that redolent rose to rest ! 
 Yet at the least, my heart, thou sail 
 Abide with her thou luve's best. 
 
 Sen in your garth the lily white 
 May not remain among the laif, 
 Adieu the flower of whole delight ! 
 Adieu the succour that may me saif : 
 Adieu the fragrant balm suaif, 
 And lamp of ladies lustiest ! 
 My faithful heart so shall it haif 
 To bide with her it luves best.
 
 20 SCOTT 
 
 Deplore, ye ladies clear of hue, 
 Her absence, sen she must depart ! 
 And specially, ye lovers true, 
 That wounded ben with Luvis' dart ! 
 For some of you sail want ane heart 
 As well as I ; therefore at last 
 Do go with mine, with mind invart, 
 And bide with her thou luve's bti-t. 
 
 Alexander Scott. 
 
 UP, HALESOM HEART 
 
 UP, halesom heart, thy rootes raise and loup, 
 Exalt and climb within my breast in stage ! 
 Art thou not wanton, hale and in good howp, 
 Permit in grace and free of all thirlage ? 
 Bathing in bliss and set in high courage, 
 Braisit in joy, no fault may thee affray, 
 Having thy lady's heart as heritage, 
 In blanch-farm for ane sallat every May : 
 So needs thou not now sussy, sytt, nor sorrow, 
 Sen thou art sure of solace even and morrow. 
 
 Thou, Cupeid, rewarded me with this, 
 
 I am thy own true liege without tressoun ! 
 
 There lives no man in more ease, wealth, and bliss ; 
 
 I know no siching, sadness, nor yet soun, 
 
 Waking, thought, languor, lamentatioun, 
 
 Dolour, despair, weeping nor jealousie : 
 
 My breast is void and purgit of passoun, 
 
 I feel no pain, I have no purgatorie, 
 
 But peerless, perfect, paradisal pleasure, 
 
 With merry heart and mirthfulness but measure. 
 
 My lady, Lord, thou gave me for to herd, 
 Within mine arms I nourish on the night. 
 Kissing, I say : ' My babe, my tender bird, 
 Sweet mistress, lady love and lusty wight, 
 Steer, rule, and guider of my senses right ! ' 
 My voice surmounts the sapphire cloudes hie, 
 Thanking great God of that treasure and might. 
 I cost her dear, but she far dearer me, 
 Whilk hazards honour, fame, in aventure, 
 Committing clean her corse to me in cure.
 
 SCOTT 21 
 
 In oxters close we kiss, and cossis hairts ! 
 Burnt in desire of amour's play and sport, 
 Meittand our lusts, sprightless we twa depairts. 
 Prolong with leisure, Lord, I thee exhort, 
 Sic time that we may both take our comfort, 
 First for to sleep, syne walk without espies ! 
 I blame the cock, I plain the night is short ; 
 Away I went my wathe the cushat crys. 
 Wishing all lovers leal to have sic chance, 
 That they may have us in rememberance ! 
 
 Alexander Scott, 
 
 16 
 
 DEPART, DEPART, DEPART 
 
 DEPART, depart, depart ! 
 Alace ! I must depart 
 From her that has my heart, 
 
 With heart full soir ! 
 Against my will indeed, 
 And can find no remeid 
 I wot the pains of deid 
 
 Can do no moir. 
 
 Now must I go, alace ! 
 From sight of her sweet face, 
 The ground of all my grace, 
 
 And sovereign ; 
 What chance that may fall me 
 Sail I never merry be, 
 Unto the time I see 
 
 My sweet again. 
 
 I go, and wot not where, 
 I wander here and there, 
 I weep and sich right sair, 
 
 With panes smart : 
 Now must I pass away, away, 
 In wilderness and wildsome way 
 Alace ! this woful day 
 
 We should depart ! 
 
 My spirit does quake for dreid, 
 My thirled heart does bleed, 
 My panes does exceed : 
 
 What should I say ?
 
 22 SCOTT 
 
 I, woful wight, alone, 
 Makand ane piteous moan : 
 Alace ! my heart is gone, 
 For ever and ay ! 
 
 Through languor of my sweet, 
 So thirled is my spreit, 
 My days are most complete, 
 
 Through her absence : 
 Christ, sen she knew my smart, 
 Ingraven in my heart, 
 Because I must depart 
 
 From her presence ! 
 
 Adieu, my own sweet thing, 
 My joy and comforting, 
 My mirth and solaceing 
 
 Of earthly gloir ! 
 Farewell, my lady bright, 
 And my remembrance right, 
 Farewell, and have good night 
 
 I say no moir. 
 
 Alexander Scott. 
 
 17 
 LO, WHAT IT IS TO LOVE 
 
 Lo, what it is to love, 
 
 Learn ye that list to prove, 
 
 By me, I say, that no ways may 
 
 The ground of grief remove, 
 
 But still decay both night and day : 
 
 Lo, what it is to love ! 
 
 Love is ane fervent fire, 
 
 Kindled without desire, 
 
 Short pleasure, lang displeasure, 
 
 Repentance is the hire ; 
 
 Ane puir tressour, without measour ; 
 
 Love is ane fervent fire. 
 
 To love and to be wise, 
 
 To rage with good advice ; 
 
 Now thus, now than, so goes the game, 
 
 Uncertain is the dice ; 
 
 There is no man, I say, that can 
 
 Both love and to be wise.
 
 EDWARDS 23 
 
 Flee always from the snare, 
 
 Learn at me to beware ; 
 
 It is ane pain, and double trane 
 
 Of endless woe and care ; 
 
 For to refrain that danger plain, 
 
 Flee always from the snare. 
 
 Alexander Scott. 
 
 18 
 
 AMANTIUM IR-iE R E D I N T E G R A T I O AMORIS 
 
 IN going to my naked bed as one that would have slept, 
 I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept : 
 She sighed sore and sang full sweet, to bring the babe to rest, 
 That would not cease but cried still, in sucking at her breast. 
 She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with her child, 
 She rocke'd it and rated it, till that on her it smiled ; 
 Then did she say : ' Now have I found this proverb true to prove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love ! ' 
 
 Then took I paper, pen and ink, this proverb for to write, 
 In register for to remain of such a worthy wight : 
 As she proceeded thus in song unto her little brat, 
 Much matter uttered she of weight, in place whereas she sat, 
 And proved plain, there was no beast, nor creature bearing life, 
 Could well be known to live in love, without discord and strife : 
 Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God above, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 She said that neither king, nor prince, nor lord could live aright, 
 Until their puissance they did prove, their manhood and their 
 
 might. 
 
 When manhood shall be matched so that fear can take no place, 
 Then weary works make warriors each other to embrace, 
 And left their force that failed them, which did consume the rout, 
 That might before have lived their time, and nature out : 
 Then did she sing as one that thought no man could her reprove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 She said she saw no fish nor fowl, nor beast within her haunt, 
 That met a stranger in their kind, but could give it a taunt : 
 Since flesh might not endure, but rest must wrath succeed, 
 And force the fight to fall to play, in pasture where they feed, 
 So noble nature can well end the work she hath begun, 
 And bridle well that will not cease, her tragedy in some : 
 Thus in song she oft rehearsed, as did her well behove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.
 
 24 ANONYMOUS 
 
 ' I marvel much pardy,' quoth she, ' for to behold the rout, 
 
 To see man, woman, boy, beast, to toss the world about : 
 
 Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some can 
 
 smoothly smile, 
 
 And some embrace others in arm, and there think many awhile ; 
 Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble and some stout, 
 Yet are they never friends in deed, until they once fall out.' 
 Thus ended she her song, and said before she did remove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 Richard Edwards, 
 
 19 
 
 THE LOVER IN WINTER PLAINETH 
 FOR THE SPRING 
 
 O WESTERN wind when wilt thou blow 
 [That] the small rain down can rain ? 
 
 Christ, that my love were in my arms 
 And I in my bed again ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 20 
 
 THAT LENGTH OF TIME CONSUMETH 
 ALL THINGS 
 
 WHAT harder is than stone ? What more than water soft ? 
 Yet with soft water drops hard stones be pierced oft. 
 
 What gives so strong impulse, 
 
 That stone we may withstand ? 
 
 What gives more weak repulse 
 
 Than water prest with hand ? 
 
 Yet weak though water be, 
 
 It holloweth hardest flint : 
 
 By proof whereof we see, 
 
 Time gives the greatest dint. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 21 
 THE LOVER REFUSED OF HIS LOVE 
 
 I SEE how she doth see, 
 And yet she will be blind : 
 I see in helping me 
 She seeks and will not find.
 
 ANONYMOUS 25 
 
 I see how she doth wry, 
 When I begin to moan : 
 I see when I come nigh, 
 How fain she would be gone. 
 
 I see what will ye more ? 
 She will me gladly kill : 
 And you shall see therefore 
 That she shall have her will. 
 
 I can not live with stones, 
 It is too hard a food : 
 I will be dead at once 
 To do my Lady good. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 22 
 
 WHEN FLORA HAD O'ERFRET 
 THE FIRTH 
 
 WHEN Flora had o'erfret the firth, 
 In May of every moneth queen ; 
 When merle and mavis sings with mirth, 
 Sweet melling in the schawes sheen ; 
 When all lovers rejoiced been, 
 And most desirous of their prey ; 
 I heard a lusty lover mene : 
 ' I love but I dare nocht assay ! ' 
 
 ' Strong are the pains I daily prove, 
 
 But yet with patience I sustene, 
 
 I am so fettered with the love 
 
 Only of my lady sheen, 
 
 Whilk for her beauty might be queen, 
 
 Nature so craftily alway 
 
 Has done depaint that sweet serene ! 
 
 Whom I love I dare nocht assay. 
 
 ' She is so bright of hyd and hue, 
 
 I love but her alone, I ween ; 
 
 Is none her love that may eschew, 
 
 That blinkis of that dulce amene ; 
 
 So comely clear are her twa een, 
 
 That she mae lovers does affray 
 
 Then ever of Greece did fair Helene ! 
 
 Whom I love I dare nocht assay.' 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 26 ANONYMOUS 
 
 23 
 A PRAISE OF HIS LADY 
 
 GIVE place, you Ladies, and he gone, 
 Boast not yourselves at all, 
 For here at hand approacheth one 
 Whose face will stain you all ! 
 
 The virtue of her lively looks 
 Excels the precious stone : 
 I wish to have none other bo r >ks 
 To read or look upon. 
 
 In each of her two crystal eyes, 
 Smileth a naked boy ; 
 It would you all in heart suffice 
 To see that lamp of joy. 
 
 I think Nature hath lost the mould, 
 Where she her shape did take, 
 Or else I doubt if Nature could 
 So fair a creature make. 
 
 She may be well compared 
 Unto the Phcenix kind ; 
 Whose like was never seen or heard, 
 That any man can find. 
 
 In life she is Diana chast, 
 In truth Penelope, 
 In word and eke in deed steadfast 
 What will you more we say ? 
 
 If all the world were sought so far, 
 Who could find such a wight ? 
 Her beauty twinkleth like a star 
 Within the frosty night. 
 
 Her rosial colour comes and goes, 
 With such a comely grace, 
 More redier to than doth the rose, 
 Within her lively face. 
 
 At Bacchus feast none shall her meet, 
 Ne at no wanton play, 
 Nor gazing in an open street, 
 Nor gadding as a stray.
 
 ANONYMOUS 27 
 
 The modest mirth that she doth use 
 Is mixed with shamefastness ; 
 All vice she doth wholly refuse, 
 And hateth idleness. 
 
 O Lord, it is a world to see, 
 How Virtue can repair, 
 And deck in her such honesty, 
 Whom Nature made so fair ! 
 
 Truly she doth as far exceed 
 Our women nowadays 
 As doth the ieliflower a weed, 
 And more a thousand ways ! 
 
 How might I do to get a graffe 
 Of this unspotted tree ? 
 For all the rest are plain but chaff, 
 Which seem good corn to be. 
 
 This gift alone I shall her give 
 When Death doth what he can : 
 Her honest fame shall ever live 
 Within the mouth of man. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 24 
 LUSTY MAY 
 
 O LUSTY May, with Flora queen ! 
 The balmy drops from Phoebus sheen 
 Preluciand beams before the day : 
 By that Diana growls green 
 Through gladness of this lusty May. 
 
 Then Esperus, that is so bright, 
 Till woful heartes casts his light, 
 With banks that blooms on every brae, 
 And showers are shed forth of their sight, 
 Through gladness of this lusty May. 
 
 Birds on bewis of every birth, 
 Rejoicing notes makand their mirth 
 Right pleasantly upon the spray, 
 With flourishings o'er field and firth, 
 Through gladness of this lusty May.
 
 28 ANONYMOUS 
 
 All luvari's that are in care 
 To their ladies they do repair, 
 In fresh mornings before the day, 
 And are in mirth ay mair and mair 
 Through gladness of this lusty May. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 MY HEART IS HIGH ABOVE 
 
 MY heart is high above, my body is full of bliss, 
 
 For I am set in love, as well as I would wiss : 
 
 I love my lady pure, and she loves me again, 
 
 I am her serviture, she is my sovereign ! 
 
 She is my very heart, I am her hope and heill ; 
 
 She is my joy invart, I am her lover leal ; 
 
 I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command ; 
 
 I am perpetual her man, both foot and hand ; 
 
 The thing that may her please, my body shall fulfil ; 
 
 Whatever her disease, it does my body ill. 
 
 My bird, my bonnie ane, my tender babe venust, 
 
 My love, my life alone, my liking and my lust ! 
 
 We interchange our hearts, in others arme's soft, 
 
 Spriteless we two depart, usand our hives oft. 
 
 We mourn when light day dawe's, we plain the night is short, 
 
 We curse the cock that craws, that hinders our disport. 
 
 I glowffin up aghast, when I her miss on night, 
 
 And in my oxter fast I find the bowster right ! 
 
 Then languor on me lies, like Morpheus the mair, 
 
 Which causes me uprise, and to my sweet repair ; 
 
 And then is all the sorrow furth of remembrance, 
 
 That ever I had a sorrow in love's observance ! 
 
 Thus never I do rest, so lusty a life I lead, 
 
 When that I list to test the well of womanheid. 
 
 Lovers in pain, I pray God send you sic remeid 
 
 As I have night and day, you to defend from deid ! 
 
 Therefore be ever true unto your ladies free, 
 
 And they will on you rue, as mine has done on me ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 26 
 
 UPON CONSIDERATION OF THE STATE OF 
 THIS LIFE HE WISHETH DEATH 
 
 THE longer life, the more offence : 
 The more offence, the greater pain : 
 The greater pain, the less defence : 
 The less defence, the lesser gain.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 29 
 
 The loss of gain long ill doth try : 
 Wherefore come death, and let me die 1 
 
 The shorter life, less count I find : 
 The less account, the sooner made : 
 The count soon made, the merrier mind : 
 The merry mind doth thought evade. 
 Short life in truth this thing doth try : 
 Wherefore come death, and let me die I 
 
 Come gentle death, the ebb of care, 
 The ebb of care, the flood of life, 
 The flood of life, the joyful fare, 
 The joyful fare, the end of strife. 
 The end of strife, that thing wish I : 
 Wherefore come death, and let me die. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 27 
 CANTEMUS DOMINO 
 
 I WILL sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously : 
 The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea. 
 
 The Lord is my strength and song, 
 
 And he is become my salvation : 
 
 He is my God, and I will prepare him an habitation : 
 
 My father's God, and I will exalt him. 
 
 The Lord is a man of war : 
 
 The Lord is his name. 
 
 Pharaoh's chariots and his hosts hath he cast into the sea : 
 
 His chosen captains also are drowned in the Red Sea. 
 
 The depths have covered them : 
 
 They sank into the bottom as a stone. 
 
 Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in power : 
 
 Thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy, 
 
 And in the greatness of thine excellency thou hast overthrown 
 
 them that rose up against thee : 
 
 Thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed them as stubble. 
 And with the blast of thy nostrils the waters were gathered 
 
 together, 
 
 The floods stood upright as an heap, 
 And the depths were congealed in the heart of the sea. 
 The enemy said : 
 
 I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the spoil ; 
 My lust shall be satisfied upon them ; 
 I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.
 
 30 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered them : 
 
 They sank as lead in the mighty waters. 
 
 Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods ? 
 
 Who is like thee, glorious in holiness, 
 
 Fearful in praises, doing wonders ? 
 
 Thou stretchest out thy right hand, 
 
 The earth swallowed them. 
 
 Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast 
 
 redeemed : 
 
 Thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation. 
 The people shall hear, and be afraid : 
 Sorrow shall take hold on the inhabitants of Palestina. 
 Then the dukes of Edom shall be amazed ; 
 The mighty men of Moab, trembling shall take hold upon them ; 
 All the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away. 
 Fear and dread shall fall upon them ; 
 
 By the greatness of thine arm they shall be as still as a stone ; 
 Till thy people pass over, O Lord, 
 Till the people pass over, which thou hast purchased. 
 Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them in the mountain of thine 
 
 inheritance, 
 
 In the place, O Lord, which thou hast made for thee to dwell in, 
 In the Sanctuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established. 
 The Lord shall reign for ever and ever. 
 
 Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; 
 The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea. 
 
 28 
 INCLYTI ISRAEL 
 
 THE beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places : 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ! 
 
 Tell it not in Gath, 
 
 Publish it not in the streets of Askelon ; 
 
 Lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, 
 
 Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph. 
 
 Ye mountains of Gilboa, 
 
 Let there be no dew, neither let there be rain, upon you, nor 
 
 fields of offerings ; 
 
 For there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away, 
 The shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil. 
 From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, 
 The bow of Jonathan turned not back, 
 And the sword of Saul returned not empty.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 31 
 
 Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, 
 
 And in their death they were not divided : 
 
 They were swifter than eagles, 
 
 They were stronger than lions. 
 
 Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, 
 
 Who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights, 
 
 Who put on ornaments of gold on your apparel. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle ! 
 
 Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places. 
 
 1 am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan : 
 Very pleasant hast thou been unto me : 
 
 Thy love to me was wonderful, 
 Passing the love of women. 
 How are the mighty fallen, 
 And the weapons of war perished ! 
 
 2 9 
 DOMINI EST TERRA 
 
 THE earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; 
 
 The world, and they that dwell therein. 
 
 For he hath founded it upon the seas, 
 
 And established it upon the floods. 
 
 Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord ? 
 
 Or who shall stand in his holy place ? 
 
 He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart ; 
 
 Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, 
 
 Nor sworn deceitfully. 
 
 He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, 
 
 And righteousness from the God of his salvation. 
 
 This is the generation of them that seek him, 
 
 That seek thy face, O Jacob. 
 
 Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; 
 
 And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors ; 
 
 And the King of glory shall come in. 
 
 Who is this King of glory ? 
 
 The Lord strong and mighty, 
 
 The Lord mighty in battle. 
 
 Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; 
 
 Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors ; 
 
 And the King of glory shall come in. 
 
 Who is this King of glory ? 
 
 The Lord of hosts, 
 
 He is the King of glory.
 
 32 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 30 
 AFFERTE DOMINO 
 
 GIVE unto the Lord, O ye mighty, 
 
 Give unto the Lord glory and strength. 
 
 Give unto the Lord the glory due unto his name ; 
 
 Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness, 
 
 The voice of the Lord is upon the waters : 
 
 The God of glory thundereth : 
 
 The Lord is upon many waters. 
 
 The voice of the Lord is powerful : 
 
 The voice of the Lord is full of majesty. 
 
 The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars ; 
 
 Yea, the Lord breaketh the cedars of Lebanon. 
 
 He maketh them also to skip like a calf ; 
 
 Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn. 
 
 The voice of the Lord divideth the flames of fire. 
 
 The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness ; 
 
 The Lord shaketh the wilderness of Kadesh. 
 
 The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve, 
 
 And discovereth the forests : 
 
 And in His temple doth every one speak of His glory. 
 
 The Lord sitteth upon the flood ; 
 
 Yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever. 
 
 The Lord will give strength unto his people ; 
 
 The Lord will bless his people with peace. 
 
 31 
 QUEMADMODUM 
 
 As the hart panteth after the water brooks, 
 
 So panteth my soul after thee, O God. 
 
 My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God : 
 
 When shall I come and appear before God ? 
 
 My tears have been my meat day and night, 
 
 While they continually say unto me, Where is thy God ? 
 
 When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me : 
 
 For I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the 
 
 house of God, 
 With the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept 
 
 holyday.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 33 
 
 Why art thou cast down, O my soul ? 
 And why art thou disquieted in me ? 
 Hope thou in God : for I shall yet praise him 
 For the help of his countenance. 
 
 my God, my soul is cast down within me : 
 Therefore will I remember thee from the land of Jordan, 
 And of the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar. 
 
 Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts : 
 
 All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me : 
 
 Yet the Lord will command his lovingkindness in the daytime, 
 
 And in the night his song shall be with me, 
 
 And my prayer unto the God of my life. 
 
 1 will say unto God my rock : Why hast thou forgotten me ? 
 Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy ? 
 As with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me ; 
 While they say daily unto me : Where is thy God ? 
 
 Why art thou cast down, O my soul ? 
 And why art thou disquieted within me ? 
 Hope thou in God : for I shall yet praise him, 
 Who is the health of my countenance, and my God. 
 
 32 
 
 OMNES GENTES PLAUDITE 
 
 O, CLAP your hands, all ye people ; 
 
 Shout unto God with the voice of triumph. 
 
 For the Lord most high is terrible ; 
 
 He is a great King over all the earth. 
 
 He shall subdue the people under us, 
 
 And the nations under our feet. 
 
 He shall choose our inheritance for us, 
 
 The excellency of Jacob whom he loved. 
 
 God is gone up with a shout, 
 
 The Lord with the sound of a trumpet. 
 
 Sing praises to God, sing praises : 
 
 Sing praises unto our King, sing praises. 
 
 For God is the King of all the earth : 
 
 Sing ye praises with understanding. 
 
 God reigneth over the heathen ; 
 
 God sitteth upon the throne of his holiness. 
 
 The princes of the people are gathered together, 
 
 Even the people of the God of Abraham 
 
 For the shields of the earth belong unto God 
 
 He is greatly exalted. 
 
 C
 
 34 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 33 
 DEUS, QUIS SIMILIS 
 
 KEEP not thou silence, O God : 
 
 Hold not thy peace, and be not still, O God. 
 
 For, lo, thine enemies make a tumult : 
 
 And they that hate thee have lifted up the head. 
 
 They have taken crafty counsel against thy people, 
 
 And consulted against thy hidden ones. 
 
 They have said : Come, and let us cut them off from being 
 
 a nation ; 
 
 That the name of Israel may be no more in remembrance. 
 For they have consulted together with one consent : 
 They are confederate against thee. 
 The tabernacles of Edom, and the Ishmaelites ; 
 Of Moab, and the Hagarenes. 
 Gebal, and Ammon, and Amalek ; 
 The Philistines with the inhabitants of Tyre. 
 Assur also is joined with them : 
 They have holpen the children of Lot. 
 Do unto them as unto the Midianites ; 
 As to Sisera, as to Jabin, at the brook of Kison : 
 Which perished at En-dor : 
 They became as dung for the earth. 
 Make their nobles like Oreb, and like Zeeb : 
 Yea, all their princes as Zebah, and as Zalmunna : 
 Who said : Let us take to ourselves the houses of God in 
 
 possession. 
 
 O my God, make them like a wheel ; 
 As the stubble before the wind. 
 As the fire burneth a wood, 
 And as the flame setteth the mountains on fire, 
 So persecute them with thy tempest, 
 And make them afraid with thy storm. 
 Fill their faces with shame, 
 That they may seek thy name, O Lord. 
 Let them be confounded and troubled for ever ; 
 Yea, let them be put to shame, and perish ; 
 That men may know that thou, whose name alone is Jehovah, 
 Art the most high over all the earth.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 35 
 
 34 
 BENEDIC, ANIMA MEA 
 
 BLESS the Lord, O my soul ! 
 
 O Lord my God, thou art very great; 
 
 Thou art clothed with honour and majesty. 
 
 Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment : 
 
 Who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain. 
 
 Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters : 
 
 Who maketh the clouds his chariot : 
 
 Who walketh upon the wings of the wind : 
 
 Who maketh his angels spirits ; 
 
 His ministers a flaming fire ; 
 
 Who laid the foundations of the earth, 
 
 That it should not be removed for ever. 
 
 Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a garment : 
 
 The waters stood above the mountains. 
 
 At thy rebuke they fled ; 
 
 At the voice of thy thunder they hasted away. 
 
 They go up by the mountains ; they go down by the valleys 
 
 Unto the place which thou hast founded for them. 
 
 Thou hast set a bound that they may not pass over ; 
 
 That they turn not again to cover the earth. 
 
 He sendeth the springs into the valleys, 
 
 Which run among the hills. 
 
 They give drink to every beast of the field : 
 
 The wild asses quench their thirst. 
 
 By them shall the fowls of the heaven have their habitation. 
 
 Which sing among the branches. 
 
 He watereth the hills from his chambers : 
 
 The earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works. 
 
 He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, 
 
 And herb for the service of man : 
 
 That he may bring forth food out of the earth ; 
 
 And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, 
 
 And oil to make his face to shine, 
 
 And bread which strengtheneth man's heart 
 
 The trees of the Lord are full of sap ; 
 
 The cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted ; 
 
 Where the birds make their nests : 
 
 As for the stork, the fir trees are her house. 
 
 The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats, 
 
 And the rocks for the conies. 
 
 He appointed the moon for seasons : 
 
 The sun knoweth his going down. 
 
 Thou makest darkness, and it is night :
 
 36 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. 
 
 The young lions roar after their prey, 
 
 And seek their meat from God. 
 
 The sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, 
 
 And lay them down in their dens. 
 
 Man goeth forth unto his work 
 
 And to his labour until the evening. 
 
 Lord, how manifold are thy works ! 
 In wisdom hast thou made them all : 
 The earth is full of thy riches. 
 
 So is this great and wide sea, 
 
 Wherein are things creeping innumerable, 
 
 Both small and great beasts. 
 
 There go the ships : 
 
 There is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein. 
 
 These wait all upon thee ; 
 
 That thou mayest give them their meat in due season. 
 
 That thou givest them they gather ; 
 
 Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good. 
 
 Thou hidest thy face, they are troubled : 
 
 Thou takest away their breath, they die, 
 
 And return to their dust. 
 
 Thou sendest forth thy spirit, they are created : 
 
 And thou renewest the face of the earth. 
 
 The glory of the Lord shall endure for ever : 
 
 The Lord shall rejoice in his works. 
 
 He looketh on the earth, and it trembleth : 
 
 He toucheth the hills, and they smoke. 
 
 1 will sing unto the Lord as long as I live : 
 
 I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. 
 
 My meditation of him shall be sweet : 
 
 I will be glad in the Lord. 
 
 Let the sinners be consumed out of the earth, 
 
 And let the wicked be no more. 
 
 Bless thou the Lord, O my soul ! 
 
 Praise ye the Lord. 
 
 35 
 
 IN CONVERTENDO 
 
 WHEN the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, 
 
 We were like them that dream. 
 
 Then was our mouth filled with laughter, 
 
 And our tongue with singing : 
 
 Then said they among the heathen :
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 37 
 
 The Lord hath done great things for them. 
 The Lord hath done great things for us, 
 Whereof we are glad. 
 Turn again our captivity, O Lord, 
 As the streams in the south. 
 They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. 
 He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, 
 Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves 
 with him. 
 
 36 
 SUPER FLUMINA 
 
 BY the rivers of Babylon, 
 
 There we sat down, yea, we wept, 
 
 When we remembered Zion. 
 
 We hanged our harps 
 
 Upon the willows in the midst thereof. 
 
 For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song ; 
 
 And they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying : 
 
 Sing us one of the songs of Zion. 
 
 How shall we sing the Lord's song 
 
 In a strange land ? 
 
 If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, 
 
 Let my right hand forget her cunning. 
 
 If I do not remember thee, 
 
 Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth : 
 
 If I prefer not Jerusalem 
 
 Above my chief joy. 
 
 Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom 
 
 In the day of Jerusalem ; who said : Rase it, rase it, 
 
 Even to the foundation thereof. 
 
 O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed, 
 
 Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee 
 
 As thou hast served us ! 
 
 Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones 
 
 Against the stones. 
 
 37 
 
 DOMINE PROBASTI 
 
 O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me. 
 Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, 
 Thou understandest my thought afar off. 
 Thou compassest my path and my lying down, 
 And art acquainted with all my ways.
 
 38 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 For there is not a word in my tongue, 
 
 But, lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether ! 
 
 Thou hast beset me behind and before, 
 
 And laid thine hand upon me. 
 
 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me ; 
 
 It is high, I cannot attain unto it. 
 
 Whither shall I go from thy spirit ? 
 
 Or whither shall I flee from thy presence ? 
 
 If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there : 
 
 If I make my bed in hell, behold thou art there. 
 
 If I take the wings of the morning, 
 
 And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, 
 
 Even there shall thy hand lead me, 
 
 And thy right hand shall hold me. 
 
 If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me ; 
 
 Even the night shall be light about me. 
 
 Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee ; 
 
 But the night shineth as the day : 
 
 The darkness and the light are both alike to thee. 
 
 For thou hast possessed my reins : 
 
 Thou hast covered me in my mother's womb. 
 
 I will praise thee ; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made : 
 
 Marvellous are thy works ; 
 
 And that my soul knoweth right well. 
 
 My substance was not hid from thee, 
 
 When I was made in secret, 
 
 And curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. 
 
 Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect ; 
 
 And in thy book all my members were written, 
 
 Which in continuance were fashioned, 
 
 When as yet there was none of them ! 
 
 How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God ! 
 
 How great is the sum of them ! 
 
 If I should count them, they are more in number than the saiid. 
 
 When I awake, I am still with thee. 
 
 Surely thou wilt slay the wicked, O God : 
 
 Depart from me therefore, ye bloody men ! 
 
 For they speak against thee wickedly, 
 
 And thine enemies take thy name in vain. 
 
 Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hate thee ? 
 
 And am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee ? 
 
 I hate them with perfect hatred : 
 
 I count them mine enemies. 
 
 Search me, O God, and know my heart : 
 
 Try me, and know my thoughts : 
 
 And see if there be any wicked way in me, 
 
 And lead me in the way everlasting !
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 39 
 
 38 
 LAUDATE DOMINUM 
 
 PRAISE ye the Lord. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord from the heavens : 
 
 Praise him in the heights. 
 
 Praise ye him, all his angels : 
 
 Praise ye him, all his hosts. 
 
 Praise ye him, sun and moon : 
 
 Praise him, all ye stars of light. 
 
 Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, 
 
 And ye waters that be above the heavens. 
 
 Let them praise the name of the Lord : 
 
 For he commanded, and they were created. 
 
 He hath also stablished them for ever and ever : 
 
 He hath made a decree which shall not pass. 
 
 Praise the Lord from the earth, 
 
 Ye dragons, and all deeps : 
 
 Fire, and hail ; snow, and vapours ; 
 
 Stormy wind fulfilling his word ; 
 
 Mountains, and all hills ; 
 
 Fruitful trees, and all cedars ; 
 
 Beasts, and all cattle ; 
 
 Creeping things, and flying fowl. 
 
 Kings of the earth, and all people ; 
 
 Princes, and all judges of the earth ; 
 
 Both young men, and maidens ; 
 
 Old men, and children : 
 
 Let them praise the name of the Lord : 
 
 For his name alone is excellent ; 
 
 His glory is above the earth and heaven. 
 
 He also exalteth the horn of his people, 
 
 The praise of all his saints ; 
 
 Even of the children of Israel, a people near unto him. 
 
 Praise ye the Lord. 
 
 39 
 
 PEREAT DIES 
 
 LET the day perish wherein I was born, 
 
 And the night in which it was said : There is a man child conceived. 
 
 Let that day be dai kness ; 
 
 Let not God regard it from above, 
 
 Neither let the light shine upon it.
 
 40 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it ; 
 
 Let a cloud dwell upon it ; 
 
 Let the blackness of the day terrify it. 
 
 As for that night, let darkness seize upon it ; 
 
 Let it not be joined unto the days of the year, 
 
 Let it not come into the number of the months. 
 
 Lo, let that night be solitary, 
 
 Let no joyful voice come therein. 
 
 Let them curse it that curse the day, 
 
 Who are ready to raise up their mourning. 
 
 Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark ; 
 
 Let it look for light, but have none ; 
 
 Neither let it see the dawning of the day : 
 
 Because it shut not up the doors of my mother's womb, 
 
 Nor hid sorrow from mine eyes. 
 
 Why died I not from the womb ? 
 
 Why did I not give up the ghost when I came out of the belly ? 
 
 Why did the knees prevent me ? 
 
 Or why the breasts that I should suck ? 
 
 For now should I have lain still and been quiet, 
 
 I should have slept : then had I been at rest, 
 
 With kings and counsellors of the earth, 
 
 Which built desolate places for themselves ; 
 
 Or with princes that had gold, 
 
 Who filled their houses with silver : 
 
 Or as an hidden untimely birth I had not been ; 
 
 As infants which never saw light. 
 
 There the wicked cease from troubling ; 
 
 And there the weary be at rest. 
 
 There the prisoners rest together ; 
 
 They hear not the voice of the oppressor. 
 
 The small and great are there ; 
 
 And the servant is free from his master. 
 
 Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, 
 
 And life unto the bitter in soul : 
 
 Which long for death, but it cometh not ; 
 
 And dig for it more than for hid treasures ; 
 
 Which rejoice exceedingly, 
 
 And are glad, when they can find the grave ? 
 
 Why is light given to a man whose way is hid, 
 
 And whom God hath hedged in ? 
 
 For my sighing cometh before I eat, 
 
 And my roarings are poured out like the waters. 
 
 For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, 
 
 And that which I was afraid of is come unto me. 
 
 I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet ; 
 
 Yet trouble came.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 41 
 
 40 
 
 ECCE DOM I STI 
 
 BEHOLD, thou hast instructed many, 
 
 And thou hast strengthened the weak hands. 
 
 Thy words have upholden him that was falling, 
 
 And thou hast strengthened the feeble knees. 
 
 But now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest ; 
 
 It toucheth thee, and thou art troubled. 
 
 Is not this thy fear, thy confidence, 
 
 Thy hope, and the uprightness of thy ways ? 
 
 Remember, I pray thee, who ever perished, being innocei 
 
 Or where were the righteous cut off? 
 
 Even as I have seen, they that plow iniquity, 
 
 And sow wickedness, reap the same. 
 
 By the blast of God they perish, 
 
 And by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed. 
 
 The roaring of the lion, and the voice of the fierce lion, 
 
 And the teeth of the young lions, are broken. 
 
 The old lion perisheth for lack of prey, 
 
 And the stout lion's whelps are scattered abroad. 
 
 Now a thing was secretly brought to me, 
 
 And mine ear received a little thereof. 
 
 In thoughts from the visions of the night, 
 
 When deep sleep falleth on men, 
 
 Fear came upon me, and trembling, 
 
 Which made all my bones to shake. 
 
 Then a spirit passed before my face ; 
 
 The hair of my flesh stood up : 
 
 It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: 
 
 An image was before mine eyes, 
 
 There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying : 
 
 Shall mortal man be more just than God ? 
 
 Shall a man be more pure than his maker ? 
 
 Behold, he put no trust in his servants ; 
 
 And his angels he charged with folly : 
 
 How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, 
 
 Whose foundation is in the dust, 
 
 Which are crushed before the moth ! 
 
 They are destroyed from morning to evening : 
 
 They perish for ever without any regarding it. 
 
 Doth not their excellency which is in them go away ? 
 
 They die, even without wisdom.
 
 42 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 41 
 
 VERB SCIO 
 
 I KNOW it is so of a truth : 
 
 But how should man be just with God? 
 
 If he will contend with him, 
 
 He cannot answer him one of a thousand. 
 
 He is wise in heart, and mighty in strength : 
 
 Who hath hardened himself against him, and hath prospered ? 
 
 Which removeth the mountains, and they know not : 
 
 Which overturneth them in his anger. 
 
 Which shaketh the earth out of her place, 
 
 And the pillars thereof tremble. 
 
 Which commandeth the sun, and it riseth not ; 
 
 And sealeth up the stars. 
 
 Which alone spreadeth out the heavens, 
 
 And treadeth upon the waves of the sea. 
 
 Which maketh Arcturus, Orion, and Pleiades, 
 
 And the chambers of the south. 
 
 Which doeth great things past finding out ; 
 
 Yea, and wonders without number ? 
 
 Lo, he goeth by me, and I see him not : 
 
 He passeth on also, but I perceive him not. 
 
 Behold, he taketh away, who can hinder him ? 
 
 Who will say unto him : What doest thou ? 
 
 If God will not withdraw his anger, 
 
 The proud helpers do stoop under him. 
 
 How much less shall I answer him, 
 
 And choose out my words to reason with him ! 
 
 Whom, though I were righteous, yet would I not answer, 
 
 But I would make supplication to my judge. 
 
 If I had called, and he had answered me ; 
 
 Yet would I not believe that he had hearkened unto my voice : 
 
 For he breaketh me with a tempest, 
 
 And multiplieth my wounds without cause. 
 
 He will not suffer me to take my breath, 
 
 But filleth me with bitterness. 
 
 If I speak of strength, lo, he is strong : 
 
 And if of judgment, who shall set me a time to plead? 
 
 If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me : 
 
 If I say : I am perfect, it shall also prove me perverse. 
 
 Though I were perfect, yet would I not know my soul : 
 
 I would despise my life. 
 
 This is one thing, therefore I said it, 
 
 He destroyeth the perfect and the wicked.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 43 
 
 If the scourge slay suddenly, 
 
 He will laugh at the trial of the innocent. 
 
 The earth is given into the hand of the wicked : 
 
 He covereth the faces of the judges thereof ; 
 
 If not, where, and who is he ? 
 
 Now my days are swifter than a post : 
 
 They flee away, they see no good. 
 
 They are passed away as the swift ships : 
 
 As the eagle that hasteth to the prey. 
 
 If I say : I will forget my complaint, 
 
 I will leave off my heaviness, and comfort myself ; 
 
 I am afraid of all my sorrows, 
 
 I know that thou wilt not hold me innocent. 
 
 If I be wicked, 
 
 Why then labour I in vain ? 
 
 If I wash myself with snow water, 
 
 And make my hands never so clean ; 
 
 Yet shalt thou plunge me in the ditch, 
 
 And mine own clothes shall abhor me. 
 
 For he is not a man, as I am, that I should answer him, 
 
 And we should come together in judgment. 
 
 Neither is there any daysman betwixt us, 
 
 That might lay his hand upon us both. 
 
 Let him take his rod away from me, 
 
 And let not his fear terrify me : 
 
 Then would I speak, and not fear him ; 
 
 But it is not so with me. 
 
 My soul is weary of my life ; 
 
 I will leave my complaint upon myself ; 
 
 I will speak in the bitterness of my soul. 
 
 I will say unto God : Do not condemn me : 
 
 Show me wherefore thou contendest with me. 
 
 Is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, 
 
 That thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands, 
 
 And shine upon the counsel of the wicked ? 
 
 Hast thou eyes of flesh ? 
 
 Or seest thou as man seeth ? 
 
 Are thy days as the days of man ? 
 
 Are thy years as man's days, 
 
 That thou enquires! after mine iniquity, 
 
 And searchest after my sin ? 
 
 Thou knowest that I am not wicked ; 
 
 And there is none that can deliver out of thine hand. 
 
 Thine hands have made me and fashioned me, 
 
 Together round about ; yet thou dost destroy me. 
 
 Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as the clay ; 
 
 And wilt thou bring me into dust again ?
 
 44 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Hast thou not poured me out as milk, 
 
 And curdled me like cheese ? 
 
 Thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh, 
 
 And hast fenced me with bones and sinews. 
 
 Thou hast granted me life and favour, 
 
 And thy visitation hath preserved my spirit. 
 
 And these things hast thou hid in thine heart : 
 
 I know that this is with thee. 
 
 If I sin, then thou markest me, 
 
 And thou wilt not acquit me from mine iniquity. 
 
 If I be wicked, woe unto me ; 
 
 And if I be righteous, yet will I not lift up my head. 
 
 I am full of confusion ; 
 
 Therefore see thou mine affliction ; for it increaseth. 
 
 Thou huntest me as a fierce lion : 
 
 And again thou showest thyself marvellous upon me. 
 
 Thou renewest thy witnesses against me, 
 
 And increasest thine indignation upon me ; 
 
 Changes and war are against me. 
 
 Wherefore then hast thou brought me forth out of the womb ? 
 
 O, that I had given up the ghost, and no eye had seen me ! 
 
 I should have been as though I had not been ; 
 
 I should have been carried from the womb to the grave. 
 
 Are not my days few ? Cease then, 
 
 And let me alone, that I may take comfort a little : 
 
 Before I go whence I shall not return, 
 
 Even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death ; 
 
 A land of darkness, as darkness itself ; 
 
 And of the shadow of death, without any order, 
 
 And where the light is as darkness. 
 
 42 
 HOMO NATUS DE MULIERE 
 
 MAN that is born of a woman 
 
 Is of few days, and full of trouble. 
 
 He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down : 
 
 He fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not. 
 
 And dost thou open thine eyes upon such an one, 
 
 And bringest me into judgment with thee ? 
 
 Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean ? Not one. 
 
 Seeing his days are determined, the number of his months are 
 
 with thee, 
 Thou hast appointed his bounds that he cannot pass ;
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 45 
 
 Turn from him, that he may rest, 
 
 Till he shall accomplish, as an hireling, his day. 
 
 For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, 
 
 And that the tender branch thereof will not cease. 
 
 Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, 
 
 And the stock thereof die in the ground, 
 
 Yet through the scent of water it will bud, 
 
 And bring forth boughs like a plant. 
 
 But man dieth, and wasteth away : 
 
 Yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ? 
 
 As the waters fail from the sea, 
 
 And the flood decayeth and drieth up : 
 
 So man lieth down, and riseth not. 
 
 Till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, 
 
 Nor be raised out of their sleep. 
 
 O, that thou wouldest hide me in the grave, 
 
 That thou wouldest keep me secret, until thy wrath be past, 
 
 That thou wouldest appoint me a set time, and remember me ! 
 
 If a man die, shall he Live again ? 
 
 All the days of my appointed time will I wait, 
 
 Till my change come. 
 
 Thou shalt call, and I will answer thee : 
 
 Thou wilt have a desire to the work of thine hands. 
 
 For now thou numberest my steps : 
 
 Dost thou not watch over my sin ? 
 
 My transgression is sealed up in a bag, 
 
 And thou sewest up mine iniquity. 
 
 And surely the mountain falling cometh to nought, 
 
 And the rock is removed out of his place. 
 
 The waters wear the stones : 
 
 Thou washest away the things which grow out of the dust of the earth : 
 
 And thou destroyest the hope of man. 
 
 Thou prevailest for ever against him, and he passeth : 
 
 Thou changest his countenance, and sendest him away. 
 
 His sons come to honour, and he knoweth it not ; 
 
 And they are brought low, but he perceiveth it not of them. 
 
 But his flesh upon him shall have pain, 
 
 And his soul within him shall mourn. 
 
 43 
 
 CUJUS ADJUTOR ES 
 
 How hast thou helped him that is without power ? 
 How savest thou the arm that hath no strength ? 
 How hast thou counselled him that hath no wisdom t
 
 46 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 And how hast thou plentifully declared the thing as it is ? 
 
 To whom hast thou uttered words ? 
 
 And whose spirit came from thee? 
 
 Dead things are formed 
 
 From under the waters, and the inhabitants thereof. 
 
 Hell is naked before him, 
 
 And destruction hath no covering. 
 
 He stretcheth out the north over the empty place, 
 
 And hangeth the earth upon nothing. 
 
 He bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds ; 
 
 And the cloud is not rent under them. 
 
 He holdeth back the face of his throne, 
 
 And spreadeth his cloud upon it. 
 
 He hath compassed the waters with bounds, 
 
 Until the day and night come to an end. 
 
 The pillars of heaven tremble 
 
 And are astonished at his reproof. 
 
 He divideth the sea with his power, 
 
 And by his understanding he smiteth through the proud. 
 
 By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens ; 
 
 His hand hath formed the crooked serpent. 
 
 Lo, these are parts of his ways : 
 
 But how little a portion is heard of him ? 
 
 But the thunder of his power who can understand ? 
 
 44 
 
 QUIS EST ISTE 
 
 WHO is this that darkeneth counsel 
 
 By words without knowledge ? 
 
 Gird up now thy loins like a man ; 
 
 For I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. 
 
 Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth ? 
 
 Declare, if thou hast understanding. 
 
 Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest ? 
 
 Or who hath stretched the line upon it ? 
 
 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened ? 
 
 Or who laid the comer stone thereof, 
 
 When the morning stars sang together, 
 
 And all the sons of God shouted for joy ? 
 
 Or who shut up the sea with doors, 
 
 When it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb ? 
 
 When I made the cloud the garment thereof, 
 
 And thick darkness a swaddling band for it, 
 
 And brake up for it my decreed place,
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 47 
 
 And set bars and doors, 
 
 And said : Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further : 
 
 And here shall thy proud waves be stayed ? 
 
 Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days, 
 
 And caused the dayspring to know his place ; 
 
 That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, 
 
 That the wicked might be shaken out of it ? 
 
 It is turned as clay to the seal ; 
 
 And they stand as a garment. 
 
 And from the wicked their light is withholden, 
 
 And the high arm shall be broken. 
 
 Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea ? 
 
 Or hast thou walked in the search of the depth ? 
 
 Have the gates of death been opened unto thee ? 
 
 Or hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death ? 
 
 Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth ? 
 
 Declare if thou knowest it all. 
 
 Where is the way where light dwelleth ? 
 
 And as for darkness, where is the place thereof, 
 
 That thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, 
 
 And that thou shouldest know the paths to the house thereof? 
 
 Knowest thou it, because thou wast then born ? 
 
 Or because the number of thy days is great ? 
 
 Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow ? 
 
 Or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail, 
 
 Which I have reserved against the time of trouble, 
 
 Against the day of battle and war? 
 
 By what way is the light parted, 
 
 Which scattereth the east wind upon the earth ? 
 
 Who hath divided a water-course for the overflowing of waters, 
 
 Or a way for the lightning of thunder ; 
 
 To cause it to rain on the earth, where no man is ; 
 
 On the wilderness, wherein there is no man ; 
 
 To satisfy the desolate and waste ground ; 
 
 And to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth ? 
 
 Hath the rain a father ? 
 
 Or who hath begotten the drops of dew ? 
 
 Out of whose womb came the ice ? 
 
 And the hoary frost of heaven, who hath gendered it ? 
 
 The waters are hid as with a stone, 
 
 And the face of the deep is frozen. 
 
 Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, 
 
 Or loose the bonds of Orion ? 
 
 Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season ? 
 
 Or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons ? 
 
 Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven ? 
 
 Canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth ?
 
 48 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, 
 
 That abundance of waters may cover thee ? 
 
 Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go, 
 
 And say unto thee : Here we are? 
 
 Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts ? 
 
 Or who hath given understanding to the heart ? 
 
 Who can number the clouds in wisdom ? 
 
 Or who can stay the bottles of heaven, 
 
 When the dust groweth into hardness, 
 
 And the clods cleave fast together ? 
 
 Wilt thou hunt the prey for the lion ? 
 
 Or fill the appetite of the young lions, 
 
 When they couch in their dens, 
 
 And abide in the covert to lie in wait ? 
 
 Who provideth for the raven his food ? 
 
 When his young ones cry unto God, 
 
 They wander for lack of meat. 
 
 Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth ? 
 
 Or canst thou mark when the hinds do calve ? 
 
 Canst thou number the months that they fulfil ? 
 
 Or knowest thou the time when they bring forth ? 
 
 They bow themselves, they bring forth their young ones, 
 
 They cast out their sorrows. 
 
 Their young ones are in good liking, they grow up with corn ; 
 
 They go forth, and return not unto them. 
 
 Who hath sent out the wild ass free ? 
 
 Or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass ? 
 
 Whose house I have made the wilderness, 
 
 And the barren land his dwellings ? 
 
 He scorneth the multitude of the city, 
 
 Neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. 
 
 The range of the mountains is his pasture, 
 
 And he searcheth after every green thing. 
 
 Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, 
 
 Or abide by the crib ? 
 
 Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow ? 
 
 Or will he harrow the valleys after thee ? 
 
 Wilt thou trust him, because his strength is great ? 
 
 Or wilt thou leave thy labour to him ? 
 
 Wilt thou believe him, that he will bring home thy seed, 
 
 And gather it into thy barn ? 
 
 Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks ? 
 
 Or wings and feathers unto the ostrich ? 
 
 Which leaveth her eggs in the earth, 
 
 And warmeth them in dust, 
 
 And forgetteth that the foot may crush them, 
 
 Or that the wild beast may break them ?
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 49 
 
 She is hardened against her young ones, as though they were not hers : 
 
 Her labour is in vain without fear : 
 
 Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, 
 
 Neither hath he imparted to her understanding. 
 
 What time she lifteth up herself on high, 
 
 She scometh the horse and his rider. 
 
 Hast thou given the horse strength ? 
 
 Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? 
 
 Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper ? 
 
 The glory of his nostrils is terrible. 
 
 He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : 
 
 He goeth on to meet the armed men. 
 
 He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; 
 
 Neither turneth he back from the sword. 
 
 The quiver rattleth against him, 
 
 The glittering spear and the shield. 
 
 He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage : 
 
 Neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet 
 
 He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha ; 
 
 And he smelleth the battle afar off, 
 
 The thunder of the captains, and the shouting. 
 
 Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, 
 
 And stretch her wings towards the south ? 
 
 Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, 
 
 And make her nest on high ? 
 
 She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, 
 
 Upon the crag of the rock, and the strong place. 
 
 From thence she seeketh the prey, 
 
 And her eyes behold afar off. 
 
 Her young ones also suck up blood : 
 
 And where the skin are, there is she. 
 
 GlRD up thy loins now like a man : 
 I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me. 
 Wilt thou also disannul my judgment ? 
 Wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous ? 
 Hast thou an arm like God ? 
 Or canst thou thunder with a voice like him ? 
 Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency ; 
 And array thyself with glory and beauty. 
 Cast abroad die rage of thy wrath : 
 And behold every one that is proud, and abase him. 
 D
 
 50 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Look on every one that is proud, and bring him low ; 
 
 And tread down the wicked in their place. 
 
 Hide them in the dust together ; 
 
 And bind their faces in secret. 
 
 Then will I also confess unto thee 
 
 That thine own right hand can save thee. 
 
 Behold now behemoth, which I made with thee ; 
 
 He eateth grass as an ox. 
 
 Lo now, his strength is in his loins, 
 
 And his force is in the navel of his belly. 
 
 He moveth his tail like a cedar : 
 
 The sinews of his stones are wrapped together. 
 
 His bones are as strong pieces of brass ; 
 
 His bones are like bars of iron. 
 
 He is the chief of the ways of God : 
 
 He that made him can make his sword to approach unto him. 
 
 Surely the mountains bring him forth food, 
 
 Where all the beasts of the field play. 
 
 He lieth under the shady trees, 
 
 In the covert of the reeds, and fens. 
 
 The shady trees cover him with their shadow ; 
 
 The willows of the brook compass him about. 
 
 Behold he drinketh up a river, and hasteth not : 
 
 He trusteth that he can draw up Jordan into his mouth. 
 
 He taketh it with his eyes : 
 
 His nose pierceth through snares. 
 
 Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook ? 
 
 Or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down ? 
 
 Canst thou put an hook into his nose ? 
 
 Or bore his jaw through with a thorn ? 
 
 Will he make many supplications unto thee ? 
 
 Will he speak soft words unto thee ? 
 
 Will he make a covenant with thee ? 
 
 Wilt thou take him for a servant for ever ? 
 
 Wilt thou play with him as with a bird ? 
 
 Or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens ? 
 
 Shall the companions make a banquet of him ? 
 
 Shall they part him among the merchants ? 
 
 Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons ? 
 
 Or his head with fish spears ? 
 
 Lay thir.e hand upon him, 
 
 Remember the battle, do no more. 
 
 Behold, the hope of him is in vain : 
 
 Shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him ? 
 
 None is so fierce that dare stir him up : 
 
 Who then is able to stand before me ? 
 
 Who hath prevented me, that I should repay him ?
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine. 
 
 I will not conceal his parts, 
 
 Nor his power, nor his comely proportion. 
 
 Who can discover the face of his garment? 
 
 Or who can come to him with his double bridle ? 
 
 Who can open the doors of his face ? 
 
 His teeth are terrible round about. 
 
 His scales are his pride, 
 
 Shut up together as with a close seal. 
 
 One is so near to another, 
 
 That no air can come between them. 
 
 They are joined one to another, 
 
 They stick together, that they cannot be sundered. 
 
 By his neesings a light doth shine, 
 
 And his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. 
 
 Out of his mouth go burning lamps, 
 
 And sparks of fire leap out. 
 
 Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, 
 
 As out of a seething pot or caldron. 
 
 His breath kindleth coals, 
 
 And a flame goeth out of his mouth. 
 
 In his neck remaineth strength, 
 
 And sorrow is turned into joy before him. 
 
 The flakes of his flesh are joined together : 
 
 They are firm in themselves ; they cannot be moved. 
 
 His heart is as firm as a stone ; 
 
 Yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone. 
 
 When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid ; 
 
 By reason of breakings they purify themselves. 
 
 The sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold : 
 
 The spear, the dart, nor the habergeon. 
 
 He esteemeth iron as straw, 
 
 And brass as rotten wood. 
 
 The arrow cannot make him flee : 
 
 Slingstones are turned with him into stubble,. 
 
 Darts are counted as stubble : 
 
 He laugheth at the shaking of a spear. 
 
 Sharp stones are under him : 
 
 He spreadeth sharp pointed things upon the mire. 
 
 He maketh the deep to boil like a pot : 
 
 He maketh the sea like a pot of ointment. 
 
 He maketh a path to shine after him ; 
 
 One would think the deep to be hoary. 
 
 Upon earth there is not his like, 
 
 Who is made without fear. 
 
 He beholdeth all high things : 
 
 He is a king over all the children of pride.
 
 52 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 4 6 
 FILI MI, CUSTODI 
 
 MY son, keep ray words, 
 
 And lay up my commandments with thee. 
 
 Keep my commandments, and live ; 
 
 And my law as the apple of thine eye. 
 
 Bind them upon thy fingers, 
 
 Write them upon the table of thine heart. 
 
 Say unto wisdom : Thou art my sister ; 
 
 And call understanding thy kinswoman : 
 
 That they may keep thee from the strange woman, 
 
 From the stranger which flattereth with her words. 
 
 For at the window of my house 
 
 I looked through my casement, 
 
 And behold, among the simple ones, 
 
 I discerned among the youths, 
 
 A young man void of understanding, 
 
 Passing through the street near her corner ; 
 
 And he went the way to her house, 
 
 In the twilight, in the evening, 
 
 In the black and dark night ; 
 
 And, behold, there met him a woman 
 
 With the attire of an harlot, and subtile of heart. 
 
 She is loud and stubborn ; 
 
 Her feet abide not in her house : 
 
 Now is she without, now in the streets, 
 
 And lieth in wait at every corner. 
 
 So she caught him, and kissed him, 
 
 And with an impudent face said unto him : 
 
 ' I have peace offerings with me ; 
 
 This day have I paid my vows : 
 
 Therefore came I forth to meet thee, 
 
 Diligently to seek thy face, and I have found thee. 
 
 I have decked my bed with coverings of tapestry, 
 
 With carved works, 
 
 With fine linen of Egypt. 
 
 I have perfumed my bed 
 
 With myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon. 
 
 Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning ; 
 
 Let us solace ourselves with loves : 
 
 For the goodman is not at home, 
 
 He is gone a long journey : 
 
 He hath taken a bag of money with him, 
 
 And will come home at the day appointed.'
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 53 
 
 With her much fair speech she caused him to yield, 
 
 With the flattering of her lips she forced him. 
 
 He goeth after her straightway, 
 
 As an ox goeth to the slaughter, 
 
 Or as a fool to the correction of the stocks : 
 
 Till a dart strike through his liver ; 
 
 As a bird hasteth to the snare, 
 
 And knoweth not that it is for his life. 
 
 Hearken unto me now therefore, O ye children, 
 
 And attend to the words of my mouth ! 
 
 Let not thine heart decline to her ways, 
 
 Go not astray in her paths : 
 
 For she hath cast down many wounded ; 
 
 Yea, many strong men have been slain by her. 
 
 Her house is the way to hell, 
 
 Going down to the chambers of death. 
 
 47 
 
 MULIEREM FORTEM 
 
 WHO can find a virtuous woman ? 
 
 For her price is far above rubies. 
 
 The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, 
 
 So that he shall have no need of spoil. 
 
 She will do him good and not evil 
 
 All the days of her life. 
 
 She seeketh wool, and flax, 
 
 And worketh willingly with her hands. 
 
 She is like the merchants' ships ; 
 
 She bringeth her food from afar. 
 
 She riseth also while it is yet night, 
 
 And giveth meat to her household, 
 
 And a portion to her maidens. 
 
 She considereth a field, and buyeth it : 
 
 With the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard. 
 
 She girdeth her loins with strength, 
 
 And strengtheneth her arms. 
 
 She perceiveth that her merchandise is good ; 
 
 Her candle goeth not out by night. 
 
 She layeth her hands to the spindle, 
 
 And her hands hold the distaff. 
 
 She stretcheth out her hand to the poor ; 
 
 Yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.
 
 54 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 She is not afraid of the snow for her household : 
 
 For all her household are clothed with scarlet. 
 
 She maketh herself coverings of tapestry ; 
 
 Her clothing is silk and purple. 
 
 Her husband is known in the gates, 
 
 When he sitteth among the elders of the land. 
 
 She maketh fine linen, and selleth it ; 
 
 And delivereth girdles unto the merchants. 
 
 Strength and honour are her clothing ; 
 
 And she shall rejoice in time to come. 
 
 She openeth her mouth with wisdom ; 
 
 And in her tongue is the law of kindness. 
 
 She looketh well to the ways of her household, 
 
 And eateth not the bread of idleness. 
 
 Her children arise up, and call her blessed ; 
 
 Her husband also, and he praiseth her. 
 
 Many daughters have done virtuously, 
 
 But thou excellest them all. 
 
 Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain : 
 
 But a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. 
 
 Give her of the fruit of her hands ; 
 
 And let her own works praise her in the gates. 
 
 4 8 
 VANITAS VANITATUM 
 
 VANITY of vanities, saith the Preacher, 
 
 Vanity of vanities ; all is vanity. 
 
 What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh 
 
 under the sun ? 
 
 One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh : 
 But the earth abideth for ever. 
 The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, 
 And hasteth to his place where he arose. 
 The wind goeth toward the south, 
 And turneth about unto the north ; 
 It whirleth about continually, 
 
 And the wind returneth again according to his circuits. 
 All the rivers run into the sea, 
 Yet the sea is not full ; 
 
 Unto the place from whence the rivers come, 
 Thither they return again. 
 All things are full of labour ;
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 55 
 
 Man cannot utter it : 
 
 The eye is not satisfied with seeing, 
 
 Nor the ear filled with hearing. 
 
 The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be ; 
 
 And that which is done is that which shall be done : 
 
 And there is no new thing under the sun. 
 
 Is there any thing whereof it may be said : See, this is new ? 
 
 It hath been already of old time, which was before us. 
 
 There is no remembrance of former things ; 
 
 Neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come 
 
 with those that shall come after. 
 I the Preacher was king over Israel in Jerusalem. 
 And I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning 
 
 all things that are done under heaven : 
 This sore travail hath God given to the sons of man to be exercised 
 
 therewith. 
 
 I have seen all the works that are done under the sun ; 
 And, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. 
 That which is crooked cannot be made straight : 
 And that which is wanting cannot be numbered. 
 I communed with mine own heart, saying : 
 Lo, I am come to great estate, 
 And have gotten more wisdom than all they that have been before 
 
 me in Jerusalem : 
 
 Yea, my heart had great experience of wisdom and knowledge. 
 And I gave my heart to know wisdom, 
 And to know madness and folly : 
 I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. 
 For in much wisdom is much grief: 
 And he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. 
 
 49 
 
 OMNIA HAEC 
 
 FOR all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this, 
 That the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are in the hand 
 
 of God : 
 
 No man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before them. 
 All things come alike to all : 
 
 There is one event to the righteous, and to the wicked ; 
 To the good and to the clean, and to the unclean ; 
 To him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not : 
 As is the good, so is the sinner ; 
 And he that sweareth, as he that feareth an oath.
 
 56 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, 
 
 That there is one event unto all. 
 
 Yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, 
 
 And madness is in their heart while they live, 
 
 And after that they go to the dead. 
 
 For to him that is joined to all the living there is hope : 
 
 For a living dog is better than a dead lion. 
 
 For the living know that they shall die : 
 
 But the dead know not any thing, 
 
 Neither have they any more a reward ; 
 
 For the memory of them is forgotten. 
 
 Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished ; 
 
 Neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is 
 
 done under the sun. 
 Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, 
 And drink thy wine with a merry heart ; 
 For God now accepteth thy works. 
 Let thy garments be always white ; 
 And let thy head lack no ointment. 
 Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the 
 
 life of thy vanity, 
 
 Which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity : 
 For that is thy portion in this life, 
 And in thy labour which thou takest under the sun. 
 Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might ; 
 For there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in 
 
 the grave, whither thou goest. 
 I returned, and saw under the sun, 
 That the race is not to the swift, 
 Nor the battle to the strong, 
 Neither yet bread to the wise, 
 Nor yet riches to men of understanding, 
 Nor yet favour to men of skill ; 
 But time and chance happeneth to them all. 
 
 50 
 MEMENTO CREATORIS TUI 
 
 REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, 
 While the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, 
 When thou shalt say : I have no pleasure in them ; 
 While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be 
 not darkened,
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 57 
 
 Nor the clouds return after the rain : 
 
 In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, 
 
 And the strong men shall bow themselves, 
 
 And the grinders cease because they are few, 
 
 And those that look out of the windows be darkened, 
 
 And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound 
 
 of the grinding is low, 
 
 And he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, 
 And all the daughters of music shall be brought low ; 
 Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, 
 And fears shall be in the way, 
 And the almond tree shall flourish, 
 And the grasshopper shall be a burden, 
 And desire shall fail : 
 Because man goeth to his long home, 
 And the mourners go about the streets : 
 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, 
 Or the golden bowl be broken, 
 Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, 
 Or the wheel broken at the cistern. 
 Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was : 
 And the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. 
 
 51 
 
 OSCULETUR ME 
 
 LET him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth 
 
 For thy love is better than wine. 
 
 Because of the savour of thy good ointments, 
 
 Thy name is as ointment poured forth, 
 
 Therefore do the virgins love thee. 
 
 Draw me, we will run after thee. 
 
 The King hath brought me into his chambers 
 
 We will be glad and rejoice in thee ; 
 
 We will remember thy love more than wine : 
 
 The upright love thee. 
 
 I am black, but comely, 
 
 O ye daughters of Jerusalem, 
 
 As the tents of Kedar, 
 
 As the curtains of Solomon ! 
 
 Look not upon me, because I am black, 
 
 Because the sun hath looked upon me : 
 
 My mother's children were angry with me ;
 
 58 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 They made me the keeper of the vineyards : 
 
 But mine own vineyard have I not kept. 
 
 Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, 
 
 Where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at 
 
 noon : . 
 
 For why should I be as one that turneth aside 
 By the flocks of thy companions? 
 If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, 
 Go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock, 
 And feed thy kids beside the shepherds' tents. 
 I have compared thee, O my love, 
 To a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots. 
 Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, 
 Thy neck with chains of gold. 
 We will make thee borders of gold, 
 With studs of silver. 
 While the king sitteth at his table, 
 My spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof. 
 A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me ; 
 He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts. 
 My beloved is unto me as a cluster of camphire 
 In the vineyards of En-gedi. 
 
 Behold, thou art fair, my love ; behold, thou art fair ; 
 Thou hast doves' eyes. 
 
 Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant ; 
 Also our bed is green. 
 The beams of our house are cedar, 
 And our rafters of fir. 
 
 52 
 EGO FLOS CAMPI 
 
 I AM the rose of Sharon, 
 
 And the lily of the valleys. 
 
 As the lily among thorns, 
 
 So is my love among the daughters. 
 
 As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, 
 
 So is my beloved among the sons. 
 
 I sat down under his shadow with great delight, 
 
 And his fruit was sweet to my taste. 
 
 He brought me to the banqueting-house, 
 
 And his banner over me was love. 
 
 Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples : 
 
 For I am sick of love.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 59 
 
 His left hand is under my head, 
 
 And his right hand doth embrace me. 
 
 I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, 
 
 By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, 
 
 That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please. 
 
 The voice of my beloved ! behold he cometh 
 
 Leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills. 
 
 My beloved is like a roe, or a young hart : 
 
 Behold, he standeth behind our wall, 
 
 He looketh forth at the windows, 
 
 Shewing himself through the lattice. 
 
 My beloved spake, and said unto me : 
 
 ' Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. 
 
 For, lo, the winter is past, 
 
 The rain is over and gone ; 
 
 The flowers appear on the earth ; 
 
 The time of the singing of birds is come, 
 
 And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ; 
 
 The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, 
 
 And the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell. 
 
 Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. 
 
 my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret 
 
 places of the stairs, 
 Let me see thy countenance, 
 Let me hear thy voice ; 
 
 For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.' 
 Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines : 
 For our vines have tender grapes. 
 My beloved is mine, and I am his ; 
 He feedeth among the lilies. 
 Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, 
 Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart 
 Upon the mountains of Bether. 
 By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth ; 
 
 1 sought him, but I found him not. 
 
 I will rise now, and go about the city 
 
 In the streets, and in the broad ways 
 
 I will seek him whom my soul loveth : 
 
 I sought him, but I found him not. 
 
 The watchmen that go about the city found me : 
 
 To whom I said : Saw ye him whom my soul loveth ? 
 
 It was but a little that I passed from them, 
 
 But I found him whom my soul loveth : 
 
 I held him, and would not let him go, 
 
 Until I had brought him into my mother's house, 
 
 And into the chamber of her that conceived me. 
 
 I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,
 
 60 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, 
 
 That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please. 
 
 Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of 
 
 smoke, 
 
 Perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, 
 With all powders of the merchants ? 
 Behold his bed, which is Solomon's ; 
 Threescore valiant men are about it, 
 Of the valiant of Israel. 
 They all hold swords, being expert in war : 
 Every man hath his sword upon his thigh, 
 Because of fear in the night. 
 King Solomon made himself a chariot 
 Of the wood of Lebanon. 
 He made the pillars thereof of silver, 
 The bottom thereof of gold, the covering of it of purple ; 
 The midst thereof being paved with love, 
 For the daughters of Jerusalem. 
 
 Go forth, O ye daughters of Zion, and behold king Solomon 
 With the crown wherewith his mother crowned him in the 
 
 day of his espousals, 
 And in the day of the gladness of his heart. 
 
 53 
 
 QUAM PULCHRA 
 
 BEHOLD, thou art fair, my love ; 
 
 Behold, thou art fair ; 
 
 Thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks : 
 
 Thy hair is as a flock of goats, 
 
 That appear from mount Gilead. 
 
 Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, 
 
 Which came up from the washing ; 
 
 Whereof every one bears twins, 
 
 And none is barren among them. 
 
 Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, 
 
 And thy speech is comely : 
 
 Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate 
 
 Within thy locks. 
 
 Thy neck is like the tower of David, builded for an armoury, 
 
 Whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, 
 
 All shields of mighty men.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 61 
 
 Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, 
 
 Which feed among the lilies. 
 
 Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, 
 
 I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, 
 
 And to the hill of frankincense. 
 
 Thou art all fair, my love ; 
 
 There is no spot in thee. 
 
 Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, 
 
 With me from Lebanon : 
 
 Look from the top of Amana, 
 
 From the top of Shenir and Hermon, 
 
 From the lions' dens, 
 
 From the mountains of the leopards. 
 
 Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse ; 
 
 Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, 
 
 With one chain of thy neck. 
 
 How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse ! 
 
 How much better is thy love than wine ! 
 
 And the smell of thine ointments than all spices ! 
 
 Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb : 
 
 Honey and milk are under thy tongue ; 
 
 And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon. 
 
 A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse ; 
 
 A spring shut up, a fountain sealed. 
 
 Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits ; 
 
 Camphire with spikenard ; 
 
 Spikenard and saffron ; 
 
 Calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense ; 
 
 Myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices : 
 
 A fountain of gardens, 
 
 A well of living waters, 
 
 And streams from Lebanon. 
 
 Awake, O north wind ; and come, thou south ! 
 
 Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. 
 
 Let my beloved come into his garden, 
 
 And eat his pleasant fruits. 
 
 54 
 
 VENI IN HORTUM 
 
 I AM come into my garden, my sister, my spouse : 
 I have gathered my myrrh with my spice ; 
 I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey ;
 
 62 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 I have drunk my wine with my milk : 
 
 Eat, O friends ; 
 
 Drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved ! 
 
 I sleep, but my heart waketh : 
 
 It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying : 
 
 ' Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled : 
 
 For my head is filled with dew, 
 
 And my locks with the drops of the night.' 
 
 I have put off my coat ; how shall I put it on ? 
 
 I have washed my feet ; how shall I defile them ? 
 
 My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, 
 
 And my bowels were moved for him. 
 
 I rose up to open to my beloved ; 
 
 And my hands dropped with myrrh, 
 
 And my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, 
 
 Upon the handles of the lock. 
 
 I opened to my beloved ; 
 
 But my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone : 
 
 My soul failed when he spake : 
 
 I sought him, but I could not find him ; 
 
 I called him, but he gave me no answer. 
 
 The watchmen that went about the city found me, 
 
 They smote me, they wounded me ; 
 
 The keepers of the walls took away my veil from me. 
 
 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, 
 
 That ye tell him, that I am sick of love. 
 
 What is thy beloved more than another beloved, 
 
 O thou fairest among women ? 
 
 What is thy beloved more than another beloved, 
 
 That thou dost so charge us ? 
 
 My beloved is white and ruddy, 
 
 The chiefest among ten thousand. 
 
 His head is as the most fine gold ; 
 
 His locks are bushy, and black as a raven : 
 
 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, 
 
 Washed with milk, and fitly set : 
 
 His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers ; 
 
 His lips like lilies, dropping sweet-smelling myrrh : 
 
 His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl ; 
 
 His belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires : 
 
 His legs are as pillars of marble set upon sockets of fine gold ; 
 
 His countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars : 
 
 His mouth is most sweet ; yea, he is altogether lovely. 
 
 This is my beloved, and this is my friend, 
 
 O daughters of Jerusalem.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 63 
 
 55 
 
 QUAM PULCHRI 
 
 How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter ! 
 
 The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, 
 
 The work of the hands of a cunning workman : 
 
 Thy navel is like a round goblet, 
 
 Which wanteth not liquor ; 
 
 Thy belly is like an heap of wheat 
 
 Set about with lilies : 
 
 Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins : 
 
 Thy neck is as a tower of ivory ; 
 
 Thine eyes like the fish pools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath- 
 
 rabbim ; 
 
 Thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon, 
 Which looketh toward Damascus : 
 Thine head upon thee is like Carmel, 
 And the hair of thine head like purple : 
 The king is held in the galleries. 
 How fair and how pleasant art thou, 
 
 love, for delights ! 
 
 This thy stature is like to a palm-tree, 
 And thy breasts to clusters of grapes. 
 
 1 said, I will go up to the palm-tree, 
 
 I will take hold of the boughs thereof: 
 
 Now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, 
 
 And the smell of thy nose like apples ; 
 
 And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, 
 
 That goeth down sweetly, 
 
 Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak. 
 
 I am my beloved's, 
 
 And his desire is toward me. 
 
 Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field ; 
 
 Let us lodge in the villages. 
 
 Let us get up early to the vineyards ; 
 
 Let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, 
 
 And the pomegranates bud forth : 
 
 There will I give thee my loves. 
 
 The mandrakes give a smell, 
 
 And at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, 
 
 Which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.
 
 64 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 LEVATE SIGNUM 
 
 LIFT ye up a banner upon the high mountain, 
 
 Exalt the voice unto them, shake the hand, 
 
 That they may go into the gates of the nobles. 
 
 I have commanded my sanctified ones, 
 
 I have also called my mighty ones for mine anger, 
 
 Even them that rejoice in my highness. 
 
 The noise of a multitude in the mountains, like as of a great people : 
 
 A tumultuous noise of the kingdoms of nations gathered together : 
 
 The lord of hosts mustereth the host of the battle. 
 
 They come from a far country, from the end of heaven, 
 
 Even the Lord, and the weapons of his indignation, 
 
 To destroy the whole land. 
 
 Howl ye ; for the day of the Lord is at hand ; 
 
 It shall come as a destruction from the Almighty. 
 
 Therefore shall all hands be faint, 
 
 And every man's heart shall melt, 
 
 And they shall be afraid : 
 
 Pangs and sorrow shall take hold of them ; 
 
 They shall be in pain as a woman that travaileth : 
 
 They shall be amazed one at another ; 
 
 Their faces shall be as flames. 
 
 Behold, the day of the Lord cometh, 
 
 Cruel both with wrath and fierce anger, 
 
 To lay the land desolate : 
 
 And he shall destroy the sinners thereof out of it. 
 
 For the stars of heaven and the constellations thereof shall not give 
 
 their light : 
 
 The sun shall be darkened in his going forth, 
 And the moon shall not cause her light to shine. 
 And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their 
 
 iniquity ; 
 
 And I will cause the arrogancy of the proud to cease, 
 And will lay low the haughtiness of the terrible. 
 I will make a man more precious than fine gold ; 
 Even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir. 
 Therefore I will shake the heavens, 
 And the earth shall remove out of her place, 
 In the wrath of the Lord of hosts, and in the day of his fierce 
 
 anger. 
 And it shall be as the chased roe, and as a sheep that no man 
 
 taketh up
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 65 
 
 They shall every man turn to his own people, 
 
 And flee every one into his own land. 
 
 Every one that is found shall be thrust through ; 
 
 And every one that is joined unto them shall fall by the sword. 
 
 Their children also shall be dashed to pieces before their eyes ; 
 
 Their houses shall be spoiled, and their wives ravished. 
 
 Behold, I will stir up the Medes against them, which shall not 
 
 regard silver ; 
 
 And as for gold, they shall not delight in it. 
 Their bows also shall dash the young men to pieces ; 
 And they shall have no pity on the fruit of the womb ; 
 Their eye shall not spare children. 
 And Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees' 
 
 excellency, 
 
 Shall be as when God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah. 
 It shall never be inhabited, 
 
 Neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation : 
 Neither shall the Arabian pitch tent there ; 
 Neither shall the shepherds make their fold there. 
 But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there ; 
 And their houses shall be full of doleful creatures ; 
 And owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there. 
 And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate 
 
 houses, 
 
 And dragons in their pleasant palaces : 
 And her time is near to come, and her days shall not be prolonged. 
 
 57 
 
 QUIA NOCTE 
 
 BECAUSE in the night Ar of Moab is laid waste, and brought to 
 
 silence ; 
 Because in the night Kir of Moab is laid waste, and brought to 
 
 silence ; 
 
 He is gone up to Bajith, and to Dibon, the high places, to weep : 
 Moab shall howl over Nebo, and over Medeba : 
 On all their heads shall be baldness, and every beard cut off. 
 In their streets they shall gird themselves with sackcloth : 
 On the tops of their houses, and in their streets, 
 Every one shall howl, weeping abundantly. 
 And Heshbon shall cry, and Elealeh : 
 Their voice shall be heard even unto Jahaz : 
 Therefore the armed soldiers of Moab shall cry out ; 
 His life shall be grievous unto him. 
 
 E
 
 66 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 My heart shall cry out for Moab ; 
 
 His fugitives shall flee unto Zoar, an heifer of three years old : 
 
 For by the mounting up of Luhith with weeping shall they go 
 
 it up; 
 
 For in the way of Horonaim they shall raise up a cry of destruction. 
 For the waters of Nimrim shall be desolate : 
 For the hay is withered away, the grass faileth, there is no green 
 
 thing. 
 Therefore the abundance they have gotten, and that which they 
 
 have laid up, 
 
 Shall they carry away to the brook of the willows. 
 For the cry is gone round the borders of Moab ; 
 The howling thereof unto Eglaim, 
 And the howling thereof unto Beer-elim. 
 For the waters of Dimon shall be full of blood : 
 For I will bring more upon Dimon, 
 Lions upon him that escapeth of Moab, and upon the remnant of 
 
 the land. 
 
 58 
 ULULATE NAVES 
 
 HOWL, ye ships of Tarshish ; 
 
 For it is laid waste, so that there is no house, no entering in : 
 
 From the land of Chittim it is revealed to them. 
 
 Be still, ye inhabitants of the isle ; 
 
 Thou whom the merchants of Zidon, that pass over the sea, have 
 
 replenished. 
 And by great waters the seed of Sihor, the harvest of the river, is 
 
 her revenue ; 
 
 And she is a mart of nations. 
 Be thou ashamed, O Zidon : 
 
 For the sea hath spoken, even the strength of the sea, 
 Saying, I travail not, nor bring forth children, 
 Neither do I nourish up young men, nor bring up virgins. 
 As at the report concerning Egypt, 
 So shall they be sorely pained at the report of Tyre. 
 Pass ye over to Tarshish ; 
 Howl, ye inhabitants of the isle. 
 
 Is this your joyous city, whose antiquity is of ancient days? 
 Her own feet shall carry her afar off to sojourn. 
 Who hath taken this counsel against Tyre, the crowning city, 
 Whose merchants are princes, whose traffickers are the honourable 
 
 of the earth ?
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 67 
 
 The Lord of hosts hath purposed it, to stain the pride of all glory, 
 And to bring into contempt all the honourable of the earth. 
 Pass through thy land as a river, O daughter of Tarshish : 
 There is no more strength. 
 
 He stretched out his hand over the sea, he shook the kingdoms : 
 The Lord hath given a commandment against the merchant city, 
 
 to destroy the strong holds thereof. 
 And he said, Thou shalt no more rejoice, O thou oppressed virgin, 
 
 daughter of Zidon : 
 Arise, pass over to Chittim ; 
 There also shalt thou have no rest. 
 Behold the land of the Chaldeans ; 
 This people was not, till the Assyrian founded it for them that 
 
 dwell in the wilderness : 
 
 They set up the towers thereof, they raised up the palaces thereof ; 
 And he brought it to ruin. 
 Howl, ye ships of Tarshish : 
 For your strength is laid waste. 
 And it shall come to pass in that day, that Tyre shall be forgotten 
 
 seventy years, 
 
 According to the days of one king : 
 
 After the end of seventy years shall Tyre sing as an harlot. 
 Take an harp, go about the city, thou harlot that hast been forgotten ; 
 Make sweet melody, sing many songs, that thou mayest be 
 
 remembered. 
 And it shall come to pass after the end of seventy years, that the 
 
 Lord will visit Tyre, 
 And she shall turn to her hire, 
 And shall commit fornication with all the kingdoms of the world 
 
 upon the face of the earth. 
 
 And her merchandise and her hire shall be holiness to the Lord : 
 It shall not be treasured nor laid up ; 
 
 For her merchandise shall be for them that dwell before the Lord, 
 To eat sufficiently, and for durable clothing. 
 
 59 
 
 REQUIRITE IlJ LIBRO 
 
 SEEK ye out of the book of the Lord, and read : 
 
 No one of these shall fail, none shall want her mate 
 
 For my mouth it hath commanded, 
 
 And his spirit it hath gathered them. 
 
 And he hath cast the lot for them, 
 
 And his hand hath divided it unto them by line :
 
 68 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 They shall possess it for ever, 
 
 From generation to generation shall they dwell therein. 
 
 The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them ; 
 
 And the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. 
 
 It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing : 
 
 The glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, 
 
 The excellency of Carmel and Sharon, 
 
 They shall see the glory of the Lord, and the excellency of our God. 
 
 Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. 
 
 Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not : 
 
 Behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a 
 
 recompence ; 
 
 He will come and save you. 
 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, 
 And the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. 
 Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the 
 
 dumb sing : 
 For in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the 
 
 desert. 
 And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land 
 
 springs of water : 
 In the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with 
 
 reeds and rushes. 
 
 And an highway shall be there, and a way, 
 And it shall be called The way of holiness ; 
 The unclean shall not pass over it ; 
 But it shall be for those : 
 
 The wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. 
 No lions shall be there, 
 Nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, 
 It shall not be found there ; 
 But the redeemed shall walk there : 
 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, 
 
 And come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads ; 
 They shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall 
 
 flee away. 
 
 60 
 IN DIMIDIO DIERUM 
 
 I SAID in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to the gates of the 
 
 grave : 
 
 I am deprived of the residue of my years. 
 I said, I shall not see the Lord, even the Lord in the land of the 
 
 living :
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 69 
 
 I shall behold man no more with the inhabitants of the 
 
 world. 
 Mine age is departed, and is removed from me as a shepherd's 
 
 tent : 
 
 I have cut off like a weaver my life : 
 He will cut me off with pining sickness : 
 From day even till night wilt thou make an end of me. 
 I reckoned till morning, that, as a lion, so will he break all my 
 
 bones : 
 
 From day even to night wilt thou make an end of me. 
 Like a crane or a swallow, so did I chatter : 
 I did mourn as a dove : 
 Mine eyes fail with looking upward : 
 
 Lord, I am oppressed ; 
 Undertake for me. 
 What shall I say ? 
 
 He hath both spoken unto me, and himself hath done it. 
 
 1 shall go softly all my years in the bitterness of my soul. 
 O Lord, by these things men live, 
 
 And in all these things is the life of my spirit : 
 
 So wilt thou recover me, and make me to live. 
 
 Behold, for peace I had great bitterness : 
 
 But thou hast in love to my soul delivered it from the pit of 
 
 corruption : 
 
 For thou hast cast all my sins behind thy back. 
 For the grave cannot praise thee, 
 Death cannot celebrate thee, 
 
 They that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth. 
 The living, the living, he shall praise thee, as I do this day : 
 The father to the children shall make known thy truth. 
 The Lord was ready to save me : 
 Therefore we will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all 
 
 the days of our life in the house of the Lord. 
 
 61 
 
 CONSURGE, CONSURGE 
 
 AWAKE, awake ; 
 
 Put on thy strength, O Zion ; 
 
 Put on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city : 
 
 For henceforth there shall no more come into thee the uncircumcised 
 
 and the unclean. 
 Shake thyself from the dust ; 
 Arise, and sit down, O Jerusalem :
 
 70 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 Loose thyself from the bands of thy neck, O captive daughter of 
 
 Zion. 
 
 For thus saith the Lord, 
 Ye have sold yourselves for nought ; 
 And ye shall be redeemed without money. 
 For thus saith the Lord God, 
 
 My people went down aforetime into Egypt to sojourn there ; 
 And the Assyrian oppressed them without cause. 
 Now therefore, what have I here, saith the Lord, 
 That my people is taken away for nought ? 
 They that rule over them make them to howl, saith the Lord ; 
 And my name continually every day is blasphemed. 
 Therefore my people shall know my name : 
 Therefore they shall know in that day that I am he that doth 
 
 speak : 
 
 Behold, it is I. 
 How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bring- 
 
 eth good tidings, that publisheth peace ; 
 
 That bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation ; 
 That saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth. 
 Thy watchmen shall lift up the voice ; 
 With the voice together shall they sing : 
 For they shall see eye to eye, when the Lord shall bring again 
 
 Zion. 
 
 Break forth into joy, sing together, ye waste places of Jerusalem : 
 For the Lord hath comforted his people, he hath redeemed 
 
 Jerusalem. 
 The Lord hath made bare his holy arm in the eyes of all the 
 
 nations : 
 
 And all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God. 
 Depart ye, depart ye, go ye out from thence, touch no unclean 
 
 thing ; 
 
 Go ye out of the midst of her ; 
 Be ye clean, that bear the vessels of the Lord. 
 For ye shall not go out with haste, nor go by flight : 
 For the Lord will go before you ; 
 And the God of Israel will be your rereward. 
 
 62 
 SURGE, ILLUMINARE 
 
 ARISE, shine ; for thy light is come, 
 And the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. 
 For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness 
 the people :
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 71 
 
 But the Lord shall arise upon thee, 
 
 And his glory shall be seen upon thee. 
 
 And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, 
 
 And kings to the brightness of thy rising. 
 
 Lift up thine eyes round about, and see : 
 
 All they gather themselves together, they come to thee : 
 
 Thy sons shall come from far, 
 
 And thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side. 
 
 Then thou shalt see, and flow together, 
 
 And thine heart shall fear, and be enlarged ; 
 
 Because the abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee, 
 
 The forces of the Gentiles shall come unto thee. 
 
 The multitude of camels shall cover thee, 
 
 The dromedaries of Midian and Ephah ; 
 
 All they from Sheba shall come : 
 
 They shall bring gold and incense ; 
 
 And they shall shew forth the praises of the Lord. 
 
 All the flocks of Kedar shall be gathered unto thee, 
 
 The rams of Nebaioth shall minister unto thee : 
 
 They shall come up with acceptance on mine altar, 
 
 And I will glorify the house of my glory. 
 
 Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their 
 
 windows? 
 
 Surely the isles shall wait for me, 
 And the ships of Tarshish first, 
 To bring thy sons from far, 
 Their silver and their gold with them, 
 Unto the name of the Lord thy God, and to the Holy One of 
 
 Israel, 
 
 Because he hath glorified thee. 
 And the sons of strangers shall build up thy walls, 
 And their kings shall minister unto thee : 
 For in my wrath I smote thee, but in my favour have I mercy 
 
 on thee. 
 
 Therefore thy gates shall be open continually ; 
 They shall not be shut day nor night ; 
 That men may bring unto thee the forces of the Gentiles, 
 And that their kings may be brought. 
 For the nation and kingdom that will not serve thee shall 
 
 perish ; 
 
 Yea, those nations shall be utterly wasted. 
 The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, 
 The fir tree, the pine tree, and the box together, 
 To beautify the place of my sanctuary ; 
 And I will make the place of my feet glorious. 
 The sons also of them that afflicted thee shall come bending unto 
 
 thee ;
 
 72 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 And all they that despised thee shall bow themselves down 
 
 at the soles of thy feet ; 
 
 And they shall call thee, The city of the Lord, 
 The Zion of the Holy One of Israel. 
 Whereas thou hast been forsaken and hated, 
 So that no man went through thee, 
 I will make thee an eternal excellency, 
 A joy of many generations. 
 Thou shalt also suck the milk of the Gentiles, 
 And shalt suck the breast of kings : 
 And thou shalt know that I the Lord am thy Saviour and 
 
 thy Redeemer, 
 The mighty One of Jacob. 
 
 For brass I will bring gold, and for iron I will bring silver, 
 And for wood brass, and for stones iron : 
 I will also make thy officers peace, 
 And thine exactors righteousness. 
 Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, 
 Wasting nor destruction within thy borders ; 
 But thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise. 
 The sun shall be no more thy light by day ; 
 Neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee : 
 But the Lord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, 
 And thy God thy glory. 
 Thy sun shall no more go down : 
 Neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: 
 For the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, 
 And the days of thy mourning shall be ended. 
 Thy people also shall be all righteous : 
 They shall inherit the land for ever, 
 The branch of my planting, the work of my hands, 
 That I may be glorified. 
 A little one shall become a thousand, 
 And a small one a strong nation : 
 I the Lord will hasten it in his time. 
 
 63 
 PRAEPARATE SCUTUM 
 
 ORDER ye the buckler and shield, and draw near to battle. 
 
 Harness the horses ; 
 
 And get up, ye horsemen, and stand forth with your 
 
 helmets ; 
 Furbish the spears, and put on the brigandines.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 73 
 
 Wherefore have I seen them dismayed and turned away back ? 
 And their mighty ones are beaten down, and are fled apace, and 
 
 look not back : 
 
 For fear was round about, saith the Lord. 
 Let not the swift flee away, nor the mighty man escape ; 
 They shall stumble, and fall toward the north by the river 
 
 Euphrates. 
 
 Who is this that cometh up as a flood, 
 Whose waters are moved as the rivers ? 
 Egypt riseth up like a flood, 
 And his waters are moved like the rivers ; 
 And he saith, I will go up, and will cover the earth ; 
 I will destroy the city ajid the inhabitants thereof. 
 Come up, ye horses ; 
 And rage, ye chariots ; 
 And let the mighty men come forth ; 
 The Ethiopians and the Libyans, that handle the shield ; 
 And the Lydians, that handle and bend the bow. 
 For this is the day of the Lord God of hosts, a day of vengeance, 
 That he may avenge him of his adversaries : 
 And the sword shall devour, 
 
 And it shall be satiate and made drunk with their blood : 
 For the Lord God of hosts hath a sacrifice in the north country by 
 
 the river Euphrates. 
 Go up into Gilead, and take balm, O virgin, the daughter of 
 
 Egypt: 
 
 In vain shalt thott use many medicines ; 
 For thou shalt not be cured. 
 The nations have heard of thy shame, 
 And thy cry hath filled the land : 
 For the mighty man hath stumbled against the mighty, 
 And they are fallen both together. 
 
 6 4 
 QUOMODO SEDET 
 
 How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people ! 
 
 How is she become as a widow ! 
 
 She that was great among the nations, and princess among the 
 
 provinces, 
 
 How is she become tributary ! 
 
 She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks : 
 Among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her :
 
 74 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 All her friends have dealt treacherously with her, 
 
 They are become her enemies. 
 
 Judah is gone into captivity because of affliction, and because of 
 
 great servitude : 
 
 She dwelleth among the heathen, she findeth no rest : 
 All her persecutors overtook her between the straits. 
 The ways of Zion do mourn, because none come to the solemn 
 
 feasts : 
 
 All her gates are desolate : 
 Her priests sigh, her virgins are afflicted, 
 And she is in bitterness. 
 
 Her adversaries are the chief, her enemies prosper ; 
 For the Lord hath afflicted her for the multitude of her trans- 
 gressions : 
 
 Her children are gone into captivity before the enemy. 
 And from the daughter of Zion all her beauty is departed : 
 Her princes are become like harts that find no pasture, 
 And they are gone without strength before the pursuer. 
 Jerusalem remembered in the days of her affliction and of her 
 
 miseries all her pleasant things that she had in the days of 
 
 old, 
 
 When her people fell into the hand of the enemy, 
 And none did help her : 
 
 The adversaries saw her, and did mock at her Sabbaths. 
 Jerusalem had grievously sinned ; 
 Therefore she is removed : 
 All that honoured her despise her, 
 Because they have seen her nakedness : 
 Yea, she sigheth, and turneth backward. 
 Her filthiness is in her skirts ; 
 She remembereth not her last end ; 
 Therefore she came down wonderfully : 
 She had no comforter. 
 O Lord, behold my affliction : 
 For the enemy hath magnified himself. 
 The adversary hath spread out his hand upon all her pleasant 
 
 things. 
 
 For she hath seen that the heathen entered into her sanctuary, 
 Whom thou didst command that they should not enter into thy 
 
 congregation. 
 
 All her people sigh, they seek bread ; 
 
 They have given their pleasant things for meat to relieve the soul : 
 See, O Lord, and consider ; 
 For I am become vile. 
 Is it nothing to you, 
 All ye that pass by ? 
 Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow,
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 75 
 
 Which is done unto me, 
 
 Wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger. 
 
 From above hath he sent fire into my bones, 
 
 And it prevaileth against them : 
 
 He hath spread a net for my feet, 
 
 He hath turned me back : 
 
 He hath made me desolate and faint all the day. 
 
 The yoke of my transgressions is bound by his hand : 
 
 They are wreathed, and come up upon my neck : 
 
 He hath made my strength to fall, 
 
 The Lord hath delivered me into their hands, 
 
 From whom I am not able to rise up. 
 
 The Lord hath trodden under foot all my mighty men in the midst 
 of me : 
 
 He hath called an assembly against me to crush my young men : 
 
 The Lord hath trodden the virgin, the daughter of Judah, as in a 
 winepress. 
 
 For these things I weep ; 
 
 Mine eye, mine eye runneth down with water, 
 
 Because the comforter that should relieve my soul is far from me : 
 
 My children are desolate, because the enemy prevailed. 
 
 Zion spreadeth forth her hands, and there is none to comfort her : 
 
 The Lord hath commanded concerning Jacob, that his adversaries 
 should be round about him : 
 
 Jerusalem is as a menstruous woman among them. 
 
 The Lord is righteous ; 
 
 For I have rebelled against his commandment : 
 
 Hear, I pray you, all people, and behold my sorrow : 
 
 My virgins and my young men are gone into captivity. 
 
 I called for my lovers, but they deceived me : 
 
 My priests and mine elders gave up the ghost in the city, 
 
 While they sought their meat to relieve their souls. 
 
 Behold, O Lord ; for I am in distress : 
 
 My bowels are troubled ; 
 
 Mine heart is turned within me ; 
 
 For I have grievously rebelled : 
 
 Abroad the sword bereaveth, at home there is as death. 
 
 They have heard that I sigh : 
 
 There is none to comfort me : 
 
 All mine enemies have heard of my trouble ; 
 
 They are glad that thou hast done it : 
 
 Thou wilt bring the day that thou hast called, 
 
 And they shall be like unto me. 
 
 Let all their wickedness come before thee ; 
 
 And do unto them, as thou hast done unto me for all my trans- 
 gressions : 
 
 For my sighs are many, and my heart is faint.
 
 76 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 65 
 FINIS VENIT 
 
 AN end, the end is come upon the four corners of the land. 
 
 Now is the end come upon thee, 
 
 And I will send mine anger upon thee, 
 
 And will judge thee according to thy ways, 
 
 And will recompense upon thee all thine abominations. 
 
 And mine eye shall not spare thee, neither will I have pity : 
 
 But I will recompense thy ways upon thee, 
 
 And thine abominations shall be in the midst of thee : 
 
 And ye shall know that I am the Lord. 
 
 An evil, an only evil, behold, is come. 
 
 An end is come, the end is come : 
 
 It watcheth for thee ; 
 
 Behold, it is come. 
 
 The morning is come unto thee, O thou that dwellest in the land : 
 
 The time is come, the day of trouble is near, 
 
 And not the sounding again of the mountains. 
 
 Now will I shortly pour out my fury upon thee, 
 
 And accomplish mine anger upon thee : 
 
 And I will judge thee according to thy ways, 
 
 And will recompense thee for all thine abominations. 
 
 And mine eye shall not spare, neither will I have pity : 
 
 I will recompense thee according to thy ways and thine abomina- 
 tions that are in the midst of thee ; 
 
 And ye shall know that I am the Lord that smiteth. 
 
 Behold the day, behold, it is come : 
 
 The morning is gone forth ; 
 
 The rod hath blossomed, 
 
 Pride hath budded. 
 
 Violence is risen up into a rod of wickedness : 
 
 None of them shall remain, nor of their multitude, nor of any of 
 theirs : 
 
 Neither shall there be wailing for them. 
 
 The time is come, the day draweth near : 
 
 Let not the buyer rejoice, nor the seller mourn : 
 
 For wrath is upon all the multitude thereof. 
 
 For the seller shall not return to that which is sold, although they 
 were yet alive : 
 
 For the vision is touching the whole multitude thereof, which 
 shall not return ; 
 
 Neither shall any strengthen himself in the iniquity of his life. 
 
 They have blown the trumpet, even to make all ready ; 
 
 But none goeth to the battle : 
 
 For my wrath is upon all the multitude thereof.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 77 
 
 The sword is without, and the pestilence and the famine within : 
 
 He that is in the field shall die with the sword ; 
 
 And he that is in the city, famine and pestilence shall devour him. 
 
 But they that escape of them shall escape, 
 
 And shall be on the mountains like doves of the valleys, 
 
 All of them mourning, every one for his iniquity. 
 
 All hands shall be feeble, 
 
 And all knees shall be weak as water. 
 
 They shall also gird themselves with sackcloth, and horror shall 
 
 cover them ; 
 And shame shall be upon all faces, and baldness upon all their 
 
 heads. 
 They shall cast their silver in the streets, and their gold shall be 
 
 removed : 
 Their silver and their gold shall not be able to deliver them in the 
 
 day of the wrath of the Lord : 
 
 They shall not satisfy their souls, neither fill their bowels : 
 Because it is the stumblingblock of their iniquity. 
 As for the beauty of his ornament, he set it in majesty : 
 But they made the images of their abominations and of their 
 
 detestable things therein : 
 Therefore have I set it far from them. 
 And I will give it into the hands of the strangers for a prey, and 
 
 to the wicked of the earth for a spoil ; 
 And they shall pollute it. 
 My face will I turn also from them, and they shall pollute my 
 
 secret place : 
 
 For the robbers shall enter into it, and defile it. 
 Make a chain : 
 
 For the land is full of bloody crimes, and the city is full of violence. 
 Wherefore I will bring the worst of the heathen, and they shall 
 
 possess their houses : 
 
 I will also make the pomp of the strong to cease ; 
 And their holy places shall be defiled. 
 Destruction cometh ; 
 
 And they shall seek peace, and there shall be none. 
 Mischief shall come upon mischief, and rumour shall be upon 
 
 rumour ; 
 
 Then shall they seek a vision of the prophet ; 
 But the law shall perish from the priest, and counsel from the 
 
 ancients. 
 The king shall mourn, and the prince shall be clothed with 
 
 desolation, 
 
 And the hands of the people of the land shall be troubled : 
 I will do unto them after their way, 
 And according to their deserts will I judge them ; 
 And they shall know that I am the Lord.
 
 78 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 
 
 66 
 
 QUARE MATER 
 
 WHAT is thy mother ? 
 
 A lioness : 
 
 She lay down among lions, she nourished her whelps among young 
 
 lions. 
 
 And she brought up one of her whelps : 
 It became a young lion, and it learned to catch the prey ; 
 It devoured men. 
 The nations also heard of him ; 
 He was taken in their pit, and they brought him with chains unto 
 
 the land of Egypt. 
 
 Now when she saw that she had waited, and her hope was lost, 
 Then she took another of her whelps, and made him a young 
 
 lion. 
 
 And he went up and down among the lions, 
 He became a young lion, 
 
 And learned to catch the prey, and devoured men. 
 And he knew their desolate palaces, and he laid waste their cities ; 
 And the land was desolate, and the fulness thereof, by the noise of 
 
 his roaring. 
 Then the nations set against him on every side from the provinces, 
 
 and spread their net over him : 
 He was taken in their pit. 
 And they put him in ward in chains, and brought him to the king 
 
 of Babylon : 
 They brought him into holds, that his voice should no more be 
 
 heard upon the mountains of Israel. 
 
 Thy mother is like a vine in thy blood, planted by the waters : 
 She was fruitful and full of branches by reason of many waters. 
 And she had strong rods for the sceptres of them that bare rule, 
 And her stature was exalted among the thick branches, 
 And she appeared in her height with the multitude of her branches. 
 But she was plucked up in fury, 
 She was cast down to the ground, 
 And the east wind dried up her fruit : 
 Her strong rods were broken and withered ; 
 The fire consumed them. 
 And now she is planted in the wilderness, in a dry and thirsty 
 
 ground. 
 And fire is gone out of a rod of her branches, which hath devoured 
 
 her fruit, 
 
 So that she hath no strong rod to be a sceptre to rule. 
 This is a lamentation, and shall be for a lamentation.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 79 
 
 6 7 
 CANITE TUBA 
 
 BLOW ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy 
 
 mountain : 
 
 Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble : 
 For the day of the Lord cometh, for it is nigh at hand ; 
 A day of darkness and of gloominess, 
 A day of clouds and of thick darkness, 
 As the morning spread upon the mountains : 
 A great people and a strong ; 
 There hath not been ever the like, 
 Neither shall be any more after it, 
 Even to the years of many generations. 
 A fire devoureth before them ; 
 And behind them a flame burneth : 
 The land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them 
 
 a desolate wilderness ; 
 Yea, and nothing shall escape them. 
 The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses ; 
 And as horsemen, so shall they run. 
 
 Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, 
 Like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, 
 As a strong people set in battle array. 
 Before their face the people shall be much pained : 
 All faces shall gather blackness. 
 They shall run like mighty men ; 
 They shall climb the wall like men of war ; 
 And they shall march every one on his ways, 
 And they shall not break their ranks : 
 Neither shall one thrust another ; 
 They shall walk every one in his path : 
 
 And when they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded. 
 They shall run to and fro in the city ; 
 They shall run upon the wall, 
 They shall climb up upon the houses ; 
 They shall enter in at the windows like a thief. 
 The earth shall quake before them ; 
 The heavens shall tremble : 
 The sun and the moon shall be dark, 
 And the stars shall withdraw their shining : 
 And the Lord shall utter his voice before his army : 
 For his camp is very great : 
 For he is strong that executeth his word : 
 For the day of the Lord is great and very terrible ; 
 And who can abide it ?
 
 8o 
 
 68 
 
 QUAERITE ME 
 
 SEEK ye me, and ye shall live : 
 
 But seek not Beth-el, nor enter into Gilgal, and pass not to 
 
 Beersheba : 
 
 For Gilgal shall surely go into captivity, 
 And Beth-el shall come to nought. 
 Seek the Lord, and ye shall live ; 
 Lest he break out like fire in the house of Joseph, and 
 
 devour it, 
 
 And there be none to quench it in Beth-el. 
 Ye who turn judgment to wormwood, 
 And leave off" righteousness in the earth, 
 Seek him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, 
 And turneth the shadow of death into the morning, 
 And maketh the day dark with night : 
 That calleth for the waters of the sea, 
 And poureth them out upon the face of the earth : 
 The Lord is his name : 
 
 That strengtheneth the spoiled against the strong, 
 So that the spoiled shall come against the fortress. 
 
 69 
 
 DOMINE, AUDIVI 
 
 O LORD, I have heard thy speech, and was afraid : 
 
 O Lord, revive thy work in the midst of the years, 
 
 In the midst of the years make known ; 
 
 In wrath remember mercy. 
 
 God came from Teman, 
 
 And the Holy One from mount Paran. 
 
 His glory covered the heavens, 
 
 And the earth was full of his praise. 
 
 And his brightness was as the light ; 
 
 He had horns coming out of his hand : 
 
 And there was the hiding of his power. 
 
 Before him went the pestilence, 
 
 And burning coals went forth at his feet.
 
 THE ENGLISH BIBLE 81 
 
 He stood, and measured the earth : 
 
 He beheld, and drove asunder the nations ; 
 
 And the everlasting mountains were scattered, 
 
 The perpetual hills did bow : 
 
 His ways are everlasting. 
 
 I saw the tents of Cushan in affliction : 
 
 And the curtains of the land of Midian did tremble. 
 
 Was the Lord displeased against the rivers ? 
 
 Was thine anger against the rivers ? 
 
 Was thy wrath against the sea, 
 
 That thou didst ride upon thine horses, 
 
 And thy chariots of salvation ? 
 
 Thy bow was made quite naked, 
 
 According to the oaths of the tribes, even thy word. 
 
 Thou didst cleave the earth with rivers. 
 
 The mountains saw thee, and they trembled ; 
 
 The overflowing of the water passed by : 
 
 The deep uttered his voice, 
 
 And lifted up his hands on high. 
 
 The sun and moon stood still in their habitation : 
 
 At the light of thine arrows they went, 
 
 And at the shining of thy glittering spear. 
 
 Thou didst march through the land in indignation, 
 
 Thou didst thresh the heathen in anger. 
 
 Thou wentest forth for the salvation of thy people, 
 
 Even for salvation with thine anointed ; 
 
 Thou woundedst the head out of the house of the wicked, 
 
 By discovering the foundation unto the neck. 
 
 Thou didst strike through with his staves the head of 
 
 his villages ; 
 
 They came out as a whirlwind to scatter me : 
 Their rejoicing was as to devour the poor secretly. 
 Thou didst walk through the sea with thine horses, 
 Through the heap of great waters. 
 When I heard, my belly trembled ; 
 My lips quivered at the voice : 
 Rottenness entered into my bones, and I trembled in 
 
 myself, 
 
 That I might rest in the day of trouble : 
 When he cometh up unto the people, he will invade 
 
 them with his troops. 
 Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, 
 Neither shall fruit be in the vines ; 
 The labour of the olive shall fail, 
 And the fields shall yield no meat ; 
 The flock shall be cut off from the fold, 
 And there shall be no herd in the stalls : 
 F
 
 82 GASCOYNE 
 
 Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, 
 
 I will joy in the God of my salvation. 
 
 The Lord God is my strength, 
 
 And he will make my feet like hinds' feet, 
 
 And he will make me to walk upon mine high places. 
 
 70 
 
 A LOVER'S LULLABY 
 
 SING lullaby, as women do, 
 
 Wherewith they bring their babes to rest 
 And lullaby can I sing too, 
 
 As womanly as can the best. 
 With lullaby they still the child, 
 And, if I be not much beguiled, 
 Full many a wanton babe have I, 
 Which must be stilled with lullaby. 
 
 First, lullaby my youthful years ! 
 
 It is now time to go to bed, 
 For crooked age and hoary hairs 
 
 Have won the haven within my head. 
 With lullaby then, youth, be still, 
 With lullaby content thy will. 
 Since courage quails and comes behind, 
 Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind ! 
 
 Next, lullaby my gazing eyes, 
 
 Which wonted were to glance apace, 
 
 For every glass may now suffice 
 To show the furrows in my face ! 
 
 With lullaby then wink awhile ; 
 
 With lullaby your looks beguile ; 
 
 Let no fair face, nor beauty bright, 
 
 Entice you eft with vain delight. 
 
 And lullaby my wanton will ! 
 
 Let reason's rule now rein thy thought ; 
 Since all too late I find by skill 
 
 How dear I have thy fancies bought. 
 With lullaby now take thine ease, 
 With lullaby thy doubts appease. 
 For trust to this, if thou be still, 
 My body shall obey thy will.
 
 MONTGOMERIE 83 
 
 Eke lullaby my loving boy 
 
 My little robin, take thy rest ! 
 Since age is cold and nothing coy, 
 
 Keep close thy coin, for so is best. 
 With lullaby be thou content, 
 With lullaby thy lusts relent ! 
 Let others pay which have more pence : 
 Thou art too poor for such expense. 
 
 Thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes, 
 My will, my ware, and all that was ! 
 
 I can no more delays devise ; 
 
 But welcome pain, let pleasure pass ! 
 
 With lullaby now take your leave, 
 
 With lullaby your dreams deceive, 
 
 And when you rise with waking eye, 
 
 Remember then this lullaby. 
 
 George Gascoyne. 
 
 71 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 Adieu, O daisy of delight ! 
 Adieu, most pleasant and perfyt ; 
 
 Adieu, and have good night ! 
 Adieu, thou lustiest of lyve ; 
 Adieu, sweet thing superlatyve ; 
 
 Adieu, my lamp of light ! 
 Like as the lizard does indeed 
 
 Live by the manis' face, 
 Thy beauty likewise should me feed, 
 If we had time and space. 
 
 Adieu now ; be true now, 
 
 Sen that we must depart. 
 Forget not, and set not 
 At light my constant heart. 
 
 Albeit my body be absent, 
 My faithful heart is vigilent 
 
 To do you service true ; 
 But, when I hant into the place 
 Where I was wont to see that face, 
 
 My dolour does renew. 
 Then all my pleasure is but pain, 
 
 My cares they do increase ;
 
 84 MONTGOMERIE 
 
 Until I see your face again, 
 I live in heaviness. 
 
 Sore weeping, but sleeping, 
 
 The nights I overdrive ; 
 Whiles mourning, whiles turning, 
 With thoughtis pensitive. 
 
 Sometime Good Hope did me comfort, 
 Saying, the time should be but short 
 
 Of absence to endure. 
 Then Courage quickens so my spreit, 
 When I think on my lady sweet, 
 
 I hald my service sure. 
 I cannot plaint of my estate, 
 
 I thank the gods above ; 
 For I am first in her consait, 
 Whom both I serve and love. 
 Her friends aye weinds 
 
 To cause her to revoke ; 
 She bides, and slides 
 
 No more than does a rock. 
 
 O lady, for thy constancy 
 A faithful servant sail I be, 
 Thine honour to defend ; 
 And I sail surely, for thy saik, 
 As doth the turtle for her maik, 
 
 Love to my lyfis end. 
 No pain nor travail, fear nor dreid, 
 
 Shall cause me to desist. 
 Then, aye when ye this letter read, 
 Remember how we kissed : 
 Embracing, with lacing, 
 
 With others tearis sweet ! 
 Sic blissing in kissing 
 I quit till we two meet. 
 
 Alexander Montgomerie. 
 
 72 
 AUBADE 
 
 HEY ! now the day daws 
 The jolly cock craws ; 
 Now shroudes the shaws, 
 Through Nature anon.
 
 MONTGOMERIE 85 
 
 The thissell-cock cries 
 On lovers who lies. 
 Now skails the skies : 
 The night is near gone. 
 
 The feilds overflows 
 With gowans that grows, 
 Where lilies like lowes, 
 
 As red as the rone. 
 The turtle that true is, 
 With notes that renews, 
 Her pairty pursues : 
 
 The night is near gone. 
 
 Now hairtes with hinds, 
 Conform to their kinds, 
 Hie tosses their tynds, 
 
 On ground where they grone. 
 Now hurchons, with hairs, 
 Aye passes in pairs, 
 Which duly declares 
 
 The night is near gone. 
 
 The season excells 
 
 Through sweetness that smells ; 
 
 Now Cupid compels 
 
 Our heartes echone 
 On Venus, who waiks, 
 To muse on our maiks, 
 Syne sing for their saiks : 
 
 ' The night is near gone ! ' 
 
 All courageous knichts 
 Aganes the day dichts 
 The breast plate that bright is, 
 
 To fight with their fone. 
 The stoned steed stamps 
 Through courage, and cramps, 
 Syne on the land lamps : 
 
 The night is near gone. 
 
 The freikes on feilds 
 That wight wapins weilds 
 With shining bright shields 
 As Titan in trone,
 
 86 BRETON 
 
 Stiff speirs, in reists 
 Over corsers' crests, 
 Are broke on their breists : 
 The night is near gone. 
 
 So hard are their hitts, 
 Some sways, some sitts, 
 And some perforce flitts 
 
 On ground while they groan. 
 Some groomes that gay is, 
 On blonkes that brays, 
 With swordes assays : 
 
 The night is near gone. 
 
 Alexander Montgomerie. 
 
 73 
 
 COME, LITTLE BABE 
 
 COME, little babe, come, silly soul, 
 
 Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, 
 
 Born as I doubt to all our dole, 
 
 And to thyself unhappy chief : 
 Sing lullaby and lap it warm, 
 Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 
 
 Thou little think'st, and less dost know 
 The cause of this thy mother's moan. 
 Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, 
 And I myself am all alone. 
 
 Why dost thou weep ? why dost thou wail ? 
 
 And know'st not yet what thou dost ail. 
 
 Come, little wretch ! Ah ! silly heart, 
 
 Mine only joy, what can I more ? 
 
 If there be any wrong thy smart, 
 
 That may the destinies implore, 
 
 'Twas I, I say, against my will 
 I wail the time, but be thou still. 
 
 And dost thou smile ? O thy sweet face ! 
 Would God Himself He might thee see ! 
 No doubt thou soon wouldst purchase grace, 
 I know right well, for thee and me. 
 
 But come to mother, babe, and play, 
 
 For father false is fled away.
 
 BRETON 87 
 
 Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance 
 
 Thy father home again to send, 
 
 If Death do strike me with his lance, 
 
 Yet may'st thou me to him commend : 
 If any ask thy mother's name, 
 Tell how by love she purchased blame. 
 
 Then will his gentle heart soon yield : 
 I know him of a noble mind : 
 Although a lion in the field, 
 A lamb in town thou shalt him find : 
 
 Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid ! 
 
 His sugared words hath me betrayed. 
 
 Then may'st thou joy and be right glad, 
 Although in woe I seem to moan . 
 Thy father is no rascal lad : 
 A noble youth of blood and bone, 
 
 His glancing looks, if he once smile, 
 
 Right honest women may beguile. 
 
 Come, little boy, and rock a-sleep ! 
 Sing lullaby, and be thou still ! 
 I, that can do naught else but weep, 
 Will sit by thee and wail my fill : 
 
 God bless my babe, and lullaby 
 
 From this thy father's quality. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
 74 
 
 SONG 
 
 LOVELY kind and kindly loving, 
 Such a mind were worth the moving : 
 Truly fair and fairly true 
 Where are all these but in you ? 
 
 Wisely kind and kindly wise, 
 Blessed life, where such love lies ! 
 Wise, and kind, and fair, and true 
 Lovely live all these in you. 
 
 Sweetly dear and dearly sweet, 
 Blessed where these blessings meet ! 
 Sweet, fair, wise, kind, blessed, true 
 Blessed be all these in you ! 
 
 Nicholas Breton.
 
 SPENSER 
 
 75 
 
 PASTORAL 
 
 IN the merry month of May, 
 On a morn by break of day, 
 Forth I walk'd by the wood-side, 
 Whereas May was in her pride : 
 There I spied all alone 
 Phillida and Corydon. 
 Much ado there was, God wot ! 
 He would love and she would not. 
 She said, Never man was true; 
 He said, None was false to you. 
 He said, He had loved her long ; 
 She said, Love should have no wrong. 
 Corydon would kiss her then ; 
 She said, Maids must kiss no men 
 Till they did for good and all ; 
 Then she made the shepherd call 
 All the heavens to witness truth 
 Never loved a truer youth. 
 Thus with many a pretty oath, 
 Yea and nay, faith and troth, 
 Such as seely shepherds use 
 When they will not love abuse, 
 Love, which had been long deluded, 
 Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 
 And Phillida with garlands gay 
 Was made the Lady of the May. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
 76 
 
 EPITHALAMION 
 
 YE learned Sisters, which have oftentimes 
 
 Been to the aiding, others to adorn, 
 
 Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes, 
 
 That even the greatest did not greatly scorn 
 
 To hear their names sung in your simple lays, 
 
 But joyed in their praise ; 
 
 And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn, 
 
 Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise, 
 
 Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn, 
 
 And teach the woods and waters to lament 
 
 Your doleful dreriment :
 
 SPENSER 89 
 
 Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside ; 
 
 And having all your heads with garlands crowned, 
 
 Help me mine own love's praises to resound ; 
 
 Ne let the same of any be envied : 
 
 So Orpheus did for his own bride, 
 
 So I unto myself alone will sing ; 
 
 The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring. 
 
 Early, before the world's light-giving lamp 
 
 His golden beam upon the hills doth spread, 
 
 Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp, 
 
 Do ye awake ; and with fresh lusty head 
 
 Go to the bower of my beloved love, 
 
 My truest turtle dove : 
 
 Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake, 
 
 And long since ready forth his mask to move, 
 
 With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake, 
 
 And many a bachelor to wait on him, 
 
 In their fresh garments trim. 
 
 Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight, 
 
 For lo ! the wished day is come at last, 
 
 That shall for all the pains and sorrows past 
 
 Pay to her usury of long delight : 
 
 And, whilst she doth her dight, 
 
 Do ye to her of joy and solace sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Bring with you all the Nymphs that you can hear, 
 
 Both of the rivers and the forests green 
 
 And of the sea that neighbours to her near, 
 
 All with gay garlands goodly well beseen. 
 
 And let them also with them bring in hand 
 
 Another gay garland, 
 
 For my fair love, of lilies and of roses, 
 
 Bound truelove wise, with a blue silk riband. 
 
 And let them make great store of bridal poses, 
 
 And let them eke bring store of other flowers, 
 
 To deck the bridal bowers. 
 
 And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, 
 
 For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong, 
 
 Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along, 
 
 And diapred like the discoloured mead. 
 
 Which done, do at her chamber door await, 
 
 For she will waken straight, 
 
 The whiles do ye this song unto her sing, 
 
 The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring.
 
 90 SPENSER 
 
 Ye Nymphs of Mulla, which with careful heed 
 
 The silver-scaly trouts do tend full well, 
 
 And greedy pikes which use therein to feed 
 
 (Those trouts and pikes all others do excel), 
 
 And ye likewise, which keep the rushy lake 
 
 Where none do fishes take, 
 
 Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light, 
 
 And in his waters, which your mirror make, 
 
 Behold your faces as the crystal bright, 
 
 That when you come whereas my love doth lie, 
 
 No blemish she may spy. 
 
 And eke, ye lightfoot maids, which keep the door, 
 
 That on the hoary mountain used to tower, 
 
 And the wild wolves, which seek them to devour, 
 
 With your steel darts do chase from coming near, 
 
 Be also present here, 
 
 To help to deck her, and to help to sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Wake now, my love, awake ! for it is time : 
 
 The rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed, 
 
 All ready to her silver couch to climb, 
 
 And Phcebus gins to show his glorious head. 
 
 Hark ! how the cheerful birds do chant their lays, 
 
 And carol of love's praise. 
 
 The merry lark her matins sings aloft ; 
 
 The thrush replies ; the mavis descant plays ; 
 
 The ouzel shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft : 
 
 So goodly all agree with sweet consent 
 
 To this day's merriment. 
 
 Ah ! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long, 
 
 When meeter were that ye should now awake, 
 
 To await the coming of your joyous make, 
 
 And hearken to the bird's lovelearned song 
 
 The dewy leaves among ? 
 
 For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 
 
 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 My love is now awake out of her dreams, 
 And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were 
 With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams 
 More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. 
 Come now, ye Damsels, daughters of delight, 
 Help quickly her to dight ! 
 But first come, ye fair Hours, which were begot, 
 In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night ; 
 Which do the seasons of the year allot,
 
 SPENSER 91 
 
 And all that ever in this world is fair 
 
 Do make and still repair : 
 
 And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen, 
 
 The which do still adorn her beauty's pride, 
 
 Help to adorn my beautifulest bride ; 
 
 And, as ye her array, still throw between 
 
 Some graces to be seen ; 
 
 And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, 
 
 The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Now is my love all ready forth to come : 
 
 Let all the virgins therefore well await ; 
 
 And ye, fresh Boys, that tend upon her groom, 
 
 Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight. 
 
 Set all your things in seemly good array, 
 
 Fit for so joyful day : 
 
 The joyfuFst day that ever Sun did see. 
 
 Fair Sun ! show forth thy favourable ray, 
 
 And let thy lifull heat not fervent be, 
 
 For fear of burning her sunshiny face, 
 
 Her beauty to disgrace. 
 
 O fairest Phoebus ! father of the Muse ! 
 
 If ever I did honour thee aright, 
 
 Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight, 
 
 Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse ; 
 
 But let this day, let this one day, be mine ; 
 
 Let all the rest be thine : 
 
 Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing, 
 
 That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Hark ! how the Minstrels gin to shrill aloud 
 
 Their merry Music that resounds from far, 
 
 The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling crowd, 
 
 That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
 
 But most of all the Damsels do delight, 
 
 When they their timbrels smite, 
 
 And thereunto do dance and carol sweet, 
 
 That all the senses they do ravish quite ; 
 
 The whiles the Boys run up and down the street, 
 
 Crying aloud with strong confused noise, 
 
 As if it were one voice, 
 
 Hymen ! io Hymen ! Hymen they do shout ; 
 
 That even to the heavens their shouting shrill 
 
 Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill : 
 
 To which the people standing all about, 
 
 As in approvance, do thereto applaud, 
 
 And loud advance her laud ;
 
 92 SPENSER 
 
 And evermore they Hymen, Hymen ! sing, 
 
 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Lp ! where she comes along with portly pace, 
 
 Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, 
 
 Arising forth to run her mighty race, 
 
 Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. 
 
 So well it her beseems, that ye would ween 
 
 Some Angel she had been. 
 
 Her long loose yellow locks, like golden wire 
 
 Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, 
 
 Do like a golden mantle her attire ; 
 
 And being crowned with a garland green, 
 
 Seem like some maiden Queen. 
 
 Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
 
 So many gazers as on her do stare, 
 
 Upon the lowly ground affixed are ; 
 
 Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, 
 
 But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, 
 
 So far from being proud. 
 
 Nathless, do ye still loud her praises sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Tell me, ye Merchants' Daughters, did ye see 
 
 So fair a creature in your town before, 
 
 So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
 
 Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store ? 
 
 Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright, 
 
 Her forehead ivory white, 
 
 Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded, 
 
 Her lips like cherries charming men to bite, 
 
 Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, 
 
 Her paps like lilies budded, 
 
 Her snowy neck like to a marble tower ; 
 
 And all her body like a palace fair, 
 
 Ascending up, with many a stately stair, 
 
 To honour's seat and chastity's sweet bower ! 
 
 Why stand ye still, ye Virgins, in amaze 
 
 Upon her so to gaze, 
 
 Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, 
 
 To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, 
 The inward beauty of her lively spright, 
 Garnished with heavenly gifts of high decree, 
 Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
 
 SPENSER 93 
 
 And stand astonished like to those which read 
 
 Medusse's mazeful head. 
 
 There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, 
 
 Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood, 
 
 Regard of honour, and mild modesty. 
 
 There virtue reigns as Queen in royal throne, 
 
 And giveth laws alone, 
 
 The which the base affections do obey, 
 
 And yield their services unto her will. 
 
 Ne thought of things uncomely ever may 
 
 Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill. 
 
 Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures 
 
 And unrevealed pleasures, 
 
 Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing, 
 
 That all the woods should answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Open the temple gates unto my love ! 
 
 Open them wide that she may enter in, 
 
 And all the posts adorn as doth behove, 
 
 And all the pillars deck with garlands trim, 
 
 For to receive this Saint with honour due 
 
 That cometh in to you ! 
 
 With trembling steps and humble reverence, 
 
 She cometh in before the Almighty's view : 
 
 Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience, 
 
 When so ye come into those holy places, 
 
 To humble your proud faces ! 
 
 Bring her up to the high altar, that she may 
 
 The sacred ceremonies there partake, 
 
 The which do endless matrimony make ; 
 
 And let the roaring organs loudly play 
 
 The praises of the Lord in lively notes ; 
 
 The whiles, with hollow throats, 
 
 The Choristers the joyous anthem sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, 
 
 Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks, 
 
 And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 
 
 How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, 
 
 And the pure snow, with goodly vermil stain, 
 
 Like crimson dyed in grain ! 
 
 That even the Angels, which continually 
 
 About the sacred altar do remain, 
 
 Forget their service, and about her fly, 
 
 Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair 
 
 The more they on it stare.
 
 94 SPENSER 
 
 But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, 
 
 Are governed with goodly modesty, 
 
 That suffers not one look to glance awry, 
 
 Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
 
 Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand 
 
 The pledge of all our band ? 
 
 Sing, ye sweet Angels, alleluia sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Now all is done : bring home the Bride again ! 
 
 Bring home the triumph of our victory ! 
 
 Bring home with you the glory of her gain, 
 
 With joyance bring her and with jollity ! 
 
 Never had man more joyful day than this, 
 
 Whom heaven would heap with bliss. 
 
 Make feast therefore now all this livelong day ; 
 
 This day for ever to me holy is. 
 
 Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, 
 
 Pour not by cups but by the bellyful ! 
 
 Pour out to all that wull, 
 
 And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine, 
 
 That they may sweat, and drunken be withal ! 
 
 Crown ye God Bacchus with a coronal, 
 
 And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine ; 
 
 And let the Graces dance unto the rest, 
 
 For they can do it best : 
 
 The whiles the maidens do their carol sing, 
 
 To which the woods shall answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Ring ye the bells, ye Young Men of the town, 
 
 And leave your wonted labours for this day : 
 
 This day is holy ; do ye write it down, 
 
 That ye for ever it remember may. 
 
 This day the sun is in his chiefest height, 
 
 With Barnaby the bright, 
 
 From whence declining daily by degrees, 
 
 He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, 
 
 When once the Crab behind his back he sees. 
 
 But for this time it ill ordained was, 
 
 To choose the longest day in all the year, 
 
 And shortest night, when longest fitter were : 
 
 Yet never day so long but late would pass ! 
 
 Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away, 
 
 And bonfires make all day ; 
 
 And dance about them, and about them sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring !
 
 SPENSER 95 
 
 Ah ! when will this long weary day have end, 
 
 And lend me leave to come unto my love ? 
 
 How slowly do the hours their numbers spend ; 
 
 How slowly does sad Time his feathers move ! 
 
 Haste thee, O fairest Planet ! to thy home 
 
 Within the Western foam : 
 
 Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest ! 
 
 Long though it be, at last I see it gloom, 
 
 And the bright evening star with golden crest 
 
 Appear out of the East. 
 
 Fair child of beauty ! glorious lamp of love ! 
 
 That all the host of heaven in ranks dost lead, 
 
 And guidest lovers through the night's sad dread, 
 
 How cheerfully thou lookest from above, 
 
 And seem'st to laugh atween thy twinkling light, 
 
 As joying in the sight 
 
 Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, 
 
 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring ! 
 
 Now cease, ye Damsels, your delights forepast ! 
 
 Enough is it that all the day was yours : 
 
 Now day is done, and night is nighing fast, 
 
 Now bring the Bride into the bridal bowers. 
 
 The night is come, now soon her disarray, 
 
 And in her bed her lay ; 
 
 Lay her in lilies and in violets, 
 
 And silken curtains over her display, 
 
 And odoured sheets, and Arras coverlets. 
 
 Behold how goodly my fair love does lie 
 
 In proud humility ! 
 
 Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took 
 
 In Tempe, lying on the flowery grass 
 
 'Twixt sleep and wake, after she weary was 
 
 With bathing in the Acidalian brook ! 
 
 Now it is night, ye Damsels may be gone ; 
 
 And leave my love alone ; 
 
 And leave likewise your former lay to sing : 
 
 The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo ring. 
 
 Now welcome, Night ! thou Night so long expected, 
 That long day's labour dost at last defray, 
 And all my cares, which cruel love collected, 
 Hast summed in one, and cancelled for aye ! 
 Spread thy broad wing over my love and me, 
 That no man may us see ; 
 And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, 
 From fear of peril and foul horror free.
 
 96 SPENSER 
 
 Let no false treason seek us to entrap, 
 
 Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
 
 The safety of our joy ; 
 
 But let the night be calm and quietsome, 
 
 Without tempestuous storms or sad affray : 
 
 Like as when Jove with fair Alcmena lay, 
 
 When he begot the great Tirynthian groom : 
 
 Or like as when he with thyself did lie, 
 
 And begot Majesty. 
 
 And let the maids and young men cease to sing ; 
 
 Ne let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring. 
 
 Let no lamenting cries nor doleful tears 
 
 Be heard all night within, nor yet without ; 
 
 Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden fears, 
 
 Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt. 
 
 Let no deluding dreams, nor dreadful sights, 
 
 Make sudden sad affrights, 
 
 Ne let housefires, nor lightning's helpless harms ; 
 
 Ne let the Pouke, nor other evil sprites, 
 
 Ne let mischievous witches with their charms, 
 
 Ne let hobgoblins, names whose sense we see not, 
 
 Fray us with things that be not ! 
 
 Let not the shriek-owl, nor the stork, be heard ; 
 
 Nor the night raven, that still deadly yells ; 
 
 Nor damned ghosts, called up with mighty spells, 
 
 Nor grisly vultures make us once affeared ! 
 
 Ne let the unpleasant choir of frogs still croaking 
 
 Make us to wish their choking ! 
 
 Let none of these their dreary accents sing ; 
 
 Ne let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring. 
 
 But let still Silence true night-watches keep, 
 
 That sacred peace may in assurance reign, 
 
 And timely Sleep, when it is time to sleep, 
 
 May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant plain ; 
 
 The whiles an hundred little winged Loves, 
 
 Like divers feathered doves, 
 
 Shall fly and flutter round about the bed, 
 
 And in the secret dark, that none reproves, 
 
 Their pretty stealths shall work, and snares shall spread 
 
 To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
 
 Concealed through covert night. 
 
 Ye sons of Venus, play your sports at will ; 
 
 For greedy Pleasure, careless of your toys, 
 
 Thinks more upon her paradise of joys, 
 
 Then what ye do, albeit good or ill !
 
 SPENSER 97 
 
 All night therefore attend your merry play, 
 
 For it will soon be day : 
 
 Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing ; 
 
 Ne will the woods now answer, nor your echo ring. 
 
 Who is the same, which at my window peeps, 
 
 Or whose is that fair face that shines so bright ? 
 
 Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps, 
 
 But walks about high heaven all the night ? 
 
 O fairest goddess ! do thou not envy 
 
 My love with me to spy ; 
 
 For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, 
 
 And for a fleece of wool, which privily 
 
 The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, 
 
 His pleasures with thee wrought ! 
 
 Therefore to us be favourable now ; 
 
 And sith of women's labours thou hast charge, 
 
 And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
 
 Incline thy will t' effect our wishful vow, 
 
 And the chaste womb inform with timely seed, 
 
 That may our comfort breed : 
 
 Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing, 
 
 Ne let the woods us answer, nor our echo ring. 
 
 And thou, great Juno, which with awful might 
 
 The laws of wedlock still dost patronise, 
 
 And the religion of the faith first plight 
 
 With sacred rights hast taught to solemnise, 
 
 And eke for comfort often called art 
 
 Of women in their smart : 
 
 Eternally bind thou this lovely band, 
 
 And all thy blessings unto us impart ! 
 
 And thou, glad Genius, in whose gentle hand 
 
 The bridal bower and genial bed remain 
 
 Without blemish or stain, 
 
 And the sweet pleasures of their love's delight 
 
 With secret aid dost succour and supply, 
 
 Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny : 
 
 Send us the timely fruit of this same night ! 
 
 And thou, fair Hebe, and thou, Hymen free, 
 
 Grant that it may so be ! 
 
 Till which we cease your further praise to sing, 
 
 Ne any woods shall answer, nor your echo ring. 
 
 And ye high Heavens, the temple of the Gods, 
 In which a thousand torches flaming bright 
 Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods 
 In dreadful darkness lend desired light ;
 
 98 SPENSER 
 
 And all ye Powers which in the same remain, 
 
 More than we men can feign : 
 
 Pour out your blessing on us plenteously, 
 
 And happy influence upon us rain, 
 
 That we may raise a large posterity, 
 
 "Which from the earth, which they may long possess 
 
 With lasting happiness, 
 
 Up to your haughty palaces may mount : 
 
 And, for the guerdon, of their glorious merit, 
 
 May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, 
 
 Of blessed Saints, for to increase the count ! 
 
 So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this, 
 
 And cease till then our timely joys to sing 
 
 The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring. 
 
 Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, 
 
 With which my love should duly have been decked, 
 
 Which cutting off through hasty accidents, 
 
 Ye would not stay your due time to expect, 
 
 But promised both to recompense : 
 
 Be unto her a goodly ornament, 
 
 And for short time an endless monument. 
 
 Edmund Spenser. 
 
 77 
 
 PROTHALAMION 
 
 CALM was the day, and through the trembling air 
 Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, 
 A gentle spirit that lightly did delay 
 Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair ; 
 When I, whom sullen care, 
 Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 
 In Prince's court, and expectation vain 
 Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 
 Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain, 
 Walked forth to ease my pain 
 Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames ; 
 Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, 
 Was painted all with variable flowers, 
 And all the meads adorned with dainty gems 
 Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 
 And crown their paramours 
 Against the bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.
 
 SPENSER 99 
 
 There, in a meadow by the rivers side, 
 A flock of Nymphs I chanced to espy, 
 All lovely daughters of the Flood thereby, 
 With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied, 
 As each had been a bride ; 
 And each one had a little wicker basket, 
 Made of fine twigs, entailed curiously, 
 In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, 
 And with fine fingers cropped full featously 
 The tender stalks on high. 
 Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
 They gathered some : the violet, pallid blue, 
 The little daisy that at evening closes, 
 The virgin lily, and the primrose true, 
 With store of vermeil roses, 
 To deck their bridegrooms' posies 
 Against the bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 With that I saw two swans of goodly hue 
 Come softly swimming down along the lea ; 
 Two fairer birds I yet did never see : 
 The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, 
 Did never whiter shew, 
 Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 
 For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; 
 Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he, 
 Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near : 
 So purely white they were, 
 
 That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, 
 Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare 
 To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 
 Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, 
 And mar their beauties bright, 
 That shone as heaven's light 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long ; 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Eftsoons the Nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, 
 
 Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, 
 
 As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
 
 Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still, 
 
 Their wond'ring eyes to fill : 
 
 Them seemed they never saw a sight so fair, 
 
 Of fowls so lovely that they sure did deem 
 
 Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 
 
 Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team ;
 
 ioo SPENSER 
 
 For sure they did not seem 
 To be begot of any earthly seed, 
 But rather angels, or of angels' breed ; 
 Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, 
 In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
 The earth did fresh array ; 
 So fresh they seemed as day, 
 Even as their bridal day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
 
 Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, 
 
 That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, 
 
 All which upon those goodly birds they threw, 
 
 And all the waves did strew, 
 
 That like old Peneus' waters they did seem, 
 
 When, down along by pleasant Tempe's shore, 
 
 Scattered with flowers through Thessaly they stream, 
 
 That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store, 
 
 Like a bride's chamber floor. 
 
 Two of those Nymphs, meanwhile, two garlands bound 
 
 Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 
 
 The which presenting all in trim array, 
 
 Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crowned, 
 
 Whilst one did sing this lay, 
 
 Prepared against that day, 
 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long 
 
 (Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song !): 
 
 ' Ye gentle birds, the world's fair ornament, 
 And heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 
 Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, 
 Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content 
 Of your love's couplement ! 
 And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, 
 With her heart-quelling son upon you smile : 
 Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 
 All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 
 For ever to assoil ! 
 
 Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 
 And blessed plenty wait upon your board ; 
 And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 
 That fruitful issue may to you afford, 
 Which may your foes confound, 
 And make your joys redound 
 Upon your bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.'
 
 SPENSER ioi 
 
 So ended she ; and all the rest around 
 To her redoubled that her undersong, 
 Which said, their bridal day should not be long : 
 And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground 
 Their accents did resound. 
 So forth those joyous birds did pass along 
 Adown the Lee, that to them murmured low, 
 As he would speak, but that he lacked a tongue, 
 Yet did by signs his glad affection show, 
 Making his stream run slow ; 
 And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
 'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
 The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend 
 The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, 
 Did on those two attend, 
 And their best service lend 
 Against their wedding day, which was not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 At length they all to merry London came, 
 
 To merry London, my most kindly nurse, 
 
 That to me gave this life's first native source, 
 
 Though from another place I take my name, 
 
 An house of ancient fame ! 
 
 There when they came, whereas those bricky towers 
 
 The which on Thames' broad, aged back do ride, 
 
 Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers ; 
 
 There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide, 
 
 Till they decayed through pride ; 
 
 Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 
 
 Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 
 
 Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell ; 
 
 Whose want too well now feels my friendless case ; 
 
 But ah ! here fits not well 
 
 Old woes, but joys, to tell 
 
 Against the bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 
 
 Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder, 
 
 Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder, 
 
 And Hercules' two pillars standing near 
 
 Did make to quake and fear. 
 
 Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry, 
 
 That fillest England with thy triumph's fame, 
 
 Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 
 
 And endless happiness of thine own name
 
 102 RALEIGH 
 
 That promiseth the same ! 
 That, through thy prowess and victorious arms, 
 Thy country may be freed from foreign harms, 
 And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 
 Through all the world, rilled with thy wide alarms, 
 Which some brave muse may sing 
 To ages following, 
 
 Upon the bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 From those high towers this noble lord issuing, 
 Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair 
 In the ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 
 Descended to the river's open viewing, 
 With a great train ensuing. 
 Above the rest were goodly to be seen 
 Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 
 Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 
 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature 
 Fit for so goodly stature 
 
 That like the twins of Jove they seemed in sight, 
 Which deck the bauldrick of the heavens bright : 
 They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 
 Received those two fair brides, their love's delight ; 
 Which at th' appointed tide, 
 Each one did make his bride 
 Against their bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Edmund Spenser. 
 
 78 
 FAIN WOULD I, BUT I DARE NOT 
 
 FAIN would I, but I dare not ; I dare, and yet I may not ; 
 I may, although I care not, for pleasure when I play not. 
 You laugh because you like not ; I jest whenas I joy not ; 
 You pierce, although you strike not ; I strike and yet annoy 
 not. 
 
 I spy, whenas I speak not ; for oft I speak and speed not ; 
 
 But of my wounds you reck not, because you see they bleed 
 
 not ; 
 
 Yet bleed they where you see not, but you the pain endure not ; 
 Of noble mind they be not, that ever kill and cure not.
 
 RALEIGH 103 
 
 I see, whenas I view not ; I wish, although I crave not ; 
 I serve, and yet I sue not ; I hope for that I have not ; 
 I catch, although I hold not ; I burn, although I flame not ; 
 I seem, whenas I would not ; and when I seem, I am not. 
 
 Yours am I, though I seem not, and will be, though I show not ; 
 Mine outward deeds then deem not, when mine intent you know 
 
 not ; 
 
 But if my serving prove not most sure, although I sue not, 
 Withdraw your mind and love not, nor of my ruin rue not. 
 
 Walter Raleigh. 
 
 79 
 
 THE SILENT LOVER 
 
 Passions are likened best to floods and streams : 
 The shallow murmur but the deep are dumb ; 
 So, when affections yield discourse, it seems 
 
 The bottom is but shallow whence they come. 
 They that are rich in words, in words discover 
 That they are poor in that which makes a lover. 
 
 WRONG not, sweet empress of my heart, 
 
 The merit of true passion, 
 With thinking that he feels no smart, 
 
 That sues for no compassion ; 
 
 Since, if my plaints serve not to approve 
 
 The conquest of thy beauty, 
 It comes not from defect of love, 
 
 But from excess of duty. 
 
 For, knowing that I sue to serve 
 
 A saint of such perfection, 
 As all desire, but none deserve, 
 
 A place in her affection : 
 
 I rather choose to want relief 
 
 Than venture the revealing. 
 Where glory recommends the grief, 
 
 Despair distrusts the healing !
 
 io 4 MUNDAY 
 
 Thus those desires that aim too high 
 
 For any mortal lover, 
 When reason cannot make them die, 
 
 Discretion doth them cover. 
 
 Yet, when discretion doth bereave 
 The plaints that they should utter, 
 
 Then thy discretion may perceive 
 That silence is a suitor. 
 
 Silence in love bewrays more woe 
 Than words, though ne'er so witty ; 
 
 A beggar that is dumb, you know, 
 May challenge double pity. 
 
 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, 
 My true, though secret, passion : 
 
 He smarteth most that hides his smart, 
 And sues for no compassion. 
 
 Walter Raleigh. 
 
 80 
 TO COLIN CLOUT 
 
 BEAUTY sat bathing by a spring, 
 
 Where fairest shades did hide her. 
 The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 
 
 The cool streams ran beside her. 
 My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 
 
 To see what was forbidden : 
 But better memory said, Fie, 
 
 So vain desire was chidden 
 
 Hey, nonnie, nonnie ! 
 
 Into a slumber then I fell, 
 
 When fond imagination 
 Seemed to see but could not tell 
 
 Her feature or her fashion. 
 But, even as babes in dreams do smile 
 
 And sometimes fall a weeping, 
 So I awaked, as wise this while, 
 
 As when I fell a sleeping 
 
 Hey, nonnie, nonnie ! 
 
 Anthony Munday.
 
 SIDNEY 105 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 ONLY JOY 
 
 ONLY Joy, now here you are 
 Fit to hear and ease my care, 
 Let my whispering voice obtain 
 Sweet reward for sharpest pain ; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 Night hath closed all in her cloak, 
 Twinkling stars love-thoughts provoke, 
 Danger hence, good care doth keep, 
 Jealousy himself doth sleep ; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 Better place no wit can find 
 Cupid's knot to loose or bind ; 
 These sweet flowers our fine bed too, 
 Us in their best language woo ; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 This small light the moon bestows 
 Serves thy beams but to disclose ; 
 So to raise my hap more high, 
 Fear not else, none can us spy ; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 That you heard was but a mouse, 
 Dumb Sleep holdeth all the house : 
 Yet asleep, methinks they say, 
 ' Young fools take time while you may ! ' 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 Niggard Time threats, if we miss 
 This large offer of our bliss, 
 Long stay, ere he grant the same. 
 Sweet, then, while each thing doth frame, 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no,*no, no, my Dear, let be ! '
 
 io6 SIDNEY 
 
 Your fair mother is a-bed, 
 Candles out and curtains spread ; 
 She thinks you do letters write ; 
 Write, but first let me indite : 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 Sweet, alas, why strive you thus ? 
 Concord better fitteth us. 
 Leave to Mars the force of hands, 
 Your power in your beauty stands. 
 Take thee to me, and me to thee 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 Woe to me ! and do you swear 
 
 Me to hate ? but I forbear ! 
 
 Cursed be my destinies all, 
 
 That brought me so high to fall ! 
 
 Soon with my death I will please thee 
 
 ' No, no, no, no, my Dear, let be ! ' 
 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 82 
 
 THOSE LOOKS WHOSE BEAMS BE JOY 
 
 THOSE looks, whose beams be joy, whose motion is delight ; 
 That face, whose lecture shows what perfect beauty is ; 
 That presence, which doth give dark hearts a living light ; 
 That grace, which Venus weeps that she herself doth miss ; 
 That hand, which without touch holds more than Atlas might ; 
 Those lips, which make death's pay a mean price for a kiss ; 
 That skin, whose past-praise hue scorns this poor term of white 
 Those words, which do sublime the quintessence of bliss ; 
 That voice, which makes the soul plant himself in the ears ; 
 That conversation sweet, where such high comforts be, 
 As, constered in true speech, the name of heaven it bears 
 Makes me in my best thoughts and quietest judgments see 
 That in no more but these I might be fully blest : 
 Yet, ah ! my maiden Muse doth blush to tell the best ! 
 
 Philip Sidney.
 
 SIDNEY 107 
 
 83 
 WITH HOW SAD STEPS 
 
 WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou clim'st the skies ! 
 
 How silently, and with how wan a face ! 
 
 What, may it be that even in heav'nly place 
 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ? 
 
 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case : 
 
 I read it in thy looks ; thy languished grace 
 
 To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
 
 Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit ? 
 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? 
 
 Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? 
 
 Do they call virtue there ungratefulness ? 
 
 Philip Sidney, 
 
 8 4 
 I MIGHT 
 
 I MIGHT ! unhappy word O me, I might, 
 And then would not, or could not, see my bliss, 
 Till now wrapt in a most infernal night, 
 I find how heav'nly day, wretch ! I did miss ! 
 Heart, rend thyself thou dost thyself but right ! 
 No lovely Paris made thy Helen his ; 
 No force, no fraud robbed thee of thy delight ; 
 Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is ; 
 But to myself myself did give the blow, 
 While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me, 
 That I respects for both our sakes must show : 
 And yet could not, by rising morn, foresee 
 How fair a day was near. O punished eyes, 
 That I had been more foolish, or more wise ! 
 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 35 
 SONG 
 
 WHO hath his fancy pleased 
 With fruits of happy sight, 
 
 Let here his eyes be raised 
 On Nature's sweetest light :
 
 io8 SIDNEY 
 
 A light which doth dissever, 
 And yet unite the eyes ; 
 
 A light which, dying never, 
 Is cause the looker dies. 
 
 She never dies, but lasteth 
 In life of lover's heart ; 
 
 He ever dies that wasteth 
 In love his chiefest part : 
 
 Thus is her life still guarded 
 In never-dying faith ; 
 
 Thus is his death rewarded, 
 Since she lives in his death. 
 
 Look, then, and die. The pleasure 
 Doth answer well the pain ; 
 
 Small loss of mortal treasure, 
 Who may immortal gain ! 
 
 Immortal be her graces, 
 Immortal is her mind : 
 
 They fit for heavenly places, 
 This heaven in it doth bind. 
 
 But eyes these beauties see not, 
 Nor sense that grace descries j 
 
 Yet eyes deprived be not 
 From sight of her fair eyes, 
 
 Which, as of inward glory 
 They are the outward seal, 
 
 So may they live still sorry, 
 Which die not in that weal. 
 
 But who hath fancies pleased 
 With fruits of happy sight, 
 
 Let here his eyes be raised 
 On Nature's sweetest light ! 
 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 86 
 
 MY TRUE LOVE HATH MY HEART 
 
 MY true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 By just exchange one for another given : 
 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven : 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
 
 SIDNEY 109 
 
 His heart in me keeps him and me in one, 
 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
 I cherish his because in me it bides : 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 37 
 SONG 
 
 THE Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 
 
 Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, 
 
 While late-bare Earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, 
 
 Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making; 
 
 And, mournfully bewailing, 
 
 Her throat in tunes expresseth 
 
 What grief her breast oppresseth 
 
 For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 
 
 O Philomela fair ! O take some gladness 
 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness ! 
 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Alas ! she hath no other cause of anguish 
 
 But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken ; 
 
 Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, 
 
 Full womanlike complains her will was broken. 
 
 But I, who, daily craving, 
 
 Cannot have to content me, 
 
 Have more cause to lament me, 
 
 Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 
 
 O Philomela fair ! O take some gladness 
 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness ! 
 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 SPLENDIDIS LONGUM VALEDICO NUGIS 
 
 LEAVE me, O Love, which reachest but to dust, 
 And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things ! 
 Grow rich in that which never taketh rust : 
 Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
 
 no LODGE 
 
 Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might 
 
 To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be ; 
 
 Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light, 
 
 That doth both shine, and give us sight to see. 
 
 O, take fast hold ! let that light be thy guide 
 
 In this small course which birth draws out to death, 
 
 And think how evil becometh him to slide, 
 
 Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. 
 
 Then farewell, world ; thy uttermost I see : 
 
 Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me. 
 
 Philip Sidney. 
 
 8 9 
 WHAT BIRD SO SINGS 
 
 WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail ? 
 O, 'tis the ravished nightingale ! 
 'Jug. jug. jug. jug, tereu,' she cries, 
 And still her woes at midnight rise. 
 Brave prick-song ! who is't now we hear ? 
 None but the lark so shrill and clear ; 
 Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, 
 The morn not waking till she sings, 
 Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat, 
 Poor robin redbreast tunes his note ; 
 Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing 
 Cuckoo to welcome in the spring ! 
 Cuckoo to welcome in the spring ! 
 
 John Lyly. 
 
 90 
 
 ROSALIND'S SONG 
 
 LOVE in my bosom like a bee 
 
 Doth suck his sweet : 
 Now with his wings he plays with me, 
 
 Now with his feet. 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
 His bed amidst my tender breast ; 
 My kisses are his daily feast ; 
 And yet he robs me of my rest. 
 
 Ah wanton, will ye ?
 
 LODGE in 
 
 And if I sleep, then percheth he 
 
 With pretty flight, 
 And makes his pillow of my knee 
 
 The livelong night. 
 Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; 
 He music plays, if so I sing ; 
 He lends me every lovely thing : 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. 
 
 Whist, wanton, still ye ! 
 
 Else I with roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence, 
 And bind you, when you long to play, 
 
 For your offence. 
 
 I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in, 
 I '11 make you fast it for your sin, 
 I '11 count your power not worth a pin . . . 
 Alas, what hereby shall I win, 
 
 If he gainsay me ? 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy 
 
 With many a rod ? 
 He will repay me with annoy, 
 
 Because a god. 
 
 Then sit thou safely on my knee, 
 Then let thy bower my bosom be ; 
 Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee ! 
 O Cupid, so thou pity me, 
 
 Spare not, but play thee ! 
 
 Ttotnas Lodge. 
 
 91 
 
 A LOVER'S vow 
 
 FIRST shall the heavens want starry light, 
 The seas be robbed of their waves, 
 The day want sun, the sun want bright, 
 The night want shade, the dead men graves, 
 The April flowers and leaf and tree, 
 Before I false my faith to thee ! 
 
 First shall the tops of highest hills 
 By humble plains be overpried,
 
 112 LODGE 
 
 And poets scorn the Muses' quills, 
 And fish forsake the water-glide, 
 
 And Iris lose her coloured weed, 
 
 Before I fail thee at thy need ! 
 
 First direful Hate shall turn to peace, 
 And Love relent in deep disdain, 
 And Death his fatal stroke shall cease, 
 And Envy pity every pain, 
 
 And Pleasure mourn, and Sorrow smile, 
 
 Before I talk of any guile ! 
 
 First Time shall stay his stayless race, 
 And Winter bless his boughs with corn, 
 And snow bemoisten July s face, 
 And Winter Spring and Summer mourn, 
 Before my pen by help of fame 
 Cease to recite thy sacred name ! 
 
 Thomas Lodge. 
 
 92 
 A PRAISE OF ROSALIND 
 
 OK all chaste birds the Phoenix doth excel, 
 Of all strong beasts the lion bears the bell, 
 Of all sweet flowers the rose doth sweetest smell, 
 Of all fair maids my Rosalind is fairest. 
 
 Of all pure metals gold is sole purest, 
 
 Of all high trees the pine hath highest crest, 
 
 Of all soft sweets I like my mistress' breast, 
 
 Of all chaste thoughts my mistress' thoughts are rarest. 
 
 Of all proud birds the eagle pleaseth Jove, 
 Of pretty fowls kind Venus likes the dove, 
 Of trees Minerva doth the olive love, 
 Of all sweet nymphs I honour Rosalind. 
 
 Of all her gifts her wisdom pleaseth most, 
 Of all her graces virtue she doth boast : 
 For all these gifts my life and joy is lost, 
 If Rosalind prove cruel and unkind. 
 
 Thomas Lodge.
 
 PEELE 
 
 93 
 AN OLD SOLDIER 
 
 His golden locks Time hath to silver turned 
 O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing ! 
 His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, 
 But spurned in vain ; youth waneth by increasing ! 
 Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen : 
 Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. 
 
 His helmet now shall make an hive for bees, 
 And, lovers' sonnets turned to holy psalms, 
 A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, 
 And feed on prayers, which are Old Age his alms : 
 But, though from court to cottage he depart, 
 His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 
 
 And when he saddest sits in homely cell, 
 
 He '11 teach his swains this carol for a song : 
 
 ' Blessed be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, 
 
 Cursed be souls that think her any wrong ! ' 
 
 Goddess, allow this aged man his right, 
 
 To be your bedesman now that was your knight ! 
 
 George Peele. 
 
 94 
 
 SAMELA 
 
 LIKE to Diana in her summer-weed, 
 Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye 
 Goes fair Samela 
 
 Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, 
 When washed by Arethusa's Fount they lie, 
 Is fair Samela. 
 
 As fair Aurora in her morning-grey, 
 Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, 
 Is fair Samela. 
 
 Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, 
 Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, 
 Shines fair Samela. 
 H 
 
 "3
 
 II 4 GREENE 
 
 Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
 Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory 
 Of fair Samela ! 
 
 Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams, 
 Her brows bright arches framed of ebony, 
 Thus fair Samela 
 
 Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, 
 And Juno in the show of majesty 
 
 (For she's Samela!), 
 
 Pallas in wit ! All three, if you well view, 
 For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity 
 Yield to Samela. 
 
 Robert Greene. 
 
 95 
 
 WEEP NOT, MY WANTON 
 
 WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee ! 
 
 Mother's wag, pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy, 
 
 When thy father first did see 
 
 Such a boy by him and me, 
 
 He was glad, I was woe : 
 
 Fortune changed made him so, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Last his sorrow, first his joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee ! 
 
 Streaming tears that never stint, 
 
 Like pearl-drops from a flint, 
 
 Fell by course from his eyes, 
 
 That one another's place supplies. 
 
 Thus he grieved in every part : 
 
 Tears of blood fell from his heart, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee ! 
 
 The wanton smiled, father wept, 
 
 Mother cried, baby leapt ;
 
 GREENE ii 
 
 More he crowed, more we cried, 
 
 Nature could not sorrow hide : 
 
 He must go, he must kiss 
 
 Child and mother, baby bliss, 
 
 For he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee ! 
 
 Robert Greene. 
 
 9 6 
 LOVE IN ARCADY 
 
 AH, what is love ? It is a pretty thing, 
 As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, 
 
 And sweeter too ; 
 
 For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
 And cares can make the sweetest love to frown : 
 
 Ah then ! ah then ! 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, 
 As merry as a king in his delight, 
 
 And merrier too ; 
 
 For kings bethink them what the state require, 
 Where shepherds careless carol by the fire : 
 
 Ah then ! ah then ! 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 
 
 His cream and curds as doth the king his meat, 
 
 And blither too ; 
 
 For kings have often fears when they do sup, 
 Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup : 
 
 Ah then ! ah then ! 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, 
 As is a king in dalliance with a queen, 
 
 More wanton too ; 
 For kings have many griefs effects to move,
 
 Il6 SOUTHWELL 
 
 Where shepherds have no greater grief than love : 
 
 Ah then ! ah then ! 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound, 
 As doth the king upon his beds of down, 
 
 More sounder too ; 
 
 For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, 
 Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : 
 
 Ah then ! ah then ! 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe 
 As doth the king at every tide or sithe, 
 
 And blither too ; 
 
 For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, 
 Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land : 
 
 Ah then! ah then ! 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Robert Greene. 
 
 97 
 
 THE BURNING BABE 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night 
 
 Stood shivering in the snow, 
 Surprised I was with sudden heat, 
 
 Which made my heart to glow ; 
 And lifting up a fearful eye 
 
 To view what fire was near, 
 A pretty Babe all burning bright, 
 
 Did in the air appear : 
 Who, scorched with excessive heat, 
 
 Such floods of tears did shed, 
 As though his floods should quench his flames, 
 
 Which with his tears were bred. 
 ' Alas ! ' quoth he, ' but newly born, 
 
 In fiery heats I fry, 
 Yet none approach to warm their hearts 
 
 Or feel my fire, but I.
 
 DANIEL 117 
 
 My faultless breast the furnace is, 
 
 The fuel wounding thorns ; 
 Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, 
 
 The ashes shames and scorns ; 
 The fuel Justice layeth on, 
 
 And Mercy blows the coals ; 
 The metal in this furnace wrought 
 
 Are men's defiled souls : 
 For which, as now on fire I am 
 
 To work them to their good, 
 So will I melt into a bath, 
 
 To wash them in my blood ! ' 
 With this he vanished out of sight, 
 
 And swiftly shrunk away, 
 And straight I called unto my mind 
 
 That it was Christmas Day. 
 
 Robert Southwell. 
 
 9 8 
 A SUPPLICATION 
 
 LOOK, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose, 
 
 The image of thy blush, and summer's honour, 
 
 Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose 
 
 That full of beauty Time bestows upon her ! 
 
 No sooner spreads her glory in the air, 
 
 But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline. 
 
 She then is scorn'd, that late adorn'd the fair : 
 
 So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine ! 
 
 No April can revive thy wither'd flow'rs, 
 
 Whose springing grace adorns the glory now : 
 
 Swift speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours, 
 
 Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow ! 
 
 Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, 
 
 But love now, whilst thou may'st be lov'd again. 
 
 But love whilst that thou may'st be lov'd again, 
 Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers ! 
 Now, whilst thy beauty bears without a stain, 
 Now use the summer smiles, ere winter lowers ! 
 And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun 
 The fairest flower that ever saw the light, 
 Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done, 
 And, Delia, think thy morning must have night,
 
 n8 DANIEL 
 
 And that thy brightness sets at length to west, 
 When thou wilt close up that which now thou show'st, 
 And think the same becomes thy fading best, 
 Which then shall most inveil, and shadow most ! 
 Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was, 
 When once they find her flow'r, her glory, pass. 
 
 When men shall find thy flow'r, thy glory, pass, 
 And thou, with careful brow, sitting alone, 
 Received hast this message from thy glass, 
 That tells the truth, and says that all is gone ; 
 Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou mad'st, 
 Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining : 
 I that have lov'd thee thus before thou fad'st, 
 My faith shall wax, when thou art in thy waning. 
 The world shall find this miracle in me, 
 That fire can burn when all the matter 's spent ! 
 Then what my faith hath been thyself shall see, 
 And that thou wast unkind thou may'st repent 
 Thou may'st repent that thou hast scorn'd my tears, 
 When winter snows upon thy sable hairs ! 
 
 Samuel Daniel. 
 
 99 
 
 LOVE 
 
 LOVE is a sickness full of woes, 
 
 All remedies refusing ; 
 A plant that with most cutting grows, 
 Most barren with best using. 
 
 Why so? 
 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
 If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 Love is a torment of the mind, 
 
 A tempest everlasting ; 
 And Jove hath made it of a kind 
 Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
 
 Why so? 
 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
 If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 Samuel Daniel.
 
 DRAYTON 119 
 
 100 
 A REMONSTRANCE 
 
 WHY should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace 
 
 Disperse their rays on ev'ry vulgar spirit, 
 
 Whilst I in darkness, in the self-same place, 
 
 Get not one glance to recompense my merit ? 
 
 So doth the ploughman gaze the wand'ring star, 
 
 And only rest contented with the light 
 
 That never learn'd what constellations are, 
 
 Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight. 
 
 O, why should beauty (custom to obey) 
 
 To their gross sense apply herself so ill ? 
 
 Would God I were as ignorant as they, 
 
 When I am made unhappy by my skill, 
 
 Only compell'd on this poor good to boast, 
 
 Heav'ns are not kind to them that know them most ! 
 
 Michael Drayton. 
 
 101 
 TO HIS COY LOVE 
 
 I PRAY thee leave, love me no more, 
 
 Call home the heart you gave me ! 
 I but in vain that saint adore, 
 
 That can but will not save me. 
 These poor half-kisses kill me quite 
 
 Was ever man thus served ? 
 Amidst an ocean of delight 
 
 For pleasure to be sterved ? 
 
 Show me no more those snowy breasts, 
 
 With azure rivers branched, 
 Where, whilst mine eye with plenty feasts, 
 
 Yet is my thirst not stanched. 
 O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell ! 
 
 By me thou art prevented : 
 'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell, 
 
 But thus in Heaven tormented. 
 
 Clip me no more in those dear arms, 
 Nor thy life's comfort call me. 
 
 O, these are but too powerful charms, 
 And do but more enthral me !
 
 120 MARLOWE 
 
 But see how patient I am grown, 
 In all this coil about thee : 
 
 Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone, 
 I cannot live without thee ! 
 
 Michael Dray Ion. 
 
 102 
 VALEDICTION 
 
 SINCE there 's no help, come let us kiss and part ! 
 
 Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, 
 
 And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, 
 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free ! 
 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 
 And, when we meet at any time again, 
 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 
 That we one jot of former love retain. 
 
 Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 
 
 When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 
 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
 
 And Innocence is closing up his eyes, 
 
 Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, 
 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 
 
 Michael Draytoti. 
 
 103 
 THE SHEPHERD PLEADS 
 
 COME live with me and be my love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
 And all the craggy mountains yield ! 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 There will I make thee beds of roses 
 And a thousand fragrant posies ; 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle ;
 
 RALEIGH 121 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool, 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
 Fair-lined slippers for the cold, 
 With buckles of the purest gold ; 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy buds 
 With coral clasps and amber studs : 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, - 
 Come live with me and be my love ! 
 
 Thy silver dishes, for thy meat 
 As precious as the gods do eat, 
 Shall on an ivory table be 
 Prepared each day for thee and me. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May-morning. 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me and be my love ! 
 
 Christopher Marlowe. 
 
 104 
 THE SHEPHERDESS REPLIES 
 
 IF all the world and love were young, 
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee and be thy love. 
 
 But time drives flocks from field to fold, 
 When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; 
 And Philomel becometh dumb ; 
 The rest complains of cares to come. 
 
 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
 To wayward winter reckoning yields ; 
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
 Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 
 
 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
 Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten 
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten !
 
 122 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
 Thy coral clasps and amber studs 
 All those in me no means can move 
 To come to thee and be thy love. 
 
 But could youth last, and love still breed ; 
 Had joys no date, nor age no need ; 
 Then those delights my mind might move 
 To live with thee and be thy love. 
 
 Walter Kaleigli, 
 
 105 
 ON A DAY 
 
 ON a day, alack the day ! 
 
 Love, whose month is ever May, 
 
 Spied a blossom passing fair 
 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind 
 
 All unseen 'gan passage find, 
 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
 
 ' Air,' quoth he, ' thy cheeks may blow ; 
 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 
 But, alack, my hand is sworn 
 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet 
 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet ! 
 
 Do not call it sin in me 
 
 That I am forsworn for thee : 
 
 Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear 
 
 Juno but an Ethiope were, 
 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 
 Turning mortal for thy love.' 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 106 
 
 WHO IS SILVIA 
 
 WHO is Silvia ? what is she, 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she ; 
 The heaven such grace did lend her, 
 
 That she might admired be.
 
 SHAKESPEARE 123 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair, 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness ? 
 Love doth to her eyes repair, 
 
 To help him of his blindness ; 
 And, being helped, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 She excels each mortal thing, 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 lO/ 
 'HIE MS, WINTER... VER, THE SPRING 5 
 
 WHEN daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight, 
 
 The cuckoo then on every tree 
 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he : 
 Cuckoo ! 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo O word of fear, 
 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
 And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
 
 When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
 And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
 
 The cuckoo then on every tree 
 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he : 
 Cuckoo ! 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo O word of fear, 
 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
 
 When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl :
 
 124 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 To-whit ! 
 
 To-who ! a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all around the wind doth blow, 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl : 
 
 To-whit ! 
 
 To-who ! a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 1 08 
 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE 
 
 UNDER the greenwood tree, 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And turn his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun, 
 And loves to live i' the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleased with what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 IO9 
 BLOW, BLOW THOU WINTER WIND 
 
 BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man's ingratitude ;
 
 SHAKESPEARE 125 
 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 
 Because thou art not seen. 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh ho ! sing, heigh ho ! unto the green holly ; 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly ; 
 
 Then, heigh ho, the holly ! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot ; 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 IIO 
 
 TAKE, O, TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY 
 
 TAKE, O, take those lips away, 
 That so sweetly were forsworn, 
 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 Lights that do mislead the morn ! 
 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Seals of love but sealed in vain. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 Ill 
 HARK, HARK, THE LARK 
 
 HARK ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chalked flowers that lies ; 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes ; 
 With everything that pretty bin, 
 
 My lady sweet, arise ! 
 
 William Shakespeare.
 
 126 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 112 
 FEAR NO MORE 
 
 FEAR no more the heat o' the sun 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ! 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ! 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat ; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak : 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning flash, 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ! 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Thou hast finished joy and moan : 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 A D IRGE 
 
 FULL lathom five thy father lies ; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes ; 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell ; 
 Hark ! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell ! 
 William Shakespeare.
 
 SHAKESPEARE 127 
 
 114 
 
 WHERE THE BEE SUCKS 
 
 WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry ; 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 
 After summer merrily ; 
 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 WHEN, IN DISGRACE 
 
 WHEN, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate : 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
 Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least : 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on thee, and then my state, 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate : 
 For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 116 
 
 WHEN TO THE SESSIONS 
 
 WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
 
 128 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight ; 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before : 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
 All losses are restored and sorrows end. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 117 
 
 WHAT IS YOUR SUBSTANCE? 
 
 WHAT is your substance ? whereof are you made, 
 
 That millions of strange shadows on you tend ? 
 
 Since every one hath, every one, one shade, 
 
 And you, but one, can every shadow lend ! 
 
 Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
 
 Is poorly imitated after you ; 
 
 On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
 
 And you in Grecian tires are painted new ; 
 
 Speak of the spring and foison of the year, 
 
 The one doth shadow of your beauty show, 
 
 The other as your bounty doth appear ; 
 
 And you in every blessed shape we know. 
 
 In all external grace you have some part, 
 
 But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 118 
 
 NO LONGER MOURN 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world thaj I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell. 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 O, if, I say, you look upon this verse 
 When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
 
 SHAKESPEARE 129 
 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
 But let your love even with my life decay ! 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 119 
 THAT TIME OF YEAR 
 
 THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 
 Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west ; 
 
 Which by and by black night doth take away, 
 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 
 In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, 
 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 
 Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. 
 
 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 1 2O 
 
 THEN HATE ME 
 
 THEN hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ! 
 
 Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
 
 Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, 
 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
 
 To linger out a purposed overthrow. 
 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 
 
 But in the onset come : so shall I taste 
 
 At first the very worst of fortune's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
 
 Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 I
 
 130 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 121 
 HOW LIKE A WINTER 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! 
 What old December's bareness every where ! 
 And yet this time removed was summer's time ; 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
 Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime, 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit ; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute : 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 122 
 MY LOVE IS STRENGTHEN'D 
 
 MY love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming 
 
 I love not less, though less the show appear : 
 
 That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming 
 
 The owner's tongue doth publish every where. 
 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring, 
 
 When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 
 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, 
 
 And stops her pipe in growth of riper days. 
 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 
 Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, 
 
 But that wild music burthens every bough, 
 
 And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 
 Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, 
 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 123 
 TO ME, FAIR FRIEND 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
 
 SHAKESPEARE 131 
 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, 
 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
 
 In process of the seasons have I seen, 
 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 
 Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 
 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; 
 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 
 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred : 
 
 Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 124 
 WHEN IN THE CHRONICLE 
 
 WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time 
 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
 
 In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
 
 Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 
 I see their antique pen would have express'd 
 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 
 
 And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
 
 For we, which now behold these present days, 
 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 125 
 
 O, NEVER SAY 
 
 O, NEVER say that I was false of heart, 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify ! 
 As easy might I from myself depart 
 As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie. 
 That is my home of love : if I have ranged, 
 Like him that travels, I return again ;
 
 132 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
 For nothing this wide universe I call, 
 Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 126 
 THE MARRIAGE OF TRUE MINDS 
 
 LET me not to the marriage of true minds 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 
 O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 
 Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. 
 
 Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 
 If this be error and upon me proved, 
 
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 127 
 POOR SOUL 
 
 POOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 My sinful earth these rebel powers array, 
 Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 
 Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ? 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
 
 CAMPION 133 
 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
 So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, 
 And, Death once dead, there 's no more dying then. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 128 
 LULLABY 
 
 UPON my lap my sovereign sits 
 And sucks upon my breast ; 
 Meantime his love maintains my life 
 And gives my sense her rest. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 When thou hast taken thy repast, 
 Repose, my babe, on me ; 
 So may thy mother and thy nurse 
 Thy cradle also be. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 I grieve that duty doth not work 
 All that my wishing would, 
 Because I would not be to thee 
 But in the best I should. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 Yet as I am, and as I may, 
 I must and will be thine, 
 Though all too little for thy self 
 Vouchsafing to be mine. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 Richard Rowlands. 
 
 129 
 FOLLOW YOUR SAINT 
 
 FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet ! 
 
 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet ! 
 
 There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move, 
 
 And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love : 
 
 But, if she scorns my never ceasing pain, 
 
 Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return again.
 
 134 CAMPION 
 
 All that I sang still to her praise did tend, 
 Still she was first, still she my songs did end ; 
 Yet she my love and music doth both fly, 
 The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy : 
 Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight ! 
 It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight. 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 
 130 
 COME, O, COME 
 
 COME, O, come, my life's delight ! 
 
 Let me not in languor pine ! 
 Love loves no delay ; thy sight 
 
 The more enjoyed, the more divine ! 
 O, come, and take from me 
 The pain of being deprived of thee ! 
 
 Thou all sweetness dost enclose, 
 
 Like a little world of bliss ; 
 Beauty guards thy looks, the rose 
 
 In them pure and eternal is : 
 Come, then, and make thy flight 
 
 As swift to me as heavenly light ! 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 
 LOVE ME OR NOT 
 
 LOVE me or not, love her I must or die, 
 Leave me or not, follow her needs must I. 
 O, that her grace would my wished comforts give ! 
 How rich in her, how happy I should live ! 
 
 All my desire, all my delight should be 
 Her to enjoy, her to unite to me ; 
 Envy should cease, her would I love alone : 
 Who loves by looks is seldom true to one. 
 
 Could I enchant, and that it lawful were, 
 Her would I charm softly that none should hear ; 
 But love enforced rarely yields firm content : 
 So would I love that neither should repent. 
 
 Thomas Campion.
 
 CAMPION 135 
 
 132 
 THERE IS A GARDEN 
 
 THERE is a garden in her face 
 
 Where roses and white lilies grow ; 
 
 A heavenly paradise is that place 
 
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow. 
 
 There cherries grow which none may buy, 
 Till ' Cherry Ripe ' themselves do cry. 
 
 Those cherries fairly do enclose 
 
 Of orient pearl a double row, 
 
 Which when her lovely laughter shows, 
 
 They look like rose-buds filled with snow ; 
 
 Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy, 
 Till ' Cherry Ripe ' themselves do cry. 
 
 Her eyes like angels watch them still, 
 
 Her brows like bended bows do stand, 
 
 Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 
 
 All that attempt with eye or hand 
 
 Those sacred cherries to come nigh, 
 Till ' Cherry Ripe ' themselves do cry. 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 
 133 
 O SWEET DELIGHT 
 
 O SWEET delight, O more than human bliss, 
 With her to live that ever loving is ! 
 To hear her speak whose words are so well placed 
 That she by them, as they in her are graced ! 
 Those looks to view that feast the viewer's eye, 
 How blest is he that may so live and die ! 
 
 Such love as this the Golden Times did know, 
 When all did reap, yet none took care to sow j 
 Such love as this an endless summer makes, 
 And all distaste from frail affection takes. 
 So loved, so blest in my beloved am I : 
 Which till their eyes do ache, let iron men envy ! 
 
 Thomas Campion.
 
 136 NASHE 
 
 134 
 WHEN THOU MUST HOME 
 
 WHEN thou must home to shades of underground, 
 
 And, there arrived, a new admired guest, 
 
 The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 
 
 White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest, 
 
 To hear the stories of thy finished love 
 
 From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; 
 
 Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, 
 Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, 
 Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, 
 And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake : 
 When thou hast told these honours done to thee, 
 Then tell, O, tell, how thou didst murder me. 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 
 135 
 NEVER WEATHER-BEATEN SAIL 
 
 NEVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, 
 
 Never tire"d pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, 
 
 Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled 
 
 breast 
 O, come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest ! 
 
 Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise, 
 Cold age deafs not there our ears, nor vapour dims our eyes : 
 Glory there the sun outshines ; whose beams the Blessed only see 
 O, come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee ! 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 
 136 
 SPRING, THE SWEET SPRING 
 
 SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ! 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing : 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo !
 
 NASHE 137 
 
 The palm and may make country houses gay, 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear ay birds tune this merry lay : 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo ! 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, 
 In every street these tunes our ears do greet : 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo ! 
 
 Thomas Nashe. 
 
 137 
 
 IN TIME OF PESTILENCE 
 
 ADIEU ! Farewell earth's bliss ! 
 This world uncertain is ; 
 Fond are life's lustful joys, 
 Death proves them all but toys. 
 None from his darts can fly ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Rich men, trust not in wealth : 
 Gold cannot buy you health ; 
 Physic himself must fade ; 
 All things to end are made ; 
 The plague full swift goes by ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Beauty is but a flower, 
 Which wrinkles will devour ; 
 Brightness falls from the air ; 
 Queens have died young and fair ; 
 Dust hath closed Helen's eye ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Strength stoops unto the grave : 
 Worms feed on Hector brave ; 
 Swords may not fight with fate ; 
 Earth still holds ope her gate ; 
 ' Come, come,' the bells do cry. 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us !
 
 138 WOTTON 
 
 Wit with his wantonness, 
 Tasteth death's bitterness. 
 Hell's executioner 
 Hath no ears for to hear 
 What vain art can reply. 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Haste, therefore, each degree, 
 To welcome destiny ! 
 Heaven is our heritage, 
 Earth but a player's stage. 
 Mount we unto the sky ! 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Thomas Nashe. 
 
 138 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF 
 BOHEMIA 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night, 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes 
 
 More by your number than your light, 
 You common people of the skies, 
 What are you when the moon shall rise ? 
 
 You curious chanters of the wood, 
 That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, 
 
 Thinking your passions understood 
 
 By your weak accents, what's your praise 
 When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 
 
 You violets that first appear, 
 
 By your pure purple mantles known 
 
 Like the proud virgins of the year, 
 As if the spring were all your own, 
 What are you when the rose is blown ? 
 
 So when my mistress shall be seen 
 In form and beauty of her mind, 
 
 By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
 Tell me if she were not designed 
 The eclipse and glory of her kind ? 
 
 Henry Wotion.
 
 ANONYMOUS 139 
 
 139 
 THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS 
 
 SWEET violets, Love's Paradise, that spread 
 
 Your gracious odours, which you couched bear 
 
 Within your paly faces, 
 
 Upon the gentle wing of some calm breathing wind 
 
 That plays amidst the plain ! 
 
 If by the favour of propitious stars you gain 
 
 Such grace as in my lady's bosom place to find, 
 
 Be proud to touch those places ; 
 
 And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear, 
 
 Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed, 
 
 Your honours of the flowery meads I pray, 
 
 You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, 
 
 With mild and seemly breathing straight display 
 
 My bitter sighs that have my heart undone. 
 
 Vermilion roses, that with new day's rise 
 
 Display your crimson folds fresh-looking fair, 
 
 Whose radiant bright disgraces 
 
 The rich adorned rays of roseate rising morn, 
 
 Ah ! if her virgin's hand 
 
 Do pluck your pure, ere Phoebus view the land, 
 
 And vail your gracious pomp in lovely Nature's scorn, 
 
 If chance my mistress traces 
 
 Fast by your flowers to take the summer's air, 
 
 Then, woful blushing, tempt her glorious eyes 
 
 To spread their tears, Adonis' death reporting, 
 
 And tell love's torments, sorrowing for her friend, 
 
 Whose drops of blood, within your leaves consorting, 
 
 Report fair Venus' moans to have no end. 
 
 Then may Remorse in pitying of my smart, 
 
 Dry up my tears, and dwell within her heart. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 I4O 
 TO NIGHT 
 
 O NIGHT, O jealous Night, repugnant to my measures ! 
 
 O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content ! 
 There 's none but only thou that can perform my pleasures, 
 
 Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent.
 
 I 4 o ANONYMOUS 
 
 Thy beams, thy spiteful beams, thy lamps that burn too brightly, 
 Discover all my trains, and naked lay my drifts, 
 
 That night by night I hope, yet fail my purpose nightly, 
 Thy envious, glaring gleam defeateth so my shifts. 
 
 Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, 
 Whose joys in lack so long a hell of torment breeds ! 
 
 Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow : 
 Desire is guide to me, and love no lodestar needs. 
 
 Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining ; 
 
 Let them that miss the way be guided by the light ; 
 I know my Lady's bower, there needs no more divining : 
 
 Affection sees in dark, and Love hath eyes by night. 
 
 Dame Cynthia, couch awhile ! hold in thy horns for shining, 
 And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays ; 
 
 But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, 
 That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise ! 
 
 And when my will is wrought, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady, 
 All other nights and days in honour of that night, 
 
 That happy heavenly night, that night so dark and shady, 
 Wherein my Love had eyes that lighted my delight ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 141 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, 
 
 It doth so well become her : 
 For every season she hath dressings fit, 
 For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
 No beauty she doth miss, 
 
 When all her robes are on : 
 For Beauty's self she is, 
 When all her robes are gone. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 142 
 DISPRAISE OF LOVE 
 
 IF love be life, I long to die, 
 Live they that list for me : 
 
 And he that gains the most thereby 
 A fool, at least, shall be.
 
 ANONYMOUS 141 
 
 But he that feels the sorest fits 
 'Scapes with no less than loss of wits : 
 
 Unhappy life they gain, 
 
 Which love do entertain. 
 
 In day by feigned looks they live, 
 
 By lying dreams in night ; 
 Each frown a deadly wound doth give, 
 
 Each smile a false delight. 
 If 't hap their lady pleasant seem, 
 It is for other's love they deem ; 
 If void she seem of joy, 
 Disdain doth make her coy. 
 
 Such is the peace that lovers find, 
 
 Such is the life they lead, 
 Blown here and there with every wind, 
 
 Like flowers in the mead. 
 Now war, now peace, then war again, 
 Desire, despair, delight, disdain : 
 Though dead, in midst of life, 
 In peace, and yet at strife ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 143 
 WEEP YOU NO MORE 
 
 WEEP you no more, sad fountains ! 
 
 What need you flow so fast ? 
 Look how the snowy mountains 
 
 Heaven's sun doth gently waste ! 
 But my sun's heavenly eyes 
 
 View not your weeping, 
 
 That now lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies 
 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Sleep is a reconciling, 
 
 A rest that peace begets : 
 Doth not the sun rise smiling 
 
 When fair at ev'n he sets ? 
 Rest you then, rest, sad eyes ! 
 
 Melt not in weeping, 
 
 While she lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies 
 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Anonymous,
 
 142 ANONYMOUS 
 
 144 
 
 ARISE, MY THOUGHTS 
 
 ARISE, my Thoughts, and mount you with the sun, 
 
 Call all the winds to make you speedy wings, 
 
 And to my fairest Maya see you run, 
 
 And weep your last while wantonly she sings ; 
 
 Then if you cannot move her heart to pity, 
 
 Let 0, alas, ay me be all your ditty. 
 
 Arise, my Thoughts, no more, if you return 
 Denied of grace which only you desire, 
 But let the sun your wings to ashes burn 
 And melt your passions in his quenchless fire ; 
 Yet if you move fair Maya's heart to pity, 
 Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty. 
 
 Arise, my Thoughts, beyond the highest star 
 And gently rest you in fair Maya's eye, 
 For that is fairer than the brightest are ; 
 But, if she frown to see you climb so high, 
 Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty, 
 Of smiles and love and kisses beg for pity. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 145 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 I SAW my Lady weep, 
 
 And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 
 In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe, 
 
 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
 
 Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair, 
 
 And Passion wise ; Tears a delightful thing ; 
 
 Silence beyond all speech ; a Wisdom rare 
 
 She made her sighs to sing, 
 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love.
 
 ANONYMOUS 143 
 
 O fairer than aught else 
 
 The world can show, leave off in time to grieve ! 
 
 Enough, enough ! Your joyful look excels ; 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe ! 
 
 O, strive not to be excellent in woe, 
 
 Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 146 
 ANOTHER 
 
 THOU art but young, thou say'st, 
 
 And love's delight thou weigh'st not ; 
 
 O, take time while thou may'st, 
 
 Lest when thou would'st thou may'st not ! 
 
 If love shall then assail thee, 
 
 A double anguish will torment thee ; 
 And thou wilt wish (but wishes all will fail thee), 
 ' O me ! that I were young again ! ' and so repent 
 thee. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 MY LOVE 
 
 MY Love is neither young nor old, 
 Not fiery-hot nor frozen-cold, 
 But fresh and fair as springing-briar 
 Blooming the fruit of love's desire ; 
 Not snowy-white nor rosy-red, 
 But fair enough for shepherd's bed ; 
 And such a love was never seen 
 On hill or dale or country-green. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 148 
 DEAR, IF YOU CHANGE 
 
 DEAR, if you change, I '11 never choose again ; 
 Sweet, if you shrink, I '11 never think of love ; 
 Fair, if you fail, I '11 judge all beauty vain ; 
 Wise, if too weak, more wits I '11 never prove.
 
 144 ANONYMOUS 
 
 Dear, sweet, fair, wise ! change, shrink, nor be not weak, 
 And, on my faith, my faith shall never break ! 
 
 Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn ; 
 
 Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move ; 
 
 Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born ; 
 
 Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove ; 
 
 Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view, 
 
 Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 149 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 LOVE not me for comely grace, 
 For my pleasing eye or face, 
 Nor for any outward part, 
 No, nor for a constant heart ! 
 For these may fail or turn to ill 
 
 So thou and I shall sever. 
 Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, 
 And love me still, but know not why ! 
 So hast thou the same reason still 
 
 To dote upon me ever. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 ISO 
 SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE 
 
 SINCE first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye ; 
 If now I be disdained, I wish my heart had never known ye. 
 What ? I that loved and you that liked, shall we begin to wrangle ? 
 No, no, no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle. 
 
 If I admire or praise too much, that fault you may forgive me ; 
 Or if my hands had strayed a touch, then justly might you leave me. 
 I asked you leave, you bade me love ; is t now a time to chide me ? 
 No, no, no, I '11 love you still, what fortune e'er betide me. 
 
 The sun, whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder, 
 And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the 
 
 bolder. 
 Where beauty moves, and wit delights, and signs of kindness bind 
 
 me, 
 
 There, O, there ! where'er I go I '11 leave my heart behind me. 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 ANONYMOUS 145 
 
 COME, SHEPHERD SWAINS 
 
 COME, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing, 
 
 Now sigh and groan ! 
 Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring ; 
 
 Dead, dead, and gone ! 
 
 O, She that was your Summer's Queen, 
 
 Your days' delight, 
 Is gone and will no more be seen ; 
 
 O cruel spite ! 
 
 Break all your pipes that wont to sound 
 
 With pleasant cheer, 
 And cast yourselves upon the ground 
 
 To wail my Dear ! 
 
 Come, shepherd swains, come, nymphs, and all a-row 
 
 To help me cry ; 
 Dead is my Love, and, seeing She is so, 
 
 Lo, now I die ! 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 152 
 
 SISTER, AWAKE 
 
 SISTER, awake ! close not your eyes 
 
 The Day her light discloses, 
 And the bright Morning doth arise 
 
 Out of her bed of roses. 
 
 See, the clear Sun, the world's bright eye, 
 
 In at our window peeping : 
 Lo ! how he blusheth to espy 
 
 Us idle wenches sleeping. 
 
 Therefore, awake ! make haste, I say, 
 
 And let us, without staying, 
 All in our gowns of green so gay, 
 
 Into the park a-maying ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 K
 
 146 JONSON 
 
 '53 
 
 TO DIANA 
 
 QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
 Seated in thy silver chair, 
 State in wonted manner keep : 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 Dare itself to interpose ! 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 Heaven to clear when day did close : 
 Bless us then with wished sight, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 
 
 And thy crystal -shining quiver : 
 
 Give unto the flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever ; 
 
 Thou that makest a day of -night, 
 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 154 
 
 CH.ARIS 
 
 SEE the chariot at hand here of Love, 
 
 Wherein my Lady rideth ! 
 
 Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 
 
 And well the car Love guideth. 
 
 As she goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her beauty ; 
 
 And enamoured do wish, so they might 
 
 But enjoy such a sight, 
 
 That they still were to run by her side, 
 
 Through swords, through seas, whither she would glide. 
 
 Do but look on her eyes they do light 
 All that Love's world compriseth ! 
 Do but look on her hair it is bright 
 As Love's star when it riseth !
 
 JONSON M7 
 
 Do but mark her forehead 's smoother 
 
 Than words that soothe her, 
 
 And from her arched brows such a grace 
 
 Sheds itself through the face, 
 
 As alone there triumphs to the life 
 
 All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife ! 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 
 
 Before rude hands have touched it ? 
 
 Have you marked but the fall of the snow, 
 
 Before the soil hath smutched it ? 
 
 Have you felt the wool of the beaver, 
 
 Or swan's down ever ? 
 
 Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier, 
 
 Or the nard in the fire ? 
 
 Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
 
 O, so white, O, so soft, O, so sweet is she ! 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 155 
 KISS ME, SWEET 
 
 Kiss me, sweet : the wary lover 
 
 Can your favours keep, and cover, 
 
 When the common courting jay 
 
 All your bounties will betray. 
 
 Kiss again : no creature comes. 
 
 Kiss, and score up wealthy sums 
 
 On my lips, thus hardly sundred 
 
 While you breathe. First give a hundred. 
 
 Then a thousand, then another 
 
 Hundred, then unto the other 
 
 Add a thousand, and so more : 
 
 Till you equal with the store, 
 
 All the grass that Rumney yields, 
 
 Or the sands in Chelsea fields, 
 
 Or the drops in silver Thames, 
 
 Or the stars that gild his streams, 
 
 In the silent summer-nights, 
 
 When youths ply their stolen delights : 
 
 That the curious may not know 
 
 How to tell 'em as they flow, 
 
 And the envious, when they find 
 
 What their number is, be pined. 
 
 Ben Jonson.
 
 I 4 8 JONSON 
 
 I 5 6 
 FOLLOW A SHADOW 
 
 FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you, 
 Seem to fly it, it will pursue : 
 So court a mistress, she denies you ; 
 Let her alone, she will court you. 
 Say are not women truly, then, 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 At morn and even shades are longest ; 
 At noon they are or short or none : 
 So men at weakest, they are strongest, 
 But grant us perfect, they 're not known. 
 Say are not women truly, then, 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 157 
 TO CELIA 
 
 DRINK to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
 
 And I '11 not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine : 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee, 
 As giving it a hope, that there 
 
 It could not withered be ; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe, 
 
 And sent'st it back to me : 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself, but thee. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 I 5 8 
 THE KISS 
 
 O, THAT joy so soon should waste ! 
 Or so sweet a bliss 
 As a kiss
 
 JONSON 149 
 
 Might not for ever last ! 
 
 So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, 
 
 The dew that lies on roses, 
 
 When the morn herself discloses, 
 
 Is not so precious. 
 
 O, rather than I would it smother, 
 
 Were I to taste such another, 
 
 It should be my wishing 
 
 That I might die kissing ! 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 159 
 BEGGING ANOTHER 
 
 FOR Love's sake, kiss me once again ! 
 
 I long, and should not beg in vain. 
 
 Here 's none to spy or see ; 
 
 Why do you doubt or stay ? 
 
 I '11 taste as lightly as the bee, 
 
 That doth but touch his flower, and flies away. 
 
 Once more, and, faith, I will be gone 
 
 Can he that loves ask less than one ? 
 
 Nay, you may err in this, 
 
 And all your bounty wrong : 
 
 This could be called but half a kiss ; 
 
 What we 're but once to do, we should do long. 
 
 I will but mend the last, and tell 
 
 Where, how, it would have relished well ; 
 
 Join lip to lip, and try : 
 
 Each suck the other's breath, 
 
 And whilst our tongues perplexed lie, 
 
 Let who will think us dead, or wish our death ! 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 1 6O 
 A NYMPH 'S PASSION 
 
 I LOVE, and he loves me again, 
 
 Yet dare I not tell who ; 
 
 For if the nymphs should know my swain, 
 
 I fear they 'd love him too ;
 
 ISO JONSON 
 
 Yet if it be not known, 
 
 The pleasure is as good as none, 
 
 For that 's a narrow joy is but our own. 
 
 I '11 tell, that if they be not glad, 
 
 They yet may envy me ; 
 
 But then, if I grow jealous mad, 
 
 And of them pitied be, 
 
 It were a plague 'bove scorn ; 
 
 And yet it cannot be forborne, 
 
 Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn. 
 
 He is, if they can find him, fair, 
 
 And fresh and fragrant too, 
 
 As summer's sky, or purged air, 
 
 And looks as lilies do 
 
 That are this morning blown : 
 
 Yet, yet I doubt he is not known, 
 
 And fear much more, that more of him be shown ! 
 
 But he hath eyes so round and bright 
 
 As make away my doubt, 
 
 Where Love may all his torches light 
 
 Though hate had put them out : 
 
 But then, t' increase my fears, 
 
 What nymph soe'er his voice but hears, 
 
 Will be my rival, though she have but ears ! 
 
 I "11 tell no more, and yet I love, 
 
 And he loves me ; yet no 
 
 One unbecoming thought doth move 
 
 From either heart, I know ; 
 
 But so exempt from blame, 
 
 As it would be to each a fame, 
 
 If love or fear would let me tell his name. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 161 
 
 EPITHALAMY 
 
 UP ! youths and virgins ! up, and praise 
 The god whose nights outshine his days ! 
 Hymen, whose hallowed rites 
 Could never boast of brighter lights, 
 Whose bands pass liberty !
 
 JONSON 151 
 
 Two of your troop, that with the morn were free, 
 
 Are now waged to his war ; 
 
 And what they are, 
 
 If you '11 perfection see, 
 
 Yourselves must be. 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 What joy or honours can compare 
 
 With holy nuptials when they are 
 
 Made out of equal parts 
 
 Of years, of states, of hands, of hearts ? 
 
 When in the happy choice 
 
 The spouse and spoused have the foremost voice, 
 
 Such, glad of Hymen's war, 
 
 Live what they are 
 
 And long perfection see : 
 
 And such ours be. 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 The solemn state of this one night 
 
 Were fit to last an age's light ; 
 
 But there are rites behind 
 
 Have less of state and more of kind : 
 
 Love's wealthy crop of kisses, 
 
 And fruitful harvest of his mother's blisses. 
 
 Sound then to Hymen's war ! 
 
 That what these are, 
 
 Who will perfection see 
 
 May haste to be. 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 Love's Commonwealth consists of toys ; 
 
 His Council are those antic boys, 
 
 Games, Laughter, Sports, Delights, 
 
 That triumph with him on these nights : 
 
 To whom we must give way, 
 
 For now their reign begins, and lasts till day. 
 
 They sweeten Hymen's war, 
 
 Apd in that jar 
 
 Makeall that married be 
 
 Perfection see. 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 Why stays the bridegroom to invade 
 Her that would be a matron made ? 
 Good-night ! whilst yet we may 
 Good-night to you a virgin say.
 
 152 JONSON 
 
 To-morrow rise the same 
 
 Your mother is, and use a nobler name ! 
 
 Speed well in Hymen's war, 
 
 That what you are, 
 
 By your perfection, we 
 
 And all may see ! 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 To-night is Venus' vigil kept, 
 
 This night no bridegroom ever slept ; 
 
 And if the fair bride do, 
 
 The married say 'tis his fault too. 
 
 Wake then, and let your lights 
 
 Wake too, for they '11 tell nothing of your nights, 
 
 But that in Hymen's war 
 
 You perfect are ; 
 
 And such perfection we 
 
 Do pray should be 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 That, ere the rosy-fingered Morn 
 Behold nine moons, there may be born 
 A babe to uphold the fame 
 Of Radcliffe's blood and Ramsay's name, 
 That may, in his great seed, 
 Wear the long honours of his father's deed ! 
 Such fruits of Hymen's war 
 Most perfect are : 
 And all perfection we 
 Wish you should see. 
 
 Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star ! 
 
 Ben 7 on son. 
 
 l62 
 O, DO NOT WANTON 
 
 O, DO not wanton with those eyes, 
 Lest I be sick with seeing ; 
 
 Nor cast them down, but let them rise, 
 Lest shame destroy their being. 
 
 O, be not angry with those fires, 
 For then their threats will kill me ; 
 
 Nor look too kind on my desires, 
 For then my hopes will spill me.
 
 DONNE 153 
 
 O, do not steep them in thy tears, 
 
 For so will sorrow slay me ; 
 Nor spread them as distraught with fears 
 
 Mine own enough betray me ! 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 163 
 GO AND CATCH 
 
 Go and catch a falling star, 
 
 Get with child a mandrake root, 
 Tell me where all times past are, 
 
 Or who cleft the Devil s foot, 
 Teach me to hear mermaids singing, 
 Or to keep off envy's stinging ; 
 And find, 
 What wind 
 Serves to advance an honest mind ! 
 
 If thou be'st born to strange sights, 
 
 Things invisible go see ; 
 Ride ten thousand days and nights, 
 
 Till age snow white hairs on thee ; 
 Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me 
 All strange wonders that befell thee ; 
 And swear 
 No where 
 Lives a woman true and fair ! 
 
 If thou find'st one let me know, 
 
 Such a pilgrimage were sweet ; 
 Yet do not, I would not go, 
 
 Though at next door we might meet : 
 Though she were true when you met her, 
 And last, till you write your letter ; 
 Yet she 
 Will be 
 False, ere I come, to two or three ! 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 164 
 
 BREAK OF DAY 
 
 STAY, O sweet, and do not rise ! 
 
 The light, that shines, comes from thine eyes.
 
 154 DONNE 
 
 The day breaks not : it is my heart, 
 Because that you and I must part. 
 Stay, or else my joys will die, 
 And perish in their infancy. 
 
 "Tis true, 'tis day : what though it be ? 
 
 O, wilt thou therefore rise from me ? 
 
 Why should we rise, because 'tis light ? 
 
 Did we lie down, because 'twas night ? 
 
 Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither, 
 
 Should in despite of light keep us together. 
 
 Light hath no tongue, but is all eye. 
 
 If it could speak as well as spy, 
 
 This were the worst that it could say : 
 
 That, being well, I fain would stay, 
 
 And that I lov'd my heart and honour so, 
 
 That I would not from her, that had them, go. 
 
 Must business thee from hence remove? 
 
 O, that 's the worst disease of love ! 
 
 The poor, the foul, the false, love can 
 
 Admit, but not the busied man. 
 
 He, which hath business, and makes love, doth do 
 
 Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo. 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 I6 5 
 THEM ESS AGE 
 
 SEND home my long-strayed eyes to me, 
 
 Which, O ! too long have dwelt on thee. 
 
 But if they there have learn'd such ill, 
 
 Such forced fashions 
 
 And false passions, 
 
 That they be 
 
 Made by thee 
 
 Fit for no good sight, keep them still. 
 
 Send home my harmless heart again, 
 
 Which no unworthy thought could stain ! 
 
 But, if it be taught by thine 
 
 To make jestings 
 
 Of pretestings, 
 
 And break both 
 
 Word and oath, 
 
 Keep it still 'tis none of mine.
 
 BARNFIELD 155 
 
 Yet send me back my heart and eyes, 
 
 That I may know and see thy lies, 
 
 And may laugh and joy, when thou 
 
 Art in anguish, 
 
 And dost languish 
 
 For some one, 
 
 That will none, 
 
 Or prove as false as thou dost now. 
 
 John Donne. 
 
 166 
 
 AS IT FELL UPON A DAY 
 
 As it fell upon a day 
 
 In the merry month of May ; 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Eeasts did leap, and birds did sing, 
 
 Trees did grow, and plants did spring ; 
 
 Everything did banish moan, 
 
 Save the JSI ightingale alone. 
 
 She, poor bird, as all-forlorn, 
 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 
 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, 
 
 That to hear it was great pity. 
 
 ' Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry ; 
 
 ' Teru, teru ! ' by and by ; 
 
 That to hear her so complain, 
 
 Scarce from tears I could refrain ; 
 
 For her griefs, so lively shown, 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 ' Ah,' thought I, ' thou mourn'st in vain ! 
 
 None takes pity on thy pain : 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 
 
 Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee : 
 
 King Pandion he is dead ; 
 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead ; 
 
 All thy fellow birds do sing, 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowing. 
 
 (Even so, poor bird, like thee 
 
 None alive will pity me) 
 
 Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, 
 
 Thou and I were both beguiled. ' 
 
 Every one that flatters thee 
 Is no friend in misery.
 
 i$6 HALL 
 
 Words are easy, like the wind ; 
 
 Faithful friends are hard to find. 
 
 Every man will be thy friend 
 
 Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 
 
 But if store of crowns be scant, 
 
 No man will supply thy want. 
 
 If that one be prodigal, 
 
 Bountiful they will him call, 
 
 And with such-like flattering, 
 
 ' Pity but he were a king ' ! 
 
 If he be addict to vice, 
 
 Quickly him they will entice. 
 
 If to women he be bent, 
 
 They have at commandment. 
 
 But if Fortune once do frown, 
 
 Then farewell his great renown ! 
 
 They that fawn'd on him before 
 
 Use his company no more. 
 
 He that is thy friend indeed, 
 He will help thee in thy need : 
 If thou sorrow, he will weep ; 
 If thou wake, he cannot sleep ; 
 Thus of every grief in heart 
 He with thee doth bear a part. 
 These are certain signs to know 
 Faithful friend from flattering foe. 
 
 Richard Barnfidd, 
 
 167 
 
 ANTHEM 
 
 LORD, what am I ? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing ! 
 What is my life? A dream, a daily dying ! 
 What is my flesh ? My soul's uneasy clothing ! 
 What is my time ? A minute ever flying : 
 My time, my flesh, my life, and I ; 
 What are we, Lord, but vanity ? 
 
 Where am I, Lord ? down in a vale of death : 
 What is my trade ? sin, my dear God offending ; 
 My sport sin too, my stay a puff of breath : 
 What end of sin ? Hell's horror never ending: 
 My way, my trade, sport, stay, and place 
 Help to make up my doleful case.
 
 DEKKER 157 
 
 Lord, what art thou ? pure life, power, beauty, bliss : 
 
 Where dwell'st thou ? up above in perfect light : 
 
 What is Thy time ? eternity it is : 
 
 What state? attendance of each glorious sprite : 
 
 Thyself, thy place, thy days, thy state 
 
 Pass all the thoughts of powers create. 
 
 How shall I reach thee, Lord ? O, soar above, 
 Ambitious soul ! But which way should I fly ? 
 Thou, Lord, art way and end : what wings have I ? 
 Aspiring thoughts, of faith, of hope, of love 
 O, let these wings, that way alone 
 Present me to thy blissful throne ! 
 
 Joseph Hall. 
 
 168 
 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 LOVE in thy youth, fair maid ; be wise, 
 
 Old Time will make thee colder, 
 And though each morning new arise 
 
 Yet we each day grow older. 
 
 Thou as heaven art fair and young, 
 
 Thine eyes like twin stars shining ; 
 But ere another day be sprung, 
 
 All these will be declining. 
 
 Then winter comes with all his fears, 
 
 And all thy sweets shall borrow ; 
 Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, 
 
 And I too late shall sorrow. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 169 
 O SWEET CONTENT 
 
 ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 
 
 O sweet content 1 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? 
 
 O punishment ! 
 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
 To add to golden numbers golden numbers ? 
 O sweet content !
 
 158 HEYWOOD 
 
 Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 
 
 O sweet content ! 
 Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears ? 
 
 O punishment ! 
 
 Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
 O sweet content ! 
 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
 Then hey noney, noney, hey noney, noney ! 
 
 Thomas Dekker, 
 
 170 
 BEAUTY, ARISE 
 
 BEAUTY, arise, show forth thy glorious shining ! 
 
 Thine eyes feed Love, for them he standeth pining. 
 
 Honour and youth attend to do their duty 
 
 To thee, their only sovereign beauty. 
 
 Beauty, arise, whilst we, thy servants, sing 
 
 lo to Hymen, wedlock's jocund king : 
 
 lo to Hymen, lo, lo, sing ! 
 
 Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king. 
 
 Beauty, arise, thy glorious lights display, 
 Whilst we sing lo, glad to see this day. 
 lo to Hymen, lo, lo, sing ! 
 Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king. 
 
 Thomas Dekker. 
 
 171 
 YE LITTLE BIRDS 
 
 YE little birds that sit and sing 
 
 Amidst the shady valleys, 
 And see how Phillis sweetly walks 
 
 Within her garden-alleys : 
 Go, pretty birds, about her bower ; 
 Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower 
 Ah, me ! methinks I see her frown ! 
 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble.
 
 HEYWOOD 159 
 
 Go, tell her through your chirping bills, 
 
 As you by me are bidden, 
 To her is only known my love, 
 
 Which from the world is hidden. 
 Go, pretty birds, and tell her so ; 
 See that your notes strain not too low ; 
 For still, methinks, I see her frown 
 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 Go tune your voices' harmony, 
 
 And sing, I am her lover ; 
 Strain loud and sweet, that every note 
 
 With sweet content may move her. 
 And she that hath the sweetest voice, 
 Tell her I will not change my choice ; 
 Yet still, methinks, I see her frown ! 
 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 O, fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 
 
 Into a pretty slumber. 
 Sing round about her rosy bed, 
 
 That, waking, she may wonder. 
 Say to her, 'tis her lover true 
 That sendeth love to you, to you ; 
 And when you hear her kind reply, 
 
 Return with pleasant warblings. 
 
 Thomas Heywood. 
 
 1/2 
 PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY 
 
 PACK, clouds, away, and welcome, day ! 
 
 With night we banish sorrow. 
 
 Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft 
 
 To give my love good morrow ! 
 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind, 
 
 Notes from the lark I '11 borrow : 
 
 Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing, 
 
 To give my love good morrow ! 
 
 To give my love good morrow, 
 
 Notes from them all I '11 borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast ! 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow, 
 And from each bill let music shrill 
 Give my fair love good morrow !
 
 160 FLETCHER 
 
 Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 
 Stare, linnet, and cocksparrow, 
 You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
 Sing my fair love good morrow ! 
 To give my love good morrow, 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 
 
 Thomas Heywood. 
 
 173 
 
 ASPATIA'S SONG 
 
 LAY a garland on my hearse 
 
 Of the dismal yew. 
 Maidens, willow branches bear 
 
 Say I died true. 
 
 My love was false, but I was firm 
 
 From my hour of birth. 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 
 Lightly, gentle earth ! 
 
 John Fletcher 
 
 174 
 AWAY, DELIGHTS 
 
 AWAY, delights ! go seek some other dwelling, 
 
 For I must die. 
 
 Farewell, false love ! thy tongue is ever telling 
 
 Lie after lie. 
 
 For ever let me rest now from thy smarts ; 
 
 Alas, for pity, go, 
 
 And fire their hearts 
 
 That have been hard to thee ! Mine was not so. 
 
 Never again deluding love shall know me, 
 
 For I will die ; 
 
 And all those griefs that think to overgrow me, 
 
 Shall be as I. 
 
 For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry : 
 
 ' Alas, for pity, stay, 
 
 And let us die 
 
 With thee ! men cannot mock us in the clay. ' 
 
 John Fletcher.
 
 FLETCHER 161 
 
 175 
 COME HITHER, YOU THAT LOVE 
 
 COME hither, you that love, and hear me sing 
 
 Of joys still growing, 
 Green, fresh, and lusty as the pride of spring, 
 
 And ever blowing ! 
 Come hither, youths, that blush, and dare not know 
 
 What is desire, 
 And old men, worse than you, that cannot blow 
 
 One spark of fire ! 
 
 And with the power of my enchanting song, 
 Boys shall be able men, and old men young. 
 
 Come hither, you that hope, and you that cry, 
 
 Leave off complaining ! 
 Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never die, 
 
 Are here remaining. 
 Come hither, fools, and blush you stay so long 
 
 From being blessed, 
 And mad men, worse than you, that suffer wrong, 
 
 Yet seek no rest ! 
 
 And in an hour, with my enchanting song, 
 YOU shall be ever pleased, and young maids long. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 1/6 
 
 NOW THE LUSTY SPRING 
 
 Now the lusty Spring is seen ! 
 
 Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 
 
 Daintily invite the view. 
 Everywhere on every green, 
 Roses blushing as they blow, 
 
 And enticing men to pull, 
 Lilies whiter than the snow, 
 
 Woodbines of sweet honey full : 
 All love's emblems, and all cry : 
 4 Ladies, if not plucked, we die." 
 
 Yet the lusty Spring hath stayed ! 
 
 Blushing red and purest white 
 
 Daintily to love invite 
 Every woman, every maid. 
 L
 
 162 FLETCHER 
 
 Cherries kissing as they grow, 
 
 And inviting men to taste, 
 Apples even right below, 
 
 Winding gently to the waist : 
 All love's emblems, and all cry : 
 ' Ladies, if nbt plucked, we die.' 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 177 
 HEAR, YE LADIES 
 
 HEAR, ye ladies that despise, 
 
 What the mighty Love has done ! 
 Fear examples, and be wise : 
 
 Fair Calisto was a nun ; 
 Leda, sailing on the stream 
 
 To deceive the hopes of man, 
 Love accounting but a dream, 
 
 Doted on a silver swan ; 
 Danae, in a brazen tower, 
 Where no love was, loved a shower. 
 
 Hear, ye ladies that are coy, 
 
 What the mighty Love can do ! 
 Fear the fierceness of the boy : 
 
 The chaste moon he makes to woo ; 
 Vesta, kindling holy fires, 
 
 Circled round about with spies, 
 Never dreaming loose desires, 
 Doting at the altar dies ; 
 Ilion in a short hour higher 
 He can build, and once more fire. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 I 7 8 
 DEAREST, DO NOT 
 
 DEAREST, do not you delay me, 
 Since thou knowest, I must be gone ! 
 Wind and tide, 'tis thought, doth stay me, 
 But 'tis wind that must be blown
 
 FLETCHER 163 
 
 From that breath, whose native smell 
 Indian odours far excel. 
 
 O, then speak, thou fairest fair ! 
 Kill not him that vows to serve thee, 
 But perfume this neighbouring air, 
 Else dull silence, sure, will sterve me ! 
 'Tis a word that 's quickly spoken, 
 Which being restrained, a heart is broken. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 1/9 
 A SONG OF BRIDAL 
 
 ROSES, their sharp spines being gone, 
 Not royal in their smells alone 
 
 But in their hue ; 
 Maiden pinks, of odour faint ; 
 Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint ; 
 
 And sweet thyme true ; 
 
 Primrose, firstborn child of Ver, 
 Merry springtime's harbinger, 
 
 With her bells dim ; 
 Oxlips in their cradles growing ; 
 Marigolds on deathbeds blowing ; 
 
 Larks'-heels trim : 
 
 All dear Nature's children sweet 
 Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, 
 
 Blessing their sense ! 
 Not an angel of the air, 
 Bird melodious or bird fair, 
 
 Be absent hence ! 
 
 The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
 The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 
 
 Nor chattering pie, 
 
 May on our bride-house perch or sing, 
 Or with them any discord bring, 
 
 But from it fly ! 
 
 John Fletcher.
 
 1 64 MASSINGER 
 
 1 80 
 IN PRAISE OF MELANCHOLY 
 
 HENCE, all you vain delights, 
 As short as are the nights 
 
 Wherein you spent your folly ! 
 There 's nought in this life sweet, 
 If man were wise to see 't, 
 
 But only Melancholy, 
 
 O sweetest Melancholy ! 
 Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
 A sight that piercing mortifies, 
 A look that 's fastened to the ground, 
 A tongue chained up without a sound ! 
 
 Fountain-heads and pathless groves, 
 Places which pale passion loves ; 
 Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
 Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ; 
 A midnight bell, a parting groan 
 These are the sounds we feed upon, 
 Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley . 
 Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy ! 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 181 
 
 INVOCATION 
 
 WHY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, 
 
 To stop a wretch's breath, 
 That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 
 
 A prey unto thy dart ? 
 I am nor young nor fair ; be, therefore, bold : 
 
 Sorrow hath made me old, 
 Deformed, and wrinkled ; all that I can crave 
 
 Is quiet in my grave. 
 Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel ; 
 
 But to me thou art cruel, 
 If thou end not my tedious misery 
 
 And I soon cease to be. 
 
 Strike, and strike home, then ! Pity unto me, 
 In one short hour's delay, is tyranny. 
 
 Philip Massinger.
 
 DRUMMOND 165 
 
 182 
 
 MEDITATION 
 (On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey) 
 
 MORTALITY, behold and fear ! 
 
 What a change of flesh is here ! 
 
 Think how many royal bones 
 
 Sleep within this heap of stones ; 
 
 Here they lie had realms and lands, 
 
 Who now want strength to stir their hands ; 
 
 Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust 
 
 They preach : ' In greatness is no trust.' 
 
 Here 's an acre sown indeed 
 
 With the richest royall'st seed 
 
 That the earth did e'er suck in, 
 
 Since the first man died for sin ! 
 
 Here the bones of birth have cried : 
 
 ' Though gods they were, as men they died.' 
 
 Here are sands, ignoble things, 
 
 Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings. 
 
 Here 's a world of pomp and state, 
 
 Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 
 
 Francis Beaumont. 
 
 PHOEBUS, ARISE 
 
 PHOEBUS, arise, 
 
 And paint the sable skies 
 
 With azure, white, and red ! 
 
 Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tython's bed, 
 
 That she thy carrier may with roses spread ; 
 
 The nightingales thy coming each where sing ; 
 
 Make an eternal spring, 
 
 Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 
 
 Spread forth thy golden hair 
 
 In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 
 
 And, emperor-like, decore 
 
 With diadem of pearl thy temples fair ; 
 
 Chase hence the ugly Night, 
 
 Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 
 
 This is that happy morn 
 
 That day, long-wished day, 
 
 Of all my life so dark
 
 166 DRUMMOND 
 
 (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn, 
 
 And Fates not hope betray), 
 
 Which, only white, deserves 
 
 A diamond for ever should it mark : 
 
 This is the morn should bring unto this grove 
 
 My love, to hear and recompense my love. 
 
 Fair king, who all preserves, 
 
 But show thy blushing beams 
 
 And thou two sweeter eyes 
 
 Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 
 
 Did once thy heart surprise : 
 
 Nay, suns, which shine as clear 
 
 As thou when two thou did to Rome appear ! 
 
 Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise ; 
 
 If that ye, Winds, would hear 
 
 A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 
 
 Your stormy chiding stay ; 
 
 Let Zephyr only breathe, 
 
 And with her tresses play, 
 
 Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death ! 
 
 The winds all silent are, 
 
 And Phoebus in his chair, 
 
 Ensaffroning sea and air, 
 
 Makes vanish every star : 
 
 Night like a drunkard reels 
 
 Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels ; 
 
 The fields with flow'rs are deck'd in every hue ; 
 
 The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue ; 
 
 Here is the pleasant place, 
 
 And ev'ry thing, save her, who all should grace. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 184 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 MY thoughts hold mortal strife : 
 
 I do detest my life, 
 
 And, with lamenting cries, 
 
 Peace to my soul to bring 
 
 Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise. 
 
 But he, grim-grinning king, 
 
 Who caitives scorns, and doth the blest surprise, 
 
 Late having decked with beauty's rose his tomb, 
 
 Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 
 
 William Drummond.
 
 GILES FLETCHER 167 
 
 I8 5 
 WOOING SONG 
 
 LOVE is the blossom where there blows 
 
 Everything that lives or grows : 
 
 Love doth make the Heav'ns to move, 
 
 And the Sun doth burn in love : 
 
 Love the strong and weak doth yoke, 
 
 And makes the ivy climb the oak, 
 
 Under whose shadows lions wild, 
 
 Soften'd by love, grow tame and mild. 
 
 Love no med'cine can appease, 
 
 He burns the fishes in the seas. 
 
 Not all the skill his wounds can stench, 
 
 Not all the sea his fire can quench. 
 
 Love did make the bloody spear 
 
 Once a leafy coat to wear, 
 
 While in his leaves there shrouded lay 
 
 Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play. 
 
 And of all love's joyful flame, 
 
 I the bud and blossom am. 
 
 Only bend thy knee to me, 
 
 Thy wooing shall thy winning be ! 
 
 See, see the flowers that below 
 
 Now as fresh as morning blow, 
 
 And of all the virgin rose 
 
 That as bright Aurora shows, 
 
 How they all unleaved die, 
 
 Losing their virginity ! 
 
 Like unto a summer-shade, 
 
 But now born, and now they fade. 
 
 Every thing doth pass away. 
 
 There is danger in delay. 
 
 Come, come gather then the rose, 
 
 Gather it, or it you lose ! 
 
 All the sand of Tagus' shore 
 
 Into my bosom casts his ore : 
 
 All the valleys' swimming corn 
 
 To my house is yearly borne : 
 
 Every grape of every vine 
 
 Is gladly bruis'd to make me wine, 
 
 While ten thousand kings, as proud, 
 
 To carry up my train have bow'd,
 
 168 FORD 
 
 And a world of ladies send me 
 In my chambers to attend me : 
 All the stars in heaven that shine, 
 And ten thousand more, are mine : 
 Only bend thy knee to me, 
 Thy wooing shall thy winning be ! 
 
 Gilts Flttcher. 
 
 1 86 
 
 A BROKEN HEART 
 
 GLORIES, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease, 
 
 Can but please 
 
 Outward senses, when the mind 
 
 Is untroubled, or by peace refin'd. 
 
 Crowns may flourish and decay, 
 
 Beauties shine, but fade away. 
 
 Youth may revel, yet it must 
 
 Lie down in a bed of dust. 
 
 Earthly honours flow and waste, 
 
 Time alone doth change and last. 
 
 Sorrows mingled with contents prepare 
 
 Rest for care. 
 
 Love only reigns in death ; though art 
 
 Can find no comfort for a Broken Heart. 
 
 John Ford. 
 
 I8 7 
 SHALL I TELL YOU WHOM I LOVE 
 
 SHALL I tell you whom I love ? 
 Hearken then a while to me, 
 And if such a woman move 
 As I now shall versify, 
 Be assured, 'tis she, or none 
 That I love, and love alone. 
 
 Nature did her so much right, 
 As she scorns the help of art. 
 In as many virtues dight 
 As e'er yet embraced a heart, 
 So much good so truly tried 
 Some for less were deified. 
 
 William Browne.
 
 BROWNE 169 
 
 188 
 
 A LOVER'S GREETING 
 
 Welcome, welcome do I sing, 
 Far more welcome than the spring ! 
 He that parteth from you never 
 Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 
 
 LOVE, that to the voice is near 
 
 Breaking from your ivory pale, 
 Need not walk abroad to hear 
 
 The delightful nightingale. 
 
 Love, that looks still on your eyes, 
 
 Tho' the winter have begun 
 To benumb our arteries, 
 
 Shall not want the summer's sun. 
 
 Love, that still may see your cheeks, 
 
 Where all rareness still reposes, 
 Is a fool if ere he seeks 
 
 Other lilies, other roses. 
 
 Love, to whom your soft lip yields, 
 And perceives your breath in kissing, 
 
 All the odours of the fields 
 Never, never shall be missing. 
 
 Love, that question would anew 
 
 What fair Eden was of old, 
 Let him rightly study you, 
 
 And a brief of that behold ! 
 
 Welcome, welcome then I sing, 
 Far more welcome than the spring ! 
 He that parteth from you never 
 Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 
 
 William Browne. 
 
 189 
 LOVE'S ERRAND 
 
 Go, thou gentle whispering Wind, 
 Bear this Sigh ! and if thou find 
 Where my cruel fair doth rest, 
 Cast it in her snowy breast :
 
 170 CAREW 
 
 So, inflam'd by my desire, 
 It may set her heart on fire. 
 
 Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain, 
 Will reward thee for thy pain. 
 Boldly light upon her lip, 
 There suck odours, and thence skip 
 To her bosom. Lastly fall 
 Down, and wander over alL 
 
 Range about those ivory hills, 
 From whose every part distils 
 Amber dew. There spices grow, 
 There pure streams of nectar flow : 
 There perfume thyself, and bring 
 All those sweets upon thy wing. 
 
 As thou return'st, change by thy power 
 Every weed into a flower, 
 Turn every thistle to a vine, 
 Make the bramble eglantine : 
 For so rich a booty made, 
 Do but this, and I am paid. 
 
 Thou canst with thy powerful blast 
 Heat apace, and cool as fast ; 
 Thou canst kindle hidden flame, 
 And again destroy the same : 
 Then, for pity, either stir 
 Up the Fire of Love in her, 
 That alike both flames may shine, 
 Or else quite extinguish mine. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 IQO 
 GIVE ME MORE LOVE 
 
 GIVE me more love or more disdain ! 
 The torrid or the frozen zone 
 Bring equal ease unto my pain : 
 The temperate affords me none. 
 Either extreme, of love or hate, 
 Is sweeter than a calm estate.
 
 CAREW 171 
 
 Give me a storm : if it be love, 
 
 Like Danae in that golden shower, 
 
 I swim in pleasure ; if it prove 
 
 Disdain, that torrent will devour 
 
 My vulture-hopes ; and he 's possessed 
 
 Of Heaven, that 's but from Hell released. 
 
 Then crown my joys, or cure my pain : 
 Give me more love or more disdain ! 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 191 
 
 WHEN THOU, POOR EXCOMMUNICATE 
 
 WHEN thou, poor Excommunicate 
 From all the joys of love, shalt see 
 
 The full reward and glorious fate 
 
 Which my strong faith shall purchase me, 
 Then curse thine own inconstancy ! 
 
 A fairer hand than thine shall cure 
 That heart, which thy false oaths did wound ; 
 
 And to my soul a soul more pure 
 
 Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound, 
 And both with equal glory crown'd. 
 
 Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain 
 To Love, as I did once to thee ; 
 
 When all thy tears shall be as vain 
 As mine were then : for thou shalt be 
 Damn'd for thy false apostacy. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 192 
 
 ASK ME NO MORE 
 
 ASK me no more where Jove bestows, 
 When June is past, the fading rose : 
 For in your beauty's orient deep 
 These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
 
 172 QUARLES 
 
 Ask me no more, whither do stray 
 The golden atoms of the day : 
 For in pure love heaven did prepare 
 Those powders to enrich your hair. 
 
 Ask me no more, whither doth haste 
 The Nightingale, when May is past : 
 For in your sweet dividing throat 
 She winters, and keeps warm her note. 
 
 Ask me no more, where those stars 'light, 
 That downwards fall in dead of night : 
 For in your eyes they sit, and there 
 FixeM become, as in their sphere. 
 
 Ask me no more, if east or west 
 The Phcenix build her spicy nest : 
 For unto you at last she flies, 
 And in your fragrant bosom dies. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 193 
 THE LOVER AND THE BELOVED 
 
 E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks 
 
 That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, 
 
 And, having ranged and searched a thousand nooks, 
 
 Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
 
 Where in a greater current they conjoin : 
 
 So I my Best-Beloved's am ; so He is mine. 
 
 E'en so we met ; and after long pursuit, 
 E'en so we join'd ; we both became entire ; 
 No need for either to renew a suit, 
 For I was flax and he was flames of fire : 
 Our firm-united souls did more than twine ; 
 So I my Best-Beloved's am ; so He is mine. 
 
 If all those glittering Monarchs that command 
 The servile quarters of this earthly ball, 
 Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 
 I would not change my fortunes for them all : 
 Their wealth is but a counter to my coin ; 
 Th world 's but theirs ; but my Beloved 's mine. 
 
 Francis Quarles.
 
 HAUSTED 173 
 
 194 
 HAVE YOU A DESIRE 
 
 HAVE you a desire to see 
 
 The glorious Heaven's epitome ? 
 
 Or an abstract of the Spring? 
 
 Adonis' garden? or a Thing 
 
 Fuller of wonder ? Nature's shop displayed, 
 Hung with the choicest pieces she has made ? 
 Here behold it open laid. 
 
 Or else would you bless your eyes 
 With a type of Paradise ? 
 Or behold how poets feign 
 Jove to sit amidst his train ? 
 
 Or see (what made Actaeon rue) 
 
 Diana 'mongst her virgin crew ? 
 
 Lift up your eyes and view. 
 
 Peter Hausted. 
 
 195 
 EASTER 
 
 RISE, heart ; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise 
 
 Without delays, 
 
 Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise 
 
 With him may'st rise, 
 
 That, as his death calcined thee to dust, 
 
 His life may make thee gold, and much more just. 
 
 Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part 
 
 With all thy art. 
 
 The Cross taught all wood to resound his name, 
 
 Who bore the same. 
 
 His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key 
 
 Is best to celebrate this most high day. 
 
 Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song 
 
 Pleasant and long ; 
 
 Or, since all music is but three parts vied 
 
 And multiplied, 
 
 O, let thy blessed Spirit bear a part, 
 
 And make up our defects with his sweet art !
 
 174 HERBERT 
 
 I got me flowers to strew thy way, 
 
 I got me boughs off many a tree : 
 
 But thou wast up by break of day, 
 
 And brought'st thy sweets along with thee. 
 
 The Sun arising in the East, 
 
 Though he give light, and th' East perfume, 
 
 If they should offer to contest 
 
 With thy arising, they presume. 
 
 Can there be any day but this, 
 Though many suns to shine endeavour ? 
 We count three hundred, but we miss : 
 There is but one, and that one ever. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 196 
 THE QUIP 
 
 THE merry World did on a day 
 
 With his train-bands and mates agree 
 
 To meet together, where I lay, 
 And all in sport to jeer at me. 
 
 First, Beauty crept into a rose, 
 
 Which when I plucked not, ' Sir,' said she, 
 ' Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? ' 
 
 But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 
 
 Then Money came, and chinking still, 
 ' What tune is this, poor man ? ' said he : 
 
 ' I heard in Music you had skill. ' 
 But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 
 
 Then came brave Glory puffing by 
 In silks that whistled who but he ? 
 
 He scarce allowed me half an eye 
 But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 
 
 Then came quick Wit and Conversation, 
 And he would needs a comfort be, 
 
 And, to be short, make an oration 
 But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
 
 HERBERT 175 
 
 Yet when the hour of Thy design 
 To answer these fine things shall come, 
 
 Speak not at large, say, I am Thine, 
 And then they have their answer home. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 
 The bridal of the earth and sky : 
 The dew 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 : 
 My music shows ye have your closes, 
 And all must die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives, 
 But though the whole world turn to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 IpS 
 THE CALL 
 
 COME, my Way, my Truth, my Life : 
 Such a Way as gives us breath, 
 
 Such a Truth as ends all strife, 
 And such a Life as killeth death ! 
 
 Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength : 
 Such a Light as shows a feast, 
 
 Such a Feast as mends in length, 
 Such a Strength as makes his guest !
 
 I 7 6 HERRICK 
 
 Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart : 
 
 Such a Joy as none can move, 
 Such a Love as none can part, 
 
 Such a Heart as joys in love ! 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 199 
 CHERRY-RIPE 
 
 CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry ! 
 Full and fair ones ! Come and buy ! 
 If so be you ask me where 
 They do grow, I answer : ' There, 
 Where my Julia's lips do smile ; 
 There 's the land, or cherry-isle, 
 Whose plantations fully show 
 All the year where cherries grow. ' 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 2OO 
 TO HIS MISTRESS 
 
 CHOOSE me your valentine, 
 
 Next let us marry 
 Love to the death will pine 
 
 If we long tarry. 
 
 Promise, and keep your vows, 
 
 Or vow ye never : 
 Love's doctrine disallows 
 
 Troth-breakers ever. 
 
 You have broke promise twice, 
 
 Dear, to undo me ! 
 If you prove faithless thrice, 
 
 None then will woo ye. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 2O I 
 TO MYRRH A, HARD-HEARTED 
 
 FOLD now thine arms, and hang the head 
 Like to a lily withered ;
 
 HERRICK 177 
 
 Next look thou like a sickly moon, 
 Or like Jocasta in a swoon ; 
 Then weep, and sigh, and softly go 
 Like to a widow drown'd in woe, 
 Or like a virgin full of ruth 
 For the lost sweetheart of her youth : 
 And all because, fair maid, thou art 
 Insensible of all my smart, 
 And of those evil days that be 
 Now posting on to punish thee ! 
 The gods are easy, and condemn 
 All such as are not soft like them. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 202 
 TO DI ANEME 
 
 SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes 
 Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies ; 
 Nor be you proud that you can see 
 All hearts your captives, yours yet free ; 
 Be you not proud of that rich hair 
 Which wantons with the love-sick air : 
 Whenas that ruby, which you wear 
 Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
 Will last to be a precious stone 
 When all your world of beauty 's gone. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 203 
 TO CORINNA GOING A-MAYING 
 
 GET up, get up for shame ! The blooming Morn 
 Upon her wings presents the God unshorn. 
 See how Aurora throws her fair, 
 Fresh-quilted colours through th\e air : 
 Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
 The dew bespangle herb and tree ! 
 Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east 
 Above an hour since : yet you not dress'd ? 
 Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? 
 When all the birds have matins said 
 M
 
 178 HERRICK 
 
 And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, 
 
 Nay I profanation to keep in, 
 Whereas a thousand virgins on this day 
 Spring sooner than the lark to fetch in May. 
 
 Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen 
 
 To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green 
 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 
 For jewels for your gown or hair : 
 
 Fear not ; the leaves will strew 
 
 Gems in abundance upon you : 
 Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 
 Against you come, some orient pearls unwept ! 
 
 Come and receive them while the light 
 
 Hangs on the dew-locks of the Night : 
 
 And Titan on the eastern hill 
 
 Retires himself, or else stands still. 
 
 You come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying 
 Few beads are best when once we go a- Maying. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come ; and, coming, mark 
 How each field turns a street, each street a park 
 Made green and trimm'd with trees ; see how 
 Devotion gives each house a bough 
 Or branch : each porch, each door ere this 
 An ark, a tabernacle is, 
 Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, 
 As if here were those cooler shades of love ! 
 Can such delights be in the street 
 And open fields, and we not see 't ? 
 Come, we '11 abroad ; and let's obey 
 The proclamation made for May, 
 And sin no more, as we have done, by staying, 
 But, my Corinna, come, let's go a- Maying ! 
 
 There 's not a budding boy or girl this day 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
 
 A deal of youth ere this is come 
 
 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
 
 Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream 
 
 Before that we have left to dream : 
 And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
 And chose their priest ere we can cast off sloth : 
 
 Many a green-gown has been given, 
 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even ! 
 
 Many a glance, too, has been sent 
 
 From out the eye, love's firmament !
 
 HERRICK 179 
 
 Many a jest told of the keys' betraying 
 
 This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying ! 
 
 Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, 
 And take the harmless folly of the time. 
 
 We shall grow old apace, and die 
 
 Before we know our liberty. 
 
 Our life is short, and our days run 
 
 As fast away as does the sun. 
 And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, 
 Once lost, can ne'er be found again, 
 
 So when or you or I are made 
 
 A fable, song, or fleeting shade, 
 
 All love, all liking, all delight 
 
 Lies drowned with us in endless night. 
 Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
 Come, my Corinna, come, let 's go a-Maying. 
 
 Robert Her rick. 
 
 204 
 
 Now is the time for mirth, 
 
 Nor cheek or tongue be dumb ; 
 
 For, with the flowery earth, 
 The golden pomp is come. 
 
 The golden pomp is come ; 
 
 For now each tree does wear, 
 Made of her pap and gum, 
 
 Rich beads of amber here. 
 
 Now rains the rose, and now 
 The Arabian dew besmears 
 
 My uncontrolled brow 
 And my retorted hairs. 
 
 Homer, this health to thee, 
 
 In sack of such a kind 
 That it would make thee see 
 
 Though thou wert ne'er so blind !
 
 180 HERRICK 
 
 Next, Virgil I '11 call forth 
 To pledge this second health 
 
 In wine, whose each cup 's worth 
 An Indian commonwealth. 
 
 A goblet next I '11 drink 
 
 To Ovid, and suppose, 
 Made he the pledge, he 'd think 
 
 The world had all one nose. 
 
 Then this immensive cup 
 
 Of aromatic wine, 
 Catullus, I quaff up 
 
 To that terse muse of thine ! 
 
 Wild I am now with heat : 
 
 O Bacchus, cool thy rays, 
 Or, frantic, I shall eat 
 
 Thy thyrse, and bite the bays ! 
 
 Round, round the roof does run, 
 
 And, being ravish'd thus, 
 Come, I will drink a tun 
 
 To my Propertius. 
 
 Now, to Tibullus, next, 
 
 This flood I drink to thee ! 
 But stay, I see a text 
 
 That this presents to me : 
 
 ' Behold, Tibullus lies 
 
 Here burnt, whose small return 
 
 Of ashes scarce suffice 
 To fill a little urn.' 
 
 Trust to good verses then : 
 
 They only will aspire 
 When pyramids, as men, 
 
 Are lost i' the funeral fire ; 
 
 And when all bodies meet 
 
 In Lethe to be drown'd, 
 Then only numbers sweet 
 
 With endless life are crown'd. 
 
 Robert Herrick.
 
 HERRICK 181 
 
 2O5 
 TO VIOLETS 
 
 WELCOME, maids-of-honour ! 
 
 You do bring 
 
 In the Spring, 
 And wait upon her. 
 
 She has virgins many, 
 
 Fresh and fair ; 
 
 Yet you are 
 More sweet than any. 
 
 You 're the maiden posies, 
 
 And so grac'd 
 
 To be plac'd 
 'Fore damask roses. 
 
 Yet, though thus respected, 
 
 By-and-by 
 
 Ye do lie, 
 Poor girls, neglected ! 
 
 Robert Herrick, 
 
 206 
 
 TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH 
 OF TIME 
 
 GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may : 
 
 Old Time is still a-flying, 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day 
 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 
 
 The higher he 's a-getting, 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he 's to setting. 
 
 That age is best which is the first, 
 When youth and blood are warmer ; 
 
 But, being spent, the worse, and worst 
 Times still succeed the former.
 
 182 HERRICK 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time, 
 
 And while ye may, go marry : 
 For, having lost but once your prime, 
 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 207 
 A MEDITATION FOR HIS MISTRESS 
 
 You are a tulip seen to-day : 
 
 But, dearest, of so short a stay 
 
 That where you grew scarce man can say. 
 
 You are a lovely July-flower : 
 
 Yet one rude wind or ruffling shower 
 
 Will force you hence, and in an hour. 
 
 You are a sparkling rose i' th' bud : 
 Yet lost ere that chaste flesh and blood 
 Can show where you or grew or stood. 
 
 You are a full-spread, fair-set vine, 
 And can with tendrils love entwine, 
 Yet dried ere you distil your wine. 
 
 You are like balm enclosed well 
 In amber, or some crystal shell, 
 Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell. 
 
 You are a dainty violet, 
 
 Yet wither'd ere you can be set 
 
 Within the virgin's coronet. 
 
 You are the queen all flowers among : 
 But die you must, fair maid, ere long, 
 As he, the maker of this song. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 208 
 TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER 
 
 CHARM me asleep and melt me so 
 With thy delicious numbers, 
 
 That, being ravished, hence I go 
 Away in easy slumbers.
 
 HERRICK 183 
 
 Ease my sick head 
 And make my bed, 
 Thou Power that canst sever 
 From me this ill, 
 And quickly still, 
 Though thou not kill 
 My fever. 
 
 Thou sweetly canst convert the same 
 
 From a consuming fire 
 Into a gentle-licking flame, 
 And make it thus expire. 
 Then make me weep 
 My pains asleep, 
 And give me such reposes 
 That I, poor I, 
 May think thereby 
 I live and die 
 
 'Mongst roses. 
 
 Fall on me like a silent dew, 
 
 Or like those maiden showers 
 Which, by the peep of day, do strew 
 A baptism o'er the flowers ! 
 Melt, melt my pains 
 With thy soft strains, 
 That, having ease me given, 
 With full delight 
 I leave this light, 
 And take my flight 
 For heaven ! 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 209 
 TO THE ROSE: A SONG 
 
 Go, happy Rose, and, interwove 
 With other flowers, bind my love. 
 Tell her, too, she must not be 
 Longer flowing, longer free, 
 That so oft has fetter'd me. 
 
 Say, if she 's fretful, I have bands 
 Of pearl and gold to bind her hands. 
 Tell her, if she struggle still, 
 I have myrtle rods (at will) 
 For to tame, though not to kill.
 
 i8 4 HERRICK 
 
 Take thou my blessing thus, and go 
 And tell her this but do not so : 
 Lest a handsome anger fly 
 Like a lightning from her eye, 
 And burn thee up as well as I ! 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 2IO 
 
 TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING 
 DEW 
 
 WHY do ye weep, sweet babes ? can tears 
 Speak grief in you, 
 Who were but born 
 Just as the modest morn 
 Teem'd her refreshing dew ? 
 Alas ! you have not known that shower 
 That mars a flower ; 
 Nor felt th' unkind 
 Breath of a blasting wind ; 
 Nor are ye worn with years, 
 
 Or wrapp'd as we, 
 Who think it strange to see 
 Such pretty flowers, such like to orphans young, 
 To speak by tears before ye have a tongue. 
 
 Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known 
 The reason why 
 Ye droop and weep. 
 Is it for want of sleep 
 Or childish lullaby ? 
 Or that ye have not seen as yet 
 The violet ? 
 Or brought a kiss 
 From that sweetheart to this ? 
 No, no, this sorrow shown 
 
 By your tears shed 
 Would have this lecture read : 
 That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, 
 Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 
 
 Robert Herrick.
 
 HERRICK 185 
 
 211 
 TO THE WILLOW TREE 
 
 THOU art to all lost love the best, 
 
 The only true plant found, 
 Wherewith young men and maids, distress'd 
 
 And left of love, are crown'd. 
 
 When once the lover's rose is dead 
 
 Or laid aside forlorn, 
 Then willow-garlands 'bout the head 
 
 Bedew'd with tears are worn. 
 
 When with neglect, the lovers' bane, 
 
 Poor maids rewarded be, 
 For their love lost, their only gain 
 
 Is but a wreath from thee. 
 
 And underneath thy cooling shade, 
 
 When weary of the light, 
 The love-spent youth and love-sick maid 
 
 Come to weep out the night. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 212 
 
 TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM 
 ANYTHING 
 
 BID me to live, and I will live 
 
 Thy Protestant to be ; 
 Or bid me love, and I will give 
 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find, 
 
 That heart I '11 give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay 
 
 To honour thy decree ; 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And 't shall do so for thee.
 
 186 HERRICK' 
 
 Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see ; 
 And, having none, yet I will keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and I '11 despair 
 
 Under that cypress-tree ; 
 Or bid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en death to die for thee. 
 
 Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me, 
 And hast command of every part 
 
 To live and die for Ihee. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 213 
 
 TO MEADOWS 
 
 YE have been fresh and green, 
 Ye have been fill'd with flowers, 
 
 And ye the walks have been 
 Where maids have spent their hours. 
 
 You have beheld how they 
 
 With wicker arks did come 
 To kiss and bear away 
 
 The richer cowslips home. 
 
 You 've heard them sweetly sing, 
 
 And seen them in a round : 
 Each virgin like a spring, 
 
 With honeysuckles crown'd. 
 
 But now we see none here 
 
 Whose silvery feet did tread, 
 And with dishevell'd hair 
 
 Adorn'd this smoother mead. 
 
 Like unthrifts, having spent 
 
 Your stock and needy grown, 
 Y' are left here to lament 
 
 Your poor estates, alone. 
 
 Robert Herrick.
 
 HER RICK 187 
 
 214 
 TO DAFFODILS 
 
 FAIR daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon : 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not attain'd his noon. 
 
 Stay, stay, 
 Until the hasting day 
 
 Has run 
 
 But to the evensong, 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 We have short time to stay as you, 
 
 We have as short a spring, 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you, or anything. 
 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away, 
 
 Like to the summer's rain, 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 GoOD-morrow to the day so fair, 
 
 Good-morning, sir, to you ; 
 Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, 
 
 Bedabbled with the dew. 
 
 Good-morning to this primrose too, 
 
 Good-morrow to each maid 
 That will with flowers the tomb bestrew 
 
 Wherein my love is laid. 
 
 Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me ! 
 
 Alack and well-a-day ! 
 For pity, sir, find out that bee 
 
 Which bore my love away.
 
 188 HERRICK 
 
 I '11 seek him in your bonnet brave, 
 
 I '11 seek him in your eyes ; 
 Nay, now I think they 've made his grave 
 
 I" th' bed of strawberries. 
 
 I '11 seek him there : I know ere this 
 The cold, cold earth doth shake him, 
 
 But I will go, or send a kiss 
 By you, sir, to awake him. 
 
 Pray, hurt him not though he be dead ! 
 
 He knows well who do love him, 
 And who with green turfs rear his head, 
 
 And who do rudely move him. 
 
 He 's soft and tender (pray take heed !). 
 
 With bands of cowslips bind him, 
 And bring him home ! But 'tis decreed 
 
 That I shall never find him. 
 
 Robert Htrriek. 
 
 2l6 
 TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON 
 
 SHUT not so soon : the dull-ey'd night 
 
 Has not as yet begun 
 To make a seizure on the light, 
 
 Or to seal up the sun. 
 
 No marigolds yet closed are, 
 
 No shadows great appear, 
 Nor doth the early shepherd's star 
 
 Shine like a spangle here. 
 
 O, stay but till my Julia close 
 
 Her life-begetting eye, 
 And let the whole world then dispose 
 
 Itself to live or die ! 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 WHAT conscience, say, is it in thee, 
 When I a heart had one, 
 
 To take away that heart from me, 
 And to retain thy own ?
 
 HERRIC.K 189 
 
 For shame or pity now incline 
 
 To play a loving part : 
 Either to send me kindly thine, 
 
 Or give me back my heart. 
 
 Covet not both ; but if thou dost 
 
 Resolve to part with neither, 
 Why ! yet to show that thou art just, 
 
 Take me and mine together. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 218 
 
 TO THE WATER NYMPHS DRINKING 
 AT THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 REACH, with your whiter hands, to me 
 
 Some crystal of the spring, 
 And I about the cup shall see 
 
 Fresh lilies flourishing. 
 
 Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this : 
 
 To the glass your lips incline, 
 And I shall see by that one kiss 
 
 The water turn'd to wine. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 219 
 THE PRIMROSE 
 
 ASK me why I send you here 
 
 This sweet Infanta of the year ? 
 
 Ask me why I send to you 
 
 This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew ? 
 
 I will whisper to your ears : 
 
 The sweets of love are mix'd with tears. 
 
 Ask me why this flower does show 
 So yellow-green, and sickly too ? 
 Ask me why the stalk is weak 
 And bending (yet it doth not break) ? 
 I will answer : These discover 
 What fainting hopes are in a lover. 
 
 Robert Herrick.
 
 igo HERRICK 
 
 22O 
 THE NIGHT PIECE: TO JULIA 
 
 HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The shooting stars attend thee, 
 
 And the elves also, 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee ! 
 
 No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee, 
 Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 
 
 But on, on thy way 
 
 Not making a stay, 
 Since ghost there 's none to affright thee ! 
 
 Let not the dark thee cumber : 
 What though the moon does slumber ? 
 
 The stars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light, 
 Like tapers clear without number. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
 Thus, thus to come unto me ! 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silv'ry feet, 
 My soul I '11 pour into thee. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 221 
 
 TO ELECTR A 
 
 I DARE not ask a kiss, 
 
 I dare not beg a smile, 
 Lest, having that or this, 
 
 I might grow proud the while. 
 
 No, no, the utmost share 
 
 Of my desire shall be 
 Only to kiss that air 
 
 That lately kissed thee. 
 
 Robert Herrick.
 
 SHIRLEY 191 
 
 222 
 A HYMN 
 
 O, FLY, my soul ! What hangs upon 
 
 Thy drooping wings, 
 
 And weighs them down 
 
 With love of gaudy mortal things? 
 
 The Sun is now i' the east : each shade, 
 
 As he doth rise, 
 
 Is shorter made, 
 
 That earth may lessen to our eyes. 
 
 O, be not careless then and play 
 Until the star of peace 
 Hide all his beams in dark recess ! 
 Poor pilgrims needs must lose their way, 
 When all the shadows do increase. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 223 
 
 EARTH'S VICTORIES 
 
 THE glories of our blood and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
 There is no armour against Fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
 Sceptre and crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield 
 They tame but one another still : 
 Early or late, 
 They stoop to fate, 
 
 And must give up their murmuring breath, 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow, 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds ! 
 
 Upon Death's purple altar now, 
 See where the victor-victim bleeds !
 
 192 WEBSTER 
 
 Your heads must come 
 
 To the cold tomb ; 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 224 
 DIRGE 
 
 HARK ! now everything is still, 
 
 The screech-owl and the whistler shrill 
 
 Call upon our dame aloud, 
 
 And bid her quickly don her shroud. 
 
 Much you had of land and rent ; 
 
 Your length in clay 's now competent. 
 
 A long war disturbed your mind ; 
 
 Here your perfect peace is signed. 
 
 Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping ? 
 
 Sin their conception, their birth weeping, 
 
 Their life a general mist of error, 
 
 Their death a hideous storm of terror ! 
 
 Strew your hair with powders sweet, 
 
 Don clean linen, bathe your feet, 
 
 And (the foul fiend more to check) 
 
 A crucifix let bless your neck : 
 
 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; 
 
 End your groan, and come away. 
 
 John Webster. 
 
 225 
 
 OF TIME 
 
 TIME is the feathered thing, 
 
 And, whilst I praise 
 
 The sparklings of thy looks and call them rays, 
 
 Takes wing, 
 
 Leaving behind him as he flies 
 
 An unperceived dimness in thine eyes. 
 
 His minutes, whilst they are told, 
 
 Do make us old ; 
 
 And every sand of his fleet glass, 
 
 Increasing age as it doth pass, 
 
 Insensibly sows wrinkles there 
 
 Where flowers and roses do appear.
 
 MAYNE 193 
 
 Whilst we do speak, our fire 
 
 Doth into ice expire, 
 
 Flames turn to frost ; 
 
 And, ere we can 
 
 Know how our crow turns swan, 
 
 Or how a silver snow 
 
 Springs there where jet did grow, 
 
 Our fading spring is in dull winter lost' ! 
 
 Since then the Night hath hurled 
 
 Darkness, love's shade, 
 
 Over its enemy, the Day, and made 
 
 The world 
 
 Just such a blind and shapeless thing 
 
 As 'twas before light did from darkness spring, 
 
 Let us employ its treasure 
 
 And make shade pleasure : 
 
 Let 's number out the hours by blisses, 
 
 And count the minutes by our kisses ; 
 
 Let the heavens new motions feel 
 
 And by our embraces wheel ; 
 
 And whilst we try the way 
 
 By which Love doth convey 
 
 Soul into soul, 
 
 And, mingling, so 
 
 Makes them such raptures know 
 
 As makes them entranced lie 
 
 In mutual ecstasy, 
 
 Let the harmonious spheres in music roll ! 
 
 Jasper Mayne. 
 
 226 
 THE LARK NOW LEAVES 
 
 THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, 
 And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings. 
 He takes this window for the east, 
 And to implore your light, he sings : 
 ' Awake, awake ! the morn will never rise, 
 Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.' 
 
 The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, 
 The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; 
 But still the lover wonders what they are, 
 Who look for day before his mistress wakes. 
 
 N
 
 194 DAVENANT 
 
 Awake, awake ! break thro' your veils of lawn ! 
 Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn. 
 
 William Davenant. 
 
 227 
 THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE WARS 
 
 PRESERVE thy sighs, unthrifty girl, 
 
 To purify the air ! 
 Thy tears to thread, instead of pearl, 
 
 On bracelets of thy hair ! 
 
 The trumpet makes the echo hoarse, 
 And wakes the louder drum ; 
 
 Expense of grief gains no remorse, 
 When sorrow should be dumb. 
 
 For I must go where lazy Peace 
 
 Will hide her drowsy head, 
 And, for the sport of kings, increase 
 
 The number of the dead. 
 
 But first I'll chide thy cruel theft ! 
 
 Can I in war delight, 
 Who, being of my heart bereft, 
 
 Can have no heart to fight ? 
 
 Thou know'st the sacred laws of old 
 
 Ordain'd a thief should pay, 
 To quit him of his theft, sevenfold 
 
 What he had stolen away ? 
 
 Thy payment shall but double be : 
 
 O, then with speed resign 
 My own seduced heart to me, 
 
 Accompanied with thine. 
 
 William Davenant. 
 
 228 
 WAKE, ALL THE DEAD 
 
 WAKE, all the dead ! What ho ! what ho ! 
 How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low ! 
 They mind not poor lovers, who walk above 
 On the decks of the world in storms of love.
 
 HABINGTON 195 
 
 No whisper now nor glance shall pass 
 Through wickets or through panes of glass, 
 For our windows and doors are shut and barred. 
 Lie close in the church, and in the churchyard ! 
 In every grave make room, make room ! 
 The world 's at an end, and we come, we come ! 
 
 The State is now Love's foe, Love's foe : 
 'T has seized on his arms, his quiver and bow, 
 Has pinioned his wings, and fettered his feet, 
 Because he made way for lovers to meet. 
 But, O sad chance, his judge was old ! 
 Hearts cruel grow, when blood grows cold. 
 No man being young his process would draw. 
 O heavens, that love should be subject to law ! 
 Lovers go woo the dead, the dead ! 
 Lie two in a grave, and to bed, to bed ! 
 
 William Davenant. 
 
 229 
 TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA 
 
 YE blushing virgins happy are 
 In the chaste nunn'ry of her breasts, 
 For he 'd profane so chaste a fair, 
 Who ere should call them Cupid's nests. 
 
 Transplanted thus how bright ye grow ! 
 How rich a perfume do ye yield ! 
 In some close garden, cowslips so 
 Are sweeter than i 'th' open field. 
 
 In those white cloisters live secure 
 From the rude blasts of wanton breath, 
 Each hour more innocent and pure, 
 Till you shall wither into death. 
 
 Then that which living gave you room, 
 Your glorious sepulchre shall be. 
 There wants no marble for a tomb, 
 Whose breast hath marble been to me. 
 
 William Habington.
 
 196 WALLER 
 
 230 
 GO, LOVELY ROSE 
 
 Go, lovely Rose 
 Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 
 
 That now she knows, 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her, that 's young 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That, hadst thou sprung 
 In deserts where no men abide, 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired : 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 
 May read in thee : 
 How small a part of time they share 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
 231 
 ON A GIRDLE 
 
 THAT which her slender waist confined 
 Shall now my joyful temples bind : 
 No monarch but would give his crown 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
 The pale which held that lovely deer : 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
 Did all within this circle move. 
 
 A narrow compass ! And yet there 
 Dwelt all that s good, and all that 's fair ! 
 Give me but what this ribband bound, 
 Take all the rest the Sun goes round. 
 
 Edmund Waller.
 
 SUCKLING 197 
 
 232 
 THE ART OF LOVE 
 
 HONEST lover whosoever, 
 
 If in all thy love there ever 
 
 Was one wav'ring thought, if thy flame 
 
 Were not still ever, still the same : 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss ; 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If when she appears i' th' room, 
 
 Thou dost not quake, and art struck dumb, 
 
 And in striving this to cover 
 
 Dost not speak thy words twice over : 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss ; 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If fondly thou dost not mistake, 
 And all defects for graces take ; 
 Persuad'st thy self that jests are broken, 
 When she hath little or nothing spoken : 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss ; 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If when thou appear'st to be within, 
 Thou lett'st not men ask and ask again ; 
 And when thou answer'st, if it be 
 To what was ask'd thee properly : 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss ; 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 If when thy stomach calls to eat, 
 Thou cutt'st not fingers 'stead of meat, 
 And with much gazing on her face 
 Dost not rise hungry from the place : 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss ; 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew.
 
 SUCKLING 
 
 If by this thou dost discover 
 That thou art no perfect lover, 
 And desiring to love true, 
 Thou dost begin to love anew : 
 
 Know this, 
 Thou lov'st amiss ; 
 And to love true, 
 Thou must begin again, and love anew. 
 
 John Suckling. 
 
 233 
 OUT UPON IT! I HAVE LOVED 
 
 OUT upon it ! I have loved 
 
 Three whole days together, 
 And am like to love three more, 
 
 If it prove fair weather ! 
 
 Time shall moult away his wings, 
 
 Ere he shall discover 
 In the whole wide world again 
 
 Such a constant lover. 
 
 But the spite on 't is, no praise 
 
 Is due at all to me : 
 Love with me had made no stays, 
 
 Had it any been but she. 
 
 Had it any been but she, 
 
 And that very face, 
 There had been at least e'er this 
 
 A dozen dozen in her place ! 
 
 John Suckling. 
 
 234 
 I PRITHEE, SEND ME BACK MY HEART 
 
 I PRITHEE, send me back my heart, 
 
 Since I cannot have thine : 
 For if from yours you will not part, 
 
 Why then shouldst thou have mine ?
 
 SUCKLING 199 
 
 Yet now I think on 't let it lie ! 
 
 To find it were in vain : 
 For thou 'st a thief in either eye 
 
 Would steal it back again. 
 
 Why should two hearts in one breast lie, 
 
 And yet not lodge together ? 
 O Love, where is thy sympathy, 
 
 If thus our breasts thou sever ? 
 
 But love is such a mystery 
 
 I cannot find it out ; 
 For when I think I 'm best resolved, 
 
 I then am in most doubt. 
 
 Then farewell care, and farewell woe! 
 
 I will no longer pine : 
 For I '11 believe I have her heart, 
 
 As much as she has mine. 
 
 John Suckling. 
 
 235 
 WHEN, DEAREST, I BUT THINK OF THEE 
 
 WHEN, dearest, I but think of thee, 
 Methinks all things that lovely be 
 
 Are present, and my soul delighted ; 
 For beauties that from worth arise 
 Are like the grace of deities, 
 
 Still present with us, tho' unsighted. 
 
 Thus, whilst I sit, and sigh the day 
 With all his borrow'd lights away, 
 
 Till night's black wings do overtake me, 
 Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, 
 As sudden lights do sleepy men, 
 
 So they by their bright rays awake me. 
 
 Thus absence dies, and dying proves 
 No absence can subsist with loves 
 
 That do partake of fair perfection : 
 Since in the darkest night they may, 
 By love's quick motion, find a way 
 
 To see each other by reflection.
 
 MILTON 
 
 The waving sea can with each flood 
 Bathe some high promont, that has stood 
 
 Far from the main up in the river : 
 O, think not then but love can do 
 As much, for that 's an ocean too, 
 
 Which flows, not every day but, ever ! 
 
 John Suckling. 
 
 236 
 
 HYMN ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S 
 NATIVITY 
 
 IT was the winter wild, 
 While the heaven-born child 
 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 
 Nature, in awe to him, 
 Had doffed her gaudy trim, 
 With her great Master so to sympathise : 
 It was no season then for her 
 To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour. 
 
 Only with speeches fair 
 She woos the gentle air 
 To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, 
 And on her naked shame, 
 Pollute with sinful blame, 
 The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; 
 Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 
 Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 
 
 But He, her fears to cease, 
 Sent down the meek-eyed Peace : 
 She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding 
 Down through the turning sphere, 
 His ready harbinger, 
 
 With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; 
 And, waving wide her myrtle wand, 
 She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 
 
 No war, or battle's sound, 
 
 Was heard the world around ; 
 The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; 
 
 The hooked chariot stood 
 
 Unstained with hostile blood ; 
 The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ;
 
 MILTON 201 
 
 And kings sat still with awful eye, 
 
 As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 
 
 But peaceful was the night 
 Wherein the Prince of Light 
 His reign of peace upon the earth began. 
 The winds, with wonder whist, 
 Smoothly the waters kissed, 
 Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean, 
 Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 
 While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 
 
 The stars, with deep amaze, 
 Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, 
 Bending one way their precious influence, 
 And will not take their flight 
 For all the morning light, 
 Or Lucifer that often warned them thence ; 
 But in their glimmering orbs did glow, 
 Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. 
 
 And, though the shady Gloom 
 Had given Day her room, 
 The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed, 
 And hid his head for shame, 
 As his inferior flame 
 
 The new-enlightened world no more should need : 
 He saw a greater Sun appear 
 Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. 
 
 The shepherds on the lawn, 
 Or ere the point of dawn, 
 Sat simply chatting in a rustic row : 
 Full little thought they than 
 That the mighty Pan 
 
 Was kindly come to live with them below : 
 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 
 Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. 
 
 When such music sweet 
 Their hearts and ears did greet 
 As never was by mortal finger strook, 
 Divinely-warbled voice 
 Answering the stringed noise, 
 As all their souls in blissful rapture took : 
 The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 
 With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.
 
 202 MILTON 
 
 Nature, that heard such sound 
 Beneath the hollow round 
 Of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling, 
 Now was almost won 
 To think her part was done, 
 And that her reign had here its last fulfilling : 
 She knew such harmony alone 
 Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 
 
 At last surrounds their sight 
 A globe of circular light, 
 
 That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed 
 The helmed Cherubim 
 And sworded Seraphim 
 
 Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, 
 Harping in loud and solemn quire, 
 With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. 
 
 Such music (as 'tis said) 
 Before was never made 
 But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 
 While the Creator great 
 His constellations set, 
 
 And the well-balanced World on hinges hung, 
 And cast the dark foundations deep, 
 And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 
 
 Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 
 Once bless our human ears, 
 If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 
 And let your silver chime 
 Move in melodious time ; 
 And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ; 
 And with your ninefold harmony 
 Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 
 
 For, if such holy song 
 Enwrap our fancy long, 
 
 Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold ; 
 And speckled Vanity 
 Will sicken soon and die ; 
 And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould ; 
 And Hell itself will pass away, 
 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 
 
 Yea, Truth and Justice then 
 Will down return to men, 
 Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing,
 
 MILTON 203 
 
 Mercy will sit between, 
 
 Throned in celestial sheen, 
 
 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; 
 And Heaven, as at some festival, 
 Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. 
 
 But wisest Fate says : No, 
 This must not yet be so ; 
 The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy 
 That on the bitter cross 
 Must redeem our loss, 
 So both himself and us to glorify : 
 Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, 
 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep, 
 
 With such a horrid clang 
 As on Mount Sinai rang, 
 
 While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 
 The aged Earth, aghast, 
 With terror of that blast, 
 Shall from the surface to the centre shake, 
 When, at the world's last session, 
 The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. 
 
 And then at last our bliss 
 Full and perfect is, 
 
 But now begins ; for from this happy day 
 The Old Dragon under ground, 
 In straiter limits bound, 
 Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 
 And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
 Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 
 
 The Oracles are dumb ; 
 No voice or hideous hum 
 
 Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 
 Apollo from his shrine 
 Can no more divine, 
 
 With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. 
 No nightly trance, or breathed spell, 
 Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 
 
 The lonely mountains o'er, 
 
 And the resounding shore, 
 A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; 
 
 From haunted spring, and dale 
 
 Edged with poplar pale, 
 The parting Genius is with sighing sent ;
 
 204 MILTON 
 
 With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
 
 The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 
 
 In consecrated earth, 
 And on the holy hearth, 
 
 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; 
 In urns, and altars round, 
 A drear and dying sound 
 Affrights the flamens at their service quaint ; 
 And the chill marble seems to sweat, 
 While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat. 
 
 Peor and Baalim 
 Forsake their temples dim, 
 With that twice-battered God of Palestine ; 
 And mooned Ashtaroth, 
 Heaven's queen and mother both, 
 Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
 The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn ; 
 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 
 
 And sullen Moloch, fled, 
 Hath left in shadows dread 
 His burning idol all of blackest hue : 
 In vain with cymbal's ring 
 They call the grisly king, 
 In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
 The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 
 Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 
 
 Nor is Osiris seen 
 In Memphian grove or green, 
 
 Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud : 
 Nor can he be at rest 
 Within his sacred chest ; 
 
 Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud ; 
 In vain, with limbrelled anthems dark, 
 The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. 
 
 He feels from Juda's land 
 The dreaded Infant's hand ; 
 The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eye ; 
 Nor all the gods beside 
 Longer dare abide, 
 
 Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
 Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, 
 Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.
 
 MILTON 
 
 205 
 
 So, when the sun in bed, 
 Curtained with cloudy red, 
 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
 The flocking shadows pale 
 Troop to the infernal jail, 
 Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, 
 And the yellow-skirted fays 
 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. 
 
 But see ! the Virgin blest 
 Hath laid her Babe to rest. 
 
 Time is our tedious song should here have ending : 
 Heaven's youngest-teemed star 
 Hath fixed her polished car, 
 
 Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending ; 
 And all about the courtly stable 
 Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 237 
 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC 
 
 BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
 
 Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, 
 
 Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ, 
 
 Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce : 
 
 And to our high-raised phantasy present 
 
 That undisturbed song of pure concent 
 
 Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne 
 
 To Him that sits thereon, 
 
 With saintly shout and solemn jubilee : 
 
 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
 
 Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, 
 
 And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
 
 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
 
 With those just Spirits, that wear victorious palms, 
 
 Hymns devout and holy psalms 
 
 Singing everlastingly : 
 
 That we on Earth, with undiscording voice, 
 
 May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
 
 As once we did, till disproportioned sin 
 
 Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
 
 Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
 
 To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed 
 
 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
 
 In first obedience, and their state of good.
 
 206 MILTON 
 
 O, may we soon again renew that song, 
 
 And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
 
 To His celestial consort us unite, 
 
 To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 238 
 
 ON TIME 
 
 FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race : 
 Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, 
 Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace : 
 And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, 
 Which is no more than what is false and vain, 
 And merely mortal dross ; 
 So little is our loss, 
 So little is thy gain ! 
 
 For, when as each thing bad thou hast entombed, 
 And, last of all, thy greedy self consumed, 
 Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss 
 With an individual kiss, 
 And joy shall overtake us as a flood ; 
 When every thing that is sincerely good 
 And perfectly divine, 
 
 With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine 
 About the supreme throne 
 Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone 
 When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb, 
 Then, all this earthly grossness quit, 
 Attired with stars we shall for ever sit, 
 Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time ! 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 239 
 THE SONG OF COMUS 
 
 THE star that bids the shepherd fold 
 
 Now the top of heaven doth hold, 
 
 And the gilded car of day 
 
 His glowing axle doth allay 
 
 In the steep Atlantic stream, 
 
 And the slope sun his upward beam 
 
 Shoots against the dusky pole,
 
 MILTON 207 
 
 Pacing toward the other goal 
 
 Of his chamber in the east. 
 
 Meanwhile welcome joy and feast, 
 
 Midnight shout and revelry, 
 
 Tipsy dance and jollity ! 
 
 Braid your locks with rosy twine, 
 
 Dropping odours, dropping wine ! 
 
 Rigour now has gone to bed ; 
 
 And Advice with scrupulous head, 
 
 Strict Age, and sour Severity, 
 
 With their grave saws, in slumber lie. 
 
 We, that are of purer fire, 
 
 Imitate the starry quire, 
 
 Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, 
 
 Lead in swift round the months and years. 
 
 The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, 
 
 Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; 
 
 And, on the tawny sands and shelves, 
 
 Trip the pert faeries and the dapper elves. 
 
 By dimpled brook and fountain-brim 
 
 The wood nymphs, decked with daisies trim, 
 
 Their merry wakes and pastimes keep 
 
 What hath night to do with sleep ? 
 
 Night hath better sweets to prove : 
 
 Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 
 
 Come, let us our rites begin 
 
 'Tis only daylight that makes sin 
 
 Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 
 
 Hail, Goddess of nocturnal sport, 
 Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame 
 Of midnight torches burns ! Mysterious dame, 
 That ne'er art called but when the dragon-womb 
 Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, 
 And makes one blot of all the air, 
 Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, 
 Wherein thou ridest with Hecate, and befriend 
 Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end 
 Of all thy dues be done, and none left out : 
 Ere the blabbing eastern scout, 
 The nice Morn, on the Indian steep, 
 From her cabined loophole peep, 
 And to the tell-tale Sun descry 
 Our concealed solemnity ! 
 Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 
 In a light fantastic round ! 
 
 John Milton.
 
 208 MILTON 
 
 240 
 THE INVOCATION TO SABRINA 
 
 SABRINA fair, 
 
 Listen, where thou art sitting 
 
 Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, 
 
 In twisted braid of lilies knitting 
 
 The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair ! 
 
 Listen for dear honour's sake, 
 
 Goddess of the silver lake, 
 
 Listen, and save ! 
 
 Listen and appear to us, 
 
 In name of great Oceanus ; 
 
 By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace, 
 
 And Tethys' grave majestic pace ; 
 
 By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look, 
 
 And the Carpathian wizard's hook ; 
 
 By scaly Triton's winding shell, 
 
 And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell ; 
 
 By Leucothea's lovely hands, 
 
 And her son that rules the strands : 
 
 By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 
 
 And the songs of Sirens sweet ; 
 
 By dead Parthenope's dear tomb, 
 
 And fair Ligeia's golden comb, 
 
 Wherewith she sits on diamond-rocks, 
 
 Sleeking her soft alluring locks ; 
 
 By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
 
 Upon thy streams with wily glance : 
 
 Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
 
 From thy coral-paven bed, 
 
 And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
 
 Till thou our summons answered have ! 
 
 Listen, and save ! 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 241 
 THE SPIRIT EPILOGUISES 
 
 To the ocean now I fly, 
 And those happy climes that lie 
 "Where day never shuts his eye, 
 Up in the broad fields of the sky !
 
 MILTON 209 
 
 There I suck the liquid air, 
 
 All amidst the gardens fair 
 
 Of Hesperus, and his daughters three 
 
 That sing about the golden tree. 
 
 Along the crisped shades and bowers 
 
 Revels the spruce and jocund Spring ; 
 
 The Graces, and the rosy-bosomed Hours, 
 
 Thither all their bounties bring. 
 
 There eternal summer dwells, 
 
 And west-winds with musky wing 
 
 About the cedarn alleys fling 
 
 Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
 
 Iris there with humid bow 
 
 Waters the odorous banks, that blow 
 
 Flowers of more mingled hue 
 
 Than her purfled scarf can show, 
 
 And drenches with Elysian dew 
 
 List, mortals, if your ears be true ! 
 
 Beds of hyacinth and roses, 
 
 Where young Adonis oft reposes, 
 
 Waxing well of his deep wound, 
 
 In slumber soft ; and on the ground 
 
 Sadly sits the Assyrian queen. 
 
 But far above, in spangled sheen, 
 
 Celestial Cupid her famed son advanced 
 
 Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced 
 
 After her wandering labours long, 
 
 Till free consent the gods among 
 
 Makes her his eternal bride ; 
 
 And from her fair unspotted side 
 
 Two blissful twins are to be born, 
 
 Youth and Joy so Jove hath sworn ! 
 
 But now my task is smoothly done : 
 
 I can fly or I can run 
 
 Quickly to the green earth's end, 
 
 Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend, 
 
 And from thence can soar as soon 
 
 To the corners of the moon. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 242 
 LYCID AS 
 
 YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, 
 Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
 O
 
 > MILTON 
 
 I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
 And with forced fingers rude 
 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year ! 
 Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
 Compels me to disturb your season due ; 
 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
 Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer ! 
 Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew 
 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
 He must not float upon his watery bier 
 Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
 Without the meed of some melodious tear. 
 
 Begin, then, Sisters of the sacred well 
 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ; 
 Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
 Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
 So may some gentle Muse 
 With lucky words favour my destined urn, 
 And, as he passes, turn 
 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! 
 
 For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, 
 Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill ; 
 Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
 Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, 
 We drove a- field, and both together heard 
 What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn, 
 Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 
 Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
 Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. 
 Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute : 
 Tempered to the oaten flute, 
 Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
 From the glad sound would not be absent long ; 
 And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 
 
 But, O ! the heavy change, now thou art gone, 
 Now thou art gone and never must return ! 
 Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 
 And all their echoes, mourn. 
 The willows, and the hazel copses green, 
 Shall now no more be seen 
 Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
 As killing as the canker to the rose, 
 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
 
 MILTON 2ii 
 
 Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, 
 When first the white-thorn blows : 
 Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
 
 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
 Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
 For neither were ye playing on the steep 
 Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 
 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 
 Ay me ! I fondly dream 
 
 ' Had ye been there ' ... for what could that have done ? 
 What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
 The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 
 Whom universal nature did lament, 
 When by the rout that made the hideous roar, 
 His gory visage down the stream was sent, 
 Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? 
 
 Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 
 To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade, 
 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? 
 Were it not better done, as others use, 
 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
 Or with the tangles of Nesera's hair ? 
 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 To scorn delights and live laborious days ; 
 But, the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
 And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, 
 And slits the thin-spun life. ' But not the praise,' 
 Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears : 
 ' Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
 Nor in the glistering foil 
 Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, 
 But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
 And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; 
 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
 Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.' 
 
 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, 
 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, 
 That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
 But now my oat proceeds, 
 And listens to the Herald of the Sea, 
 That came in Neptune's plea.
 
 212 MILTON 
 
 He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, 
 
 What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain ? 
 
 And questioned every gust of rugged wings 
 
 That blows from off each beake'd promontory. 
 
 They knew not of his story ; 
 
 And sage Hippotades their answer brings, 
 
 That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed : 
 
 The air was calm, and on the level brine 
 
 Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 
 
 It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 
 
 Built in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark, 
 
 That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
 
 Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
 His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, 
 Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
 Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. 
 ' Ah ! who hath reft,' quoth he, ' my dearest pledge ? ' 
 Last came, and last did go, 
 The Pilot of the Galilean Lake ; 
 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 
 He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : 
 ' How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, 
 Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake, 
 Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ! 
 Of other care they little reckoning make 
 Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 
 And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 
 Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold 
 A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least 
 That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! 
 What recks it them ? What need they ? They are sped ; 
 And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
 Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; 
 The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 
 But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, 
 Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread ; 
 Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
 Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 
 But that two-handed engine at the door 
 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.' 
 
 Return, Alpheus ; the dread voice is past 
 That shrunk thy streams ! Return, Sicilian Muse, 
 And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
 Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues !
 
 MILTON 213 
 
 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 enamelled eyes, 
 
 That on the green turf suck the honeyed 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 freaked with jet, 
 
 The glowing violet, 
 
 The musk -rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 
 
 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 
 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; 
 
 Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 
 
 And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 
 
 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. 
 
 For so, to interpose a little ease, 
 
 Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise, 
 
 Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
 
 Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled : 
 
 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
 
 Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide 
 
 Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
 
 Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
 
 Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 
 
 Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
 
 Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold. 
 
 Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : 
 
 And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 
 
 Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, 
 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, 
 Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ! 
 So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, 
 And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
 And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky ; 
 So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
 Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, 
 Where, other groves and other streams along, 
 With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, 
 In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
 There entertain him all the Saints above, 
 In solemn troops, and sweet societies, 
 That sing, and singing in their glory move, 
 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
 
 214 MILTON 
 
 Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
 Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, 
 In thy large recompense, and shall be good 
 To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
 
 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, 
 While the still morn went out with sandals grey : 
 He touched the tender stops of various quills > 
 With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
 And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 
 And now was dropt into the western bay. 
 At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
 To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new, 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 243 
 SWEET ECHO 
 
 SWEET Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv'st unseen 
 
 Within thy airy shell 
 
 By slow Meander's margent green, 
 
 And in the violet-embroidered vale 
 
 Where the love-lorn Nightingale 
 
 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well : 
 
 Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
 
 That likest thy Narcissus are ? 
 
 O, if thou have 
 
 Hid them in some flowery cave, 
 
 Tell me but where, 
 
 Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere ! 
 
 So may'st thou be translated to the skies, 
 
 And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies ! 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 244 
 OUT OF ADVERSITY 
 
 O, HOW comely it is, and how reviving 
 To the spirits of just men long oppressed, 
 When God into the hands of their deliverer
 
 CARTWRIGHT 215 
 
 Puts invincible might 
 
 To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor, 
 
 The brute and boisterous force of violent men, 
 
 Hardy and industrious to support 
 
 Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue 
 
 The righteous and all such as honour truth ! 
 
 He all their ammunition 
 
 And feats of war defeats, 
 
 With plain heroic magnitude of mind 
 
 And celestial vigour armed ; 
 
 Their armouries and magazines contemns, 
 
 Renders them useless, while 
 
 With winged expedition 
 
 Swift as the lightning glance he executes 
 
 His errand on the wicked, who, surprised, 
 
 Lose their defence, distracted and amazed. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 245 
 BID ME NOT GO 
 
 BID me not go where neither suns nor showers 
 
 Do make or cherish flowers ; 
 
 Where discontented things in sadness lie, 
 
 And Nature grieves as I ! 
 
 When I am parted from those eyes, 
 
 From which my better day doth rise, 
 
 Though some propitious power 
 
 Should plant me in a bower, 
 
 Where amongst happy lovers I might see 
 
 How showers and sunbeams bring 
 
 One everlasting spring, 
 
 Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me. 
 
 Nature herself to him is lost, 
 
 Who loseth her he honours most ! 
 
 Then, fairest, to my parting view display 
 
 Your graces all in one full day, 
 
 Whose blessed shapes I '11 snatch and keep, till when 
 
 I do return and view again : 
 
 So by this art fancy shall fortune cross, 
 
 And lovers live by thinking on their loss ! 
 
 William Cartwright.
 
 2i6 JORDAN 
 
 246 
 THE CARELESS GALLANT 
 
 Let us sing and be merry, dance, joke, and rejoice, 
 With claret and sherry, theorbo and voice ! 
 The changeable world to our joy is unjust, 
 
 All treasure 's uncertain, 
 
 Then down with your dust : 
 
 In frolicks dispose your pounds, shillings, and pence, 
 For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence. 
 
 We '11 sport and be free, with Frank, Betty, and Dolly, 
 Have lobsters and oysters to cure melancholy : 
 Fish-dinners will make a man spring like a flea, 
 
 Dame Venus, love's lady, 
 
 Was born of the sea : 
 
 With her and with Bacchus we '11 tickle the sense, 
 For we shall be past it a hundred years hence. 
 
 Your most beautiful bit, who hath all eyes upon her, 
 
 That her honesty sells for a hogo of honour, 
 
 Whose lightness and brightness doth cast such a splendeur 
 
 That none but the stars 
 
 Are thought fit to attend her, 
 
 Though now she seems pleasant and sweet to the sense, 
 Will be damnable mouldy a hundred years hence. 
 
 Then why should we turmoil in cares and in fears, 
 
 And turn our tranquillity to sighs and tears ? 
 
 Let's eat, drink, and play, ere the worms do corrupt us, 
 
 For I say, that Post mortem 
 
 Nulla voluptas ! 
 
 Let 's deal with our damsels, that we may from thence 
 Have broods to succeed us a hundred years hence ! 
 
 Thomas Jordan. 
 
 247 
 MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE 
 
 MY dear and only love, I pray 
 
 That little world of thee 
 Be governed by no other sway 
 
 But purest monarchy ; 
 For if confusion have a part, 
 
 Which virtuous souls abhor, 
 And hold a synod in thy heart, 
 
 I '11 never love thee more.
 
 MONTROSE 217 
 
 Like Alexander I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone : 
 My thoughts did evermore disdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 Who dares not put it to the touch, 
 
 To gain or lose it all. 
 
 But, if thou wilt prove faithful then 
 
 And constant of thy word, 
 I '11 make thee glorious by my pen, 
 
 And famous by my sword ; 
 I '11 serve thee in such noble ways 
 
 Was never heard before ; 
 I '11 crown and deck thee all with bays, 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 James Graham, Marquis of Montrose. 
 
 248 
 ON A PRAYER-BOOK SENT TO MRS. M. R. 
 
 Lo, here a little volume, but great book ! 
 
 A nest of new-born sweets, 
 
 Whose native pages, disdaining 
 
 To be thus folded and complaining 
 
 Of these ignoble sheets, 
 
 Affect more comely bands, 
 
 Fair one, from thy kind hands, 
 
 And confidently look 
 
 To find the rest 
 
 Of a rich binding in your breast ! 
 
 It is in one choice handful, Heaven ; and all 
 Heaven's royal hosts encamp'd, thus small 
 To prove that true schools use to tell, 
 A thousand angels in one point can dwell. 
 
 It is love's great artillery, 
 
 Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie 
 
 Close couch 'd in their white bosom ; and from thence, 
 
 As from a snowy fortress of defence, 
 
 Against their ghostly foe to take their part, 
 
 And fortify the hold of your chaste heart.
 
 218 CRASHAW 
 
 It is an armoury of light ; 
 
 Let constant use but keep it bright, 
 
 You '11 find it yields 
 
 To holy hands and humble hearts 
 
 More swords and shields 
 
 Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 
 
 Only be sure 
 
 The hands be pure 
 
 That hold these weapons, and the eyes 
 
 Those of turtles, chaste, and true, 
 
 Wakeful, and wise, 
 
 Here 's a friend shall fight for you. 
 
 Hold but this book before your heart, 
 
 Let Prayer alone to play his part ! 
 
 But, O ! the heart 
 
 That studies this high art 
 
 Must be a sure housekeeper, 
 
 And yet no sleeper. 
 
 Dear soul, be strong, 
 
 Mercy will come ere long, 
 
 And bring her bosom full of blessings, 
 
 Flowers of never-fading graces 
 
 To make immortal dressings 
 
 For worthy souls, whose wise embraces 
 
 Store up themselves for Him who is alone 
 
 The spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son ! 
 
 But if the noble bridegroom when He comes 
 
 Shall find the wand'ring heart from home, 
 
 Leaving her chaste abode 
 
 To gad abroad, 
 
 Amongst the gay mates of the God of Flies 
 
 To take her pleasure, and to play 
 
 And keep the Devil's holy day ; 
 
 To dance in the sunshine of some smiling, 
 
 But beguiling 
 
 Spheres of sweet and sugar'd lies, 
 Some slippery pair 
 Of false, perhaps, as fair, 
 Flattering but forswearing eyes : 
 
 Doubtless some other heart 
 
 Will get the start 
 
 Meanwhile, and, stepping in before, 
 
 Will take possession of that sacred store
 
 CRASHAW 219 
 
 Of hidden sweets and holy joys ; 
 Words which are not heard with ears 
 These tumultuous shops of noise ; 
 Effectual whispers, whose still voice 
 The soul itself more feels than hears ; 
 
 Amorous languishments, luminous trances, 
 
 Sights which are not seen with eyes ; 
 
 Spiritual and soul-piercing glances, 
 
 Whose pure and subtle lightning flies 
 
 Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire, 
 
 And melts it down in sweet desire, 
 
 Yet does not stay 
 
 To ask the windows leave to pass that way : 
 
 Delicious deaths, soft exhalations 
 Of soul ; dear and divine annihilations ; 
 A thousand unknown rites 
 Of joys, and rarified delights ; 
 
 A hundred thousand goods, glories, and graces, 
 
 And many a mystic thing, 
 
 Which the divine embraces 
 
 Of the dear Spouse of Spirits with them will bring, 
 
 For which it is no shame 
 
 That dull mortality must not know a name : 
 
 Of all this store 
 
 Of blessings, and ten thousand more, 
 
 If when He come 
 
 He find the heart from home, 
 
 Doubtless He will unload 
 
 Himself some otherwhere, 
 
 And pour abroad 
 
 His precious sweets, 
 
 On the fair soul whom first he meets. 
 
 O fair ! O fortunate ! O rich ! O dear ! 
 
 O happy, and thrice happy she, 
 
 Dear silver-breasted dove 
 
 Whoe'er she be, 
 
 Whose early love, 
 
 With winged vows, 
 
 Makes haste to meet her morning spouse, 
 
 And close with his immortal kisses ! 
 
 Happy, indeed, who never misses
 
 220 CRASHAW 
 
 To improve that precious hour, 
 
 And every day 
 
 Seize her sweet prey, 
 
 All fresh and fragrant as he rises, 
 
 Dropping with a balmy shower, 
 
 A delicious dew of spices ! 
 
 O, let the blessful heart hold fast 
 
 Her heavenly armful, she shall taste 
 
 At once ten thousand paradises ! 
 
 She shall have power 
 
 To rifle and deflower 
 
 The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets, 
 
 Which with a swelling bosom there she meets, 
 
 Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures 
 
 Of pure inebriating pleasures ! 
 
 Happy proof she shall discover, 
 
 What joy, what bliss, 
 
 How many heavens at once it is, 
 
 To have a God become her lover ! 
 
 Richard Crashaw. 
 
 249 
 
 ON THE GLORIOUS ASSUMPTION OF THE 
 BLESSED VIRGIN 
 
 HARK ! she is call'd, the parting hour is come ; 
 
 Take thy farewell, poor world, Heaven must go home. 
 
 A piece of heavenly light, purer and brighter 
 
 Than the chaste stars, whose choice lamps come to light her, 
 
 While through the crystal orbs, clearer than they, 
 
 She climbs, and makes a far more milky way. 
 
 She 's call'd again ; hark ! how th' immortal Dove 
 
 Sighs to his silver mate : ' Rise up, my love, 
 
 Rise up, my fair, my spotless one ! 
 
 The winter 's past, the rain is gone : 
 
 The spring is come, the flowers appear, 
 
 No sweets, since thou are wanting here. 
 
 Come away, my love ; 
 
 Come away, my dove ; 
 
 Cast off delay : 
 
 The court of heav'n is come, 
 
 To wait upon thee home ; 
 
 Come away, come away ! '
 
 CRASHAW 221 
 
 She 's call'd again, and will she go ? 
 
 When Heav'n bids come, who can say no ? 
 
 Heav'n calls her, and she must away ; 
 
 Heav'n will not, and she cannot stay. 
 
 Go then, go, glorious, on the golden wings 
 
 Of the bright youth of heaven, that sings 
 
 Under so sweet a burden : go, 
 
 Since thy great Son will have it so : 
 
 And while thou go'st, our song and we 
 
 Will, as we may, reach after thee : 
 
 ' Hail ! holy queen of humble hearts, 
 
 We in thy praise will have our parts ; 
 
 And though thy dearest looks must now be light 
 
 To none but the blest heavens, whose bright 
 
 Beholders, lost in sweet delight, 
 
 Feed for ever their fair sight 
 
 With those divinest eyes, which we 
 
 And our dark world no more shall see ; 
 
 Though our poor joys are parted so, 
 
 Yet shall our lips never let go 
 
 Thy gracious name, but to the last 
 
 Our loving song shall hold it fast. 
 
 Thy sacred name shall be 
 
 Thyself to us, and we 
 
 With holy cares will keep it by us ; 
 
 We to the last 
 
 Will hold it fast, 
 
 And no assumption shall deny us. 
 
 All sweetest showers 
 
 Of fairest flowers 
 
 We '11 strew upon it : 
 
 Though our sweetness cannot make 
 
 It sweeter, they may take 
 
 Themselves new sweetness from it. 
 
 Maria, men and angels sing, 
 Maria, mother of our King. 
 Live, rarest princess, and may the bright 
 Crown of a most incomparable light 
 Embrace thy radiant brows ! O, may the best 
 Of everlasting joys bathe thy white breast ! 
 Live our chaste love, the holy mirth 
 Of heaven, and humble pride of earth : 
 Live crown of women, queen of men : 
 Live mistress of our song ; and when 
 Our weak desires have done their best, 
 Sweet angels come, and sing the rest ! ' 
 
 Richard Crashaw.
 
 222 CRASHAW 
 
 250 
 ON THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME 
 
 I SING the name which none can say 
 
 But touch'd with an interior ray ; 
 
 The name of our new peace ; our good : 
 
 Our bliss, and supernatural blood : 
 
 The name of all our lives and loves. 
 
 Hearken, and help, ye holy doves ! 
 
 The high-born brood of day ; you bright 
 
 Candidates of blissful light, 
 
 The heirs elect of love ; whose names belong 
 
 Unto the everlasting life of song ; 
 
 All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast 
 
 Of this unbounded name build your warm nest. 
 
 Awake, my glory, Soul, if such thou be, 
 
 And that fair word at all refer to thee, 
 
 Awake and sing, 
 
 And be all wing ; 
 
 Bring hither thy whole self ; and let me see 
 
 What of thy parent heav'n yet speaks in thee ! 
 
 O, thou art poor 
 
 Of noble pow'rs, I see, 
 
 And full of nothing else but empty me ; 
 
 Narrow, and low, and infinitely less 
 
 Than this great morning's mighty business ! 
 
 One little world or two, 
 
 Alas ! will never do ; 
 
 We must have store. 
 
 Go, Soul, out of thyself, and seek for more ; 
 
 Go and request 
 
 Great Nature for the key of her huge chest 
 
 Of Heav'ns, the self-involving set of spheres, 
 
 Which dull mortality more feels than hears ; 
 
 Then rouse the nest 
 
 Of nimble art, and traverse round 
 
 The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound : 
 
 And beat a summons in the same 
 
 All-sovereign name, 
 
 To warn each several kind 
 
 And shape of sweetness be they such 
 
 As sigh with supple wind 
 
 Or answer artful touch 
 
 That they convene and come away
 
 CRASHAW 
 
 To wait at the love-crowned doors of that 
 
 Illustrious day. 
 
 Shall we dare this, my Soul ? We '11 do 't, and bring 
 
 No other note for 't, but the Name we sing. 
 
 Wake, lute and harp, 
 
 And every sweet-lipp'd thing 
 
 That talks with tuneful string ; 
 
 Start into life, and leap with me 
 
 Into a hasty fit-tuned harmony. 
 
 Nor must you think it much 
 
 T' obey my bolder touch ; 
 
 I have authority in Love's name to take you 
 
 And to the work of love this morning wake you. 
 
 Wake, in the name 
 
 Of Him who never sleeps, all things that are ; 
 
 Or what's the same, 
 
 Are musical ; 
 
 Answer my call 
 
 And come along ; 
 
 Help me to meditate mine immortal song ! 
 
 Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth, 
 
 Bring all your household-stuff of heav'n on earth : 
 
 O you, my Soul's most certain wings, 
 
 Complaining pipes, and prattling strings, 
 
 Bring all the store 
 
 Of sweets you have, and murmur that you have no more. 
 
 Come, ne'er to part, 
 
 Nature and art ! 
 
 Come, and come strong, 
 
 To the conspiracy of our spacious song. 
 
 Bring all the pow'rs of praise 
 
 Your provinces of well-united worlds can raise ; 
 
 Bring all your lutes and harps of heav'n and earth ; 
 
 Whate'er co-operates to the common mirth ; 
 
 Vessels of vocal joys, 
 
 Or you, more noble architects of intellectual noise, 
 
 Cymbals of heav'n, or human spheres, 
 
 Solicitors of souls or ears ; 
 
 And when you are come, with all 
 
 That you can bring, or we can call, 
 
 O, may you fix 
 
 For ever here, and mix 
 
 Yourselves into the long 
 
 And everlasting series of a deathless song ! 
 
 Mix all your many worlds above, 
 
 And loose them into one of love ! 
 
 Cheer thee, my heart ! 
 
 223
 
 224 CRASHAW 
 
 For thou, too, hast thy part 
 
 And place in the great throng 
 
 Of this unbounded, all-embracing song. 
 
 Pow'rs of my soul, be proud ! 
 
 And speak loud 
 
 To all the dear-bought nations this redeeming name ; 
 
 And in the wealth of one rich word proclaim 
 
 New smiles to nature. 
 
 May it be no wrong, 
 
 Blest Heav'ns, to you, and your superior song, 
 
 That we dark sons of dust and sorrow 
 
 Awhile dare borrow 
 
 The name of your delights, and our desires, 
 
 And fit it to so far inferior lyres ! 
 
 Our murmurs have their music, too, 
 
 Ye mighty orbs, as well as you, 
 
 Nor yields the noblest nest 
 
 Of warbling seraphim to the ears of love, 
 
 A choicer lesson than the joyful breast 
 
 Of a poor panting turtle-dove ; 
 
 And we, low worms, have leave to do 
 
 The same bright business, ye third Heav'ns, with you. 
 
 Gentle spirits, do not complain, 
 
 We will have care 
 
 To keep it fair, 
 
 And send it back to you again. 
 
 Come, lovely name ! appear from forth the bright 
 
 Regions of peaceful light ; 
 
 Look from Thine own illustrious home, 
 
 Fair king of names, and come : 
 
 Leave all thy native glories in their gorgeous nest, 
 
 And give thyself awhile the gracious guest 
 
 Of humble souls, that seek to find 
 
 The hidden sweets 
 
 Which man's heart meets 
 
 When Thou art master of the mind. 
 
 Come, lovely name ! life of our hope ! 
 
 Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope ! 
 
 Unlock thy cabinet of day, 
 
 Dearest sweet, and come away. 
 
 Lo. how the thirsty lands 
 
 Gasp for thy golden showers with long-stretch "d hands ! 
 
 Lo, how the labouring earth, 
 
 That hopes to be 
 
 All heaven by thee, 
 
 Leaps at thy birth ! 
 
 Th' attending world, to wait thy rise,
 
 CRASHAW 225 
 
 First tum'd to eyes, 
 And then, not knowing what to do, 
 Tum'd them to tears, and spent them, too. 
 Come, royal name ! and pay th' expense 
 Of all this precious patience ; 
 O, come away, 
 
 And kill the death of this delay ! 
 O, see so many worlds of barren years 
 Melted and measured out in seas of tears ! 
 O, see the weary lids of wakeful hope, 
 Love's eastern windows, all wide ope, 
 With curtains drawn, 
 To catch the day -break of thy dawn ! 
 O, dawn, at last, long-look'd for day ! 
 Take thine own wings and come away. 
 Lo, where aloft it comes ! It comes, among 
 The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng, 
 Like diligent bees, and swarm about it. 
 O, they are wise, 
 
 And know what sweets are suck'd from out it ! 
 It is the hive 
 By which they thrive, 
 Where all their hoard of honey lies. 
 Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's 
 Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves ! 
 Welcome to our dark world, thou womb of day ! 
 Unfold thy fair conceptions, and display 
 The birth of our bright joys. 
 O thou compacted 
 
 Body of blessings ! spirit of souls extracted ! 
 O, dissipate thy spicy pow'rs, 
 Cloud of condensed sweets, and break upon us 
 In balmy show'rs ! 
 O, fill our senses, and take from us 
 All force of so profane a fallacy 
 To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee ! 
 Fair, flow'ry name, in none but thee 
 And thy nectareal fragrancy 
 Hourly there meets 
 An universal synod of all sweets ; 
 By whom it is defined thus 
 That no perfume 
 For ever shall presume 
 To pass for odoriferous, 
 But such alone whose sacred pedigree 
 Can prove itself some kin, sweet name, to thee ! 
 Sweet name, in thy each syllable 
 P
 
 226 CRASHAW 
 
 A thousand blest Arabias dwell : 
 
 A thousand hills of frankincense, 
 
 Mountains of myrrh, and beds of spices, 
 
 And ten thousand paradises, 
 
 The soul that tastes thee takes from thence. 
 
 How many unknown worlds there are 
 
 Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping ! 
 
 How many thousand mercies there 
 
 In Pity's soft lap lie a-sleeping ! 
 
 Happy he who has the art 
 
 To awake them, 
 
 And to take them 
 
 Home, and lodge them in his heart ! 
 
 O, that it were as it was wont to be, 
 
 When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee, 
 
 Fought against frowns with smiles ; gave glorious chase 
 
 To persecutions ; and against the face 
 
 Of death and fiercest dangers durst, with brave 
 
 And sober pace, march on to meet a grave ! 
 
 On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, 
 
 And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee ; 
 
 In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee, 
 
 Where racks and torments strived in vain to reach thee. 
 
 Little, alas ! thought they 
 
 Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends, 
 
 Their fury but made way 
 
 For thee, and served them in thy glorious ends. 
 
 What did their weapons, but with wider pores 
 
 Enlarge thy flaming-breasted lovers, 
 
 More freely to transpire 
 
 That impatient fire, 
 
 The heart that hides thee hardly covers ! 
 
 What did their weapons, but set wide the doors 
 
 For thee : fair purple doors, of Love's devising, 
 
 The ruby windows which enrich'd the east 
 
 Of thy so oft-repeated rising ! 
 
 Each wound of theirs was thy new morning, 
 
 And re-enthroned thee in thy rosy nest, 
 
 With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning ! 
 
 It was the wit of love o'erflow'd the bounds 
 
 Of wrath, and made the way through all these wounds. 
 
 Welcome, dear, all-adored name, 
 
 For sure there is no knee 
 
 That knows not thee ! 
 
 Or, if there be such sons of shame, 
 
 Alas ! what will they do 
 
 When stubborn rocks shall bow,
 
 LOVELACE 227 
 
 And hills hang down their heav'n-saluting heads 
 
 To seek for humble beds 
 
 Of dust, where, in the bashful shades of night, 
 
 Next to their own low nothing they may lie, 
 
 And couch before the dazzling light of thy dread Majesty ! 
 
 They that by Love's mild dictate now 
 
 Will not adore thee, 
 
 Shall then, with just confusion, bow 
 
 And break before thee. 
 
 Richard Crashaw. 
 
 251 
 TO LUCASTA GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 
 
 IF to be absent were to be 
 
 Away from thee ; 
 
 Or that when I am gone, 
 
 You or I were alone ; 
 
 Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
 
 Pity from blust'ring wind or swallowing wave. 
 
 But I '11 not sigh one blast or gale 
 
 To swell my sail, 
 
 Or pay a tear to suage 
 
 The foaming blue-god's rage ; 
 
 For, whether he will let me pass 
 
 Or no, I 'm still as happy as I was. 
 
 Though seas and land betwixt us both, 
 
 Our faith and troth, 
 
 Like separated souls, 
 
 All time and space controls. 
 
 Above the highest sphere we meet, 
 
 Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet. 
 
 So then we do anticipate 
 
 Our after-fate, 
 
 And are alive i' th' skies, 
 
 If thus our lips and eyes 
 
 Can speak like spirits unconfined 
 
 In heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. 
 
 Richard Lovelace,
 
 228 LOVELACE 
 
 252 
 TO LUCASTA GOING TO THE WARS 
 
 TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, 
 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
 
 To war and arms I flie. 
 
 True, a new mistress now I chase, 
 
 The first foe in the field, 
 And with a stronger faith embrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such 
 
 As you, too, shall adore : 
 I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 
 Loved I not honour more. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 253 
 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 
 
 WHEN Love with unconfined wings 
 
 Hovers within my gates, 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair, 
 
 And fettered to her eye, 
 The gods that wanton in the air 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses bound, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free, 
 Fishes that tipple in the deep 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When, like committed linnets, I 
 
 With shriller throat shall sing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 
 
 And glories of my King ;
 
 COWLEY 
 
 229 
 
 When I shall voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be, 
 Enlarged winds that curl the flood 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage ; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage : 
 If I have freedom in my love, 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone that soar above 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 254 
 AWAKE, AWAKE, MY LYRE 
 
 AWAKE, awake, my Lyre, 
 
 And tell thy silent master's humble tale 
 
 In sounds that may prevail, 
 
 Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire ! 
 
 Though so exalted she 
 
 And I so lowly be, 
 
 Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. 
 
 Hark ! how the strings awake, 
 
 And, though the moving hand approach not near, 
 
 Themselves with awful fear 
 
 A kind of numerous trembling make ! 
 
 Now all thy forces try ; 
 
 Now all thy charms apply ; 
 
 Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 
 
 Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 
 
 Is useless here, since thou art only found 
 
 To cure, but not to wound, 
 
 And she to wound, but not to cure ! 
 
 Too weak too wilt thou prove 
 
 My passion to remove : 
 
 Physic to other ills, thou 'rt nourishment to love. 
 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! 
 
 For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
 
 In sounds that will prevail, 
 
 Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ;
 
 230 B R O M E 
 
 All thy vain mirth lay by ; 
 
 Bid thy strings silent lie ; 
 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. 
 
 Abraham Cowley 
 
 255 
 A MOCK SONG 
 
 'Tis true, I never was in love : 
 
 But now I mean to be, 
 For there 's no art can shield a heart 
 
 From love's supremacy. 
 
 Though in my nonage I have seen 
 
 A world of taking faces, 
 I had not age or wit to ken 
 
 Their several hidden graces. 
 
 Those virtues which, though thinly set, 
 
 In others are admired, 
 In thee are altogether met, 
 
 Which make thee so desired 
 
 That, though I never was in love, 
 
 Nor never meant to be, 
 Thyself and parts above my arts 
 
 Have drawn my heart to thee. 
 
 Alexander Brome. 
 
 2$6 
 BERMUDAS 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 
 In the Ocearis bosom unespied, 
 From a small boat that rowed along 
 The listening winds received this song: 
 ' What should we do but sing his praise 
 That led us through the watery maze, 
 Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks 
 That lift the deep upon their backs, 
 Unto an isle so long unknown, 
 And yet far kinder than our own ?
 
 MARVELL 231 
 
 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 does in the pomegranates close 
 
 Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 
 
 He makes the figs our mouths to meet, 
 
 And throws the melons at our feet ; 
 
 But apples plants of such a price, 
 
 No tree could ever bear them twice. 
 
 With cedars chosen by his hand 
 
 From Lebanon he stores the land, 
 
 And makes the hollow seas that roar 
 
 Proclaim the ambergrease on shore. 
 
 He cast (of which we rather boast) 
 
 The Gospel's pearl upon our coast, 
 
 And in these rocks for us did frame 
 
 A temple where to sound his name. 
 
 O let our voice his praise exalt 
 
 Till it arrive at heaven's vault, 
 
 Which, thence (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. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
 257 
 AN HORATIAN ODE 
 
 THE forward youth that would appear 
 Must now forsake his Muses dear, 
 Nor in the shadows sing 
 His numbers languishing. 
 
 'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
 And oil the unused armour's rust, 
 
 Removing from the wall 
 
 The corselet of the hall.
 
 232 MARVELL 
 
 So restless Cromwell could not cease 
 In the inglorious arts of peace, 
 
 But through adventurous war 
 
 Urged his active star ; 
 
 And, like the three-forked lightning, first 
 Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 
 
 Did thorough his own side 
 
 His fiery way divide : 
 
 For 'tis all one to courage high, 
 
 The emulous or enemy, 
 
 And with such to inclose 
 Is more than to oppose ! 
 
 Then burning through the air he went, 
 And palaces and temples rent ; 
 And Caesar's head at last 
 Did through his laurels blast. 
 
 'Tis madness to resist or blame 
 The face of angry Heaven's flame ; 
 And if we would speak true, 
 Much to the man is due, 
 
 Who from his private gardens, where 
 He lived reserved and austere, 
 As if his highest plot 
 To plant the bergamot, 
 
 Could by industrious valour climb 
 To ruin the great work of Time, 
 
 And cast the kingdoms old 
 
 Into another mould. 
 
 Though Justice against Fate complain, 
 And plead the ancient rights in vain 
 (But those do hold or break, 
 As men are strong or weak), 
 
 Nature, that hated emptiness, 
 
 Allows of penetration less, 
 
 And therefore must make room 
 Where greater spirits come. 
 
 What field of all the civil war, 
 Where his were not the deepest scar?
 
 MARVELL 233 
 
 And Hampton shows what part 
 He had of wiser art, 
 
 Where, twining subtile fears with hope, 
 He wove a net of such a scope 
 
 That Charles himself might chase 
 
 To Carisbrook's narrow case, 
 
 That thence the royal actor borne 
 The tragic scaffold might adorn : 
 
 While round the arm&i bands 
 
 Did clap their bloody hands. 
 
 He nothing common did or mean 
 Upon that memorable scene, 
 
 But with his keener eye 
 
 The axe's edge did try ; 
 
 Nor called the gods with vulgar spite 
 To vindicate his helpless right, 
 
 But bowed his comely head 
 
 Down, as upon a bed. 
 
 This was that memorable hour 
 Which first assured the forced power : 
 
 So, when they did design 
 
 The Capitol's first line, 
 
 A bleeding head, where they begun, 
 Did fright the architects to run ; 
 
 And yet in that the State 
 
 Foresaw its happy fate ! 
 
 And now the Irish are ashamed 
 
 To see themselves in one year tamed : 
 
 So much one man can do 
 
 That doth both act and know : 
 
 They can affirm his praises best, 
 
 And have, though overcome, confessed 
 
 How good he is, how just, 
 
 And fit for highest trust. 
 
 Nor yet grown stiffer with command, 
 But still in the Republic's hand 
 
 (How fit he is to sway, 
 
 That can so well obey !),
 
 234 MARVELL 
 
 He to the Commons' feet presents 
 A kingdom for his first year's rents, 
 
 And (what he may) forbears 
 
 His fame to make it theirs, 
 
 And has his sword and spoils ungirt 
 To lay them at the public's skirt. 
 
 So when the falcon high 
 
 Falls heavy from the sky, 
 
 She, having killed, no more doth search 
 But on the next green bough to perch, 
 
 Where, when he first does lure, 
 
 The falconer has her sure. 
 
 What may not then our isle presume, 
 While victory his crest does plume ? 
 
 What may not others fear, 
 
 If thus he crowns each year ? 
 
 As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 
 To Italy an Hannibal, 
 
 And to all states not free 
 
 Shall climacteric be. 
 
 The Pict no shelter now shall find 
 Within his party-coloured mind, 
 
 But from this valour sad 
 
 Shrink underneath the plaid : 
 
 Happy if in the tufted brake 
 The English hunter him mistake, 
 
 Nor lay his hounds in near 
 
 The Caledonian deer. 
 
 But thou, the war's and fortune's son, 
 March indefatigably on, 
 
 And for the last effect, 
 
 Still keep the sword erect ! 
 
 Besides the force it has to fright 
 The spirits of the shady night, 
 
 The same arts that did gain 
 
 A power must it maintain . 
 
 Andrnv Marvel I.
 
 VAUGHAN 235 
 
 258 
 
 O, LET ME CLIMB 
 
 O, LET me climb 
 
 When I lie down ! The pious soul by night 
 
 Is like a clouded star, whose beams, though said 
 
 To shed their light 
 
 Under some cloud, 
 
 Yet are above, 
 
 And shine and move 
 
 Beyond that misty shroud. 
 
 So in my bed, 
 
 That curtain'd grave though sleep, like ashes, hide 
 
 My lamp and life, both shall in Thee abide. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 259 
 THE REVIVAL 
 
 UNFOLD ! unfold 1 Take in His light, 
 Who makes thy cares more short than night. 
 The joys which with His day-star rise 
 He deals to all but drowsy eyes ; 
 And, what the men of this world miss, 
 Some drops and dews of future bliss. 
 
 Hark ! how the winds have changed their note, 
 And with warm whispers call thee out ! 
 The frosts are past, the storms are gone, 
 And backward life at last comes on ; 
 The lofty groves in express joys 
 Reply unto the turtle's voice ; 
 And here in dust and dirt, O here, 
 The lilies of His love appear ! 
 
 Henry Vaiighan. 
 
 26O 
 THE WREATH 
 
 SINCE I in storms used most to be, 
 
 And seldom yielded flowers, 
 How shall I get a wreath for Thee 
 
 From those rude, barren hours ?
 
 236 VAUGHAN 
 
 The softer dressings of the Spring 
 
 Or Summer's later store 
 I will not for Thy temples bring, 
 
 Which thorns, not roses, wore. 
 
 But a twined wreath of grief and praise, 
 
 Praise soil'd with tears, and tears again 
 Shining with joy, like dewy days, 
 
 This day I bring for all Thy pain 
 Thy causeless pain ! and, sad as death, 
 
 Which sadness breeds in the most vain, 
 O, not in vain ! now beg Thy breath, 
 Thy quickening breath, which gladly bears 
 
 Through saddest clouds to that glad place, 
 Where cloudless quires sing without tears, 
 
 Sing Thy just praise, and see Thy face. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 26l 
 PEACE 
 
 MY Soul, there is a country 
 
 Far beyond the stars, 
 Where stands a winged sentry 
 
 All skilful in the wars : 
 
 There above noise, and danger, 
 
 Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles, 
 
 And One born in a manger 
 Commands the beauteous files. 
 
 He is thy gracious Friend, 
 And O my Soul, awake ! 
 
 Did in pure love descend 
 To die here for thy sake. 
 
 If thou canst get but thither, 
 There grows the flower of Peace, 
 
 The Rose that cannot wither, 
 Thy fortress, and thy ease. 
 
 Leave then thy foolish ranges, 
 
 For none can thee secure 
 But One, Who never changes, 
 
 Thy God, thy life, thy cure. 
 
 Henry Vavghan.
 
 ANONYMOUS 237 
 
 262 
 THE DAY OF JUDGMENT 
 
 O DAY of life, of light, of love ! 
 
 The only day dealt from above ! 
 
 A day so fresh, so bright, so brave, 
 
 'Twill show us each forgotten grave, 
 
 And make the dead, like flowers, arise 
 
 Youthful and fair to see new skies ! 
 
 All other days, compared to thee, 
 
 Are but Light's weak minority ? 
 
 They are but veils and cypress drawn 
 
 Like clouds, before thy glorious dawn. 
 
 O, come ! arise ! shine ! do not stay, 
 
 Dearly loved Day ! 
 
 The fields are long since white, and I 
 
 With earnest groans for freedom cry. 
 
 My fellow-creatures too say : Come ! 
 
 And stones, though speechless, are not dumb. 
 
 When shall we hear that glorious voice 
 
 Of life and joys ? 
 
 That voice which to each secret bed 
 
 Of my Lord's dead 
 
 Shall bring true day, and make dust sec 
 
 The way to immortality? 
 
 When shall those first white pilgrims rise, 
 
 Whose holy, happy histories, 
 
 Because they sleep so long some men 
 
 Count but the blots of a vain pen ? 
 
 Dear Lord ! make haste ! 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 263 
 O, WALY WALY UP THE BANK 
 
 O, WALY waly up the bank, 
 
 And waly waly down the brae, 
 And waly waly yon burn -side 
 
 Where I and my Love wont to gae ! 
 I leant my back against an aik, 
 
 I thought it was a trusty tree ; 
 But first it bow'd, and syne it brak 
 
 Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
 
 238 ANONYMOUS 
 
 O, waly waly, but love is bonny 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 
 But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 
 
 And fades awa' like morning dew. 
 O, wherefore should I busk my head ? 
 
 Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 
 For my true Love has me forsook, 
 
 And says he '11 never loe me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur's-Seat sail be my bed : 
 The sheets sail ne'er be prest by me. 
 
 Saint Anton's Well sail be my drink, 
 Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
 
 Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw 
 And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
 
 gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 
 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie, 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry ; 
 
 But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
 When we came in by Glasgow town 
 
 We were a comely sight to see : 
 My Love was clad in the black velvet, 
 
 And I mysell in cramasie. 
 
 But had I wist, before I kist, 
 That love had been sae ill to win, 
 
 1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 
 
 And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 
 And, O ! if my young babe were born, 
 
 And set upon the nurse's knee, 
 And I mysell were dead and gane, 
 
 And the green grass growing over me ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 264 
 HELEN OF KIRCONNELL 
 
 I WISH I were where Helen lies ; 
 
 Night and day on me she cries : 
 
 O, that I were where Helen lies 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea !
 
 ANONYMOUS 239 
 
 Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
 When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
 And died to succour me ! 
 
 O, think na but my heart was sair 
 When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 
 I laid her down wi' meikle care 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 As I went down the water-side, 
 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea : 
 
 I lighted down my sword to draw, 
 I hacked him in pieces sma', 
 I hacked him in pieces sma' 
 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 Helen fair beyond compare ! 
 
 1 '11 make a garland of thy hair 
 Shall bind my heart for evermair 
 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 O, that I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries : 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
 
 Says : ' Haste and come to me ! ' 
 
 Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest, 
 Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 1 wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
 And I in Helen's arms lying, 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ; 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 Since my Love died for me. 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 240 ANONYMOUS 
 
 265 
 THE TWA CORBIES 
 
 As I was walking all alane, 
 
 I heard twa corbies making a mane, 
 
 The tane unto the tither say : 
 
 ' Where sail we gang and dine to-day ? ' 
 
 ' In behint yon atild fail dyke, 
 I wat there lies a new slain Knight ; 
 And naebody kens that he lies there 
 But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. 
 
 ' His hound is to the hunting gane, 
 His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
 His lady's ta'en another mate, 
 So we may mak our dinner sweet. 
 
 ' Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane, 
 And I '11 pick out his bonnie blue een. 
 Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 
 We '11 theek our nest when it grows bare. 
 
 ' Mony a one for him maks mane, 
 But nane sail ken where he is gane ! 
 O'er his white banes, where they are bare, 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair.' 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 266 
 WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW 
 
 DOWN in yon garden sweet and gay 
 Where bonnie grows the lily, 
 
 I heard a fair maid sighing say : 
 ' My wish be wi' sweet Willie ! 
 
 ' Willie 's rare, and Willie 's fair, 
 And Willie 's wondrous bonny ; 
 
 And Willie hecht to marry me, 
 Gin e'er he married ony. 
 
 ' O gentle wind, that bloweth south 
 From where my Love repaireth, 
 
 Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth, 
 And tell me how he fareth !
 
 ANONYMOUS 241 
 
 ' O, tell sweet Willie to come doun 
 
 And hear the mavis singing, 
 And see the birds on ilka bush 
 
 And leaves around them hinging : 
 
 ' The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast 
 
 And gentle throat sae narrow ! 
 There 's sport eneuch for gentlemen 
 
 On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 ' O, Leader haughs are wide and braid, 
 
 And Yarrow haughs are bonny ; 
 There Willie hecht to marry me, 
 
 If ere he married ony. 
 
 ' But Willie 's gone, whom I thought on, 
 
 And does not hear the weeping 
 Draws many a tear frae 's true love's e'e, 
 
 When other maids are sleeping. 
 
 ' Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 
 
 The night I '11 mak' it narrow, 
 For a' the lee-lang winter night 
 
 I lie twined o' my marrow. 
 
 ' O, came ye by yon water-side ? 
 
 Pu'd you the rose or lily ? 
 Or came you by yon meadow green, 
 
 Or saw you my sweet Willie ? ' 
 
 She sought him up, she sought him down, 
 
 She sought him braid and narrow ; 
 Syne, in the cleaving of a crag, 
 
 She found him drown'd in Yarrow. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 267 
 O, FAIN WOULD I 
 
 O, FAIN would I, before I die, 
 
 Bequeath to thee a legacy, 
 
 That thou may'st say, when I am gone, 
 
 None had my heart but thee alone ! 
 
 Had I as many hearts as hairs, 
 
 As many lives as lovers' fears, 
 
 As many lives as yeais have hours, 
 
 They all and only should be yours ! 
 
 Q
 
 242 STANLEY 
 
 Dearest, before you condescend 
 
 To entertain a bosom-friend, 
 
 Be sure you know your servant well 
 
 Before your liberty you sell : 
 
 For love 's a fire in young and old, 
 
 'Tis sometimes hot and sometimes cold, 
 
 And now you know that, when they please, 
 
 They can be sick of love's disease. 
 
 Then wisely choose a friend that may 
 Last for an age, and not a day, 
 Who loves thee not for lip or eye, 
 But for thy mutual sympathy ! 
 Let such a friend thy heart engage, 
 For he will comfort thee in age, 
 And kiss thy wrinkled, furrowed brow 
 With as much joy as I do now. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 268 
 THE RELAPSE 
 
 O, TURN away those cruel eyes, 
 
 The stars of my undoing ; 
 Or death in such a bright disguise 
 
 May tempt a second wooing. 
 
 Punish their blind and impious pride, 
 
 Who dare contemn thy glory ! 
 It was my fall that deified 
 
 Thy name, and sealed thy story. 
 
 Yet no new sufferings can prepare 
 
 A higher praise to crown thee : 
 Though my first death proclaim thee fair, 
 
 My second will unthrone thee. 
 
 Lovers will doubt thou canst entice 
 
 No other for thy fuel, 
 And if thou burn one victim twice, 
 
 Both think thee poor and cruel. 
 
 Thomas Stanley.
 
 D R Y D E N 
 
 243 
 
 269 
 A SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY 
 
 FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony 
 
 This universal frame began : 
 
 When Nature underneath a heap 
 
 Of jarring atoms lay, 
 
 And could not heave her head, 
 
 The tuneful voice was heard from high : 
 
 ' Arise, ye more than dead ! ' 
 
 Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, 
 
 In order to their stations leap, 
 
 And music's power obey. 
 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 
 
 This universal frame began : 
 
 From harmony to harmony 
 
 Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 
 
 The diapason closing full in man. 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 
 
 When Jubal struck the chorded shell, 
 
 His listening brethren stood around, 
 
 And, wond'ring, on their faces fell 
 
 To worship that celestial sound. 
 
 Less than a God they thought there could not dwell 
 
 Within the hollow of that shell, 
 
 That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? 
 
 The trumpet's loud clangor 
 
 Excites us to arms, 
 
 With shrill notes of anger 
 
 And mortal alarms. 
 
 The double double double beat 
 
 Of the thundering drum 
 
 Cries : ' Hark ! the foes come ! 
 
 Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat.' 
 
 The soft complaining flute 
 
 In dying notes discovers 
 
 The woes of hopeless lovers, 
 
 Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.
 
 244 DRYDEN 
 
 Sharp violins proclaim 
 
 Their jealous pangs, and desperation, 
 
 Fury, frantic indignation, 
 
 Depth of pains, and height of passion 
 
 For the fair, disdainful dame. 
 
 But, O ! what art can teach, 
 What human voice can reach, 
 The sacred organ's praise ? 
 Notes inspiring holy love, 
 Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
 To mend the choirs above ! 
 
 Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
 And trees uprooted left their place, 
 Sequacious of the lyre. 
 But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher, 
 When to her organ vocal breath was given, 
 And angels heard, and straight appear'd, 
 Mistaking Earth for Heaven. 
 
 Gratid Chorus. 
 
 As from the power of sacred lays, 
 
 The spheres began to move, 
 
 And sung the great Creator's praise 
 
 To all the bless'd above : 
 
 So when the last and dreadful hour 
 
 This crumbling pageant shall devour, 
 
 The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
 
 The dead shall live, the living die, 
 
 And music shall untune the sky. 
 
 John Dry den. 
 
 270 
 FAIR, SWEET, AND YOUNG 
 
 FAIR, sweet, and young, receive a prize 
 
 Reserv'd for your victorious eyes : 
 
 From crowds, whom at your feet you see, 
 
 O, pity and distinguish me ! 
 
 As I from thousand beauties more 
 
 Distinguish you, and only you adore.
 
 DRYDEN 245 
 
 Your face for conquest was design'd, 
 Your every motion charms my mind ! 
 Angels, when you your silence break, 
 Forget their hymns, to hear you speak, 
 But when at once they hear and view, 
 Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you. 
 
 No graces can your form improve, 
 But all are lost, unless you love ; 
 While that sweet passion you disdain, 
 Your veil and beauty are in vain : 
 In pity then prevent my fate, 
 For after dying all reprieve 's too late. 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 271 
 NO, NO, POOR SUFFERING HEART 
 
 No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour, 
 Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her ! 
 My ravished eyes behold such charms about her, 
 I can die with her, but not live without her. 
 One tender sigh of hers to see me languish, 
 Will more than pay the price of my past anguish. 
 Beware, O cruel fair, how you smile on me ! 
 'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me. 
 
 Love has in store for me one happy minute, 
 
 And she will end my pain, who did begin it : 
 
 Then, no day void of bliss or pleasure leaving, 
 
 Ages shall slide away without perceiving ; 
 
 Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us, 
 
 And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us ; 
 
 Time and Death shall depart, and say, in flying, 
 
 Love has found out a way to live by dying. 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 272 
 AH, HOW SWEET IT IS TO LOVE 
 
 AH, how sweet it is to love ! 
 Ah, how gay is young Desire ! 
 And what pleasing pains we prove 
 When we first approach Love's fire ! 
 
 Pains of love be sweeter far 
 
 Than all other pleasures are.
 
 246 DRYDEN 
 
 Sighs which are from lovers blown 
 Do but gently heave the heart : 
 E'en the tears they shed alone 
 Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. 
 
 Lovers, when they lose their breath, 
 
 Bleed away in easy death. 
 
 Love and Time with reverence use : 
 
 Treat them like a parting friend, 
 
 Nor the golden gifts refuse 
 
 Which in youth sincere they send, 
 For each year their price is more 
 And they less simple than before. 
 
 Love, like spring-tides full and high, 
 
 Swells in every youthful vein ; 
 
 But each tide does less supply, 
 
 Till they quite shrink in again : 
 If a flow in age appear, 
 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. 
 
 John Drydt'H. 
 
 273 
 I FEED A FLAME 
 
 I FEED a flame within, which so torments me 
 That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me : 
 'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, 
 That I had rather die than once remove it. 
 
 Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it ; 
 My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. 
 Not a sigh, not a tear, my pain discloses, 
 But they fall silently, like dew on roses. 
 
 Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, 
 My heart 's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel ; 
 And while I suffer this to give him quiet, 
 My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. 
 
 On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me ; 
 While I conceal my love no frown can fright me. 
 To be more happy I dare not aspire, 
 Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher. 
 
 John Dryden.
 
 BETTERTON 247 
 
 274 
 
 THE MAGNIFICENT LOVER 
 
 WHAT shall I do to show how much I love her ? 
 
 How many millions of sighs can suffice? 
 That which wins other hearts never can move her 
 
 Such feeble offerings of love she '11 despise ! 
 I will love more than man e'er loved before me, 
 
 Gaze on her all the day, melt all the night, 
 Till for her own sake at last she'll implore me 
 
 To love her less to preserve our delight. 
 
 Since Gods themselves could not ever be living, 
 
 Men must have breathing recruits for new joys : 
 I would my soul could be ever improving, 
 
 Tho' eager love more than sorrow destroys ! 
 In fair Aurelia's arms leave me expiring ! 
 
 To be embalmed with the sweets of her breath, 
 To the last moment I '11 still be desiring 
 
 Never had hero so glorious a death ! 
 
 Thomas Betterton. 
 
 275 
 THE DESPERATE LOVER 
 
 O MIGHTY King of Terrors, come, 
 Command thy slave to his long home ! 
 Great Sanctuary, Grave ! to thee 
 In throngs the miserable flee ; 
 Encircled in thy frozen arms, 
 They bid defiance to their harms, 
 Regardless of those pond'rous little things, 
 That discompose the uneasy heads of Kings. 
 
 In the cold earth the prisoner lies 
 Ransom'd from all his miseries ; 
 Himself forgotten, he forgets 
 His cruel creditors and debts ; 
 And there in everlasting peace 
 Contentions with their authors cease : 
 A turf of grass or monument of stone 
 Umpires the petty competition.
 
 248 FLATMAN 
 
 The disappointed lover there, 
 Breathes not a sigh, nor sheds a tear ; 
 With us (fond fools) he never shares 
 In sad perplexities and cares ; 
 The willow near his tomb that grows 
 Revives his memory, not his woes ; 
 Or rain or shine, he is advanc'd above 
 Th' affronts of Heaven and stratagems of Love. 
 
 Then, mighty King of Terrors, come, 
 Command thy slave to his long home ! 
 And thou, my friend, that lov'st me best, 
 Seal up these eyes that break my rest ; 
 Put out the lights, bespeak my knell, 
 And then eternally farewell ! 
 'Tis all th' amends our wretched Fates can give, 
 That none can force a desperate man to live. 
 
 Thomas Flatman. 
 
 276 
 O, THE SAD DAY 
 
 O, the sad day ! 
 
 When friends shall shake their heads, and say 
 
 Of miserable me : 
 
 ' Hark, how he groans ! 
 
 Look, how he pants for breath ! 
 
 See how he struggles with the pangs of death ! ' 
 
 When they shall say of these dear eyes : 
 
 ' How hollow, O, how dim they be 1 
 
 Mark how his breast doth rise and swell 
 
 Against his potent enemy !' 
 
 When some old friend shall step to my bedside, 
 
 Touch my chill face, and thence shall gently slide, 
 
 But, when his next companions say : 
 
 ' How does he do ? What hopes ? ' shall turn away, 
 
 Answering only, with a lift-up hand : 
 
 4 Who can his fate withstand ? ' 
 
 Then shall a gasp or two do more 
 
 Than e'er my rhetoric could before : 
 
 Persuade the world to trouble me no more 
 
 Persuade the world to trouble me no more. 
 
 Thomas Flatman.
 
 DORSET 249 
 
 277 
 PHYLLIS, FOR SHAME 
 
 BHYLLIS, for shame ! Let us improve, 
 
 A thousand different ways, 
 Those few short moments snatch'd by love 
 
 From many tedious days. 
 
 If you want courage to despise 
 
 The censure of the grave, 
 Though Love 's a tyrant in your eyes, 
 
 Your heart is but a slave. 
 
 My love is full of noble pride, 
 
 Nor can it e'er submit, 
 To let that fop, Discretion, ride 
 
 In triumph over it. 
 
 False friends I have, as well as you, 
 
 Who daily counsel me 
 Fame and Ambition to pursue, 
 
 And leave off loving thee ; 
 
 But when the least regard I show 
 
 To fools who thus advise, 
 May I be dull enough to grow 
 
 Most miserably wise ! 
 
 Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset. 
 
 278 
 TO CHLORIS 
 
 AH ! Chloris, that I now could sit 
 As unconcerned as when 
 
 Your infant beauty could beget 
 No pleasure, nor no pain ! 
 
 When I the dawn used to admire 
 And praised the coming day, 
 
 I little thought the growing fire 
 Must take my rest away.
 
 250 SEDLEY 
 
 Your charms in harmless childhood lay, 
 
 Like metals in the mine : 
 Age from no face took more away 
 
 Than youth concealed in thine. 
 
 But as your charms insensibly 
 
 To their perfection prest, 
 Fond love as unperceived did fly, 
 
 And in my bosom rest. 
 
 My passion with your beauty grew, 
 
 And Cupid at my heart 
 Still, as his mother favoured you, 
 
 Threw a new flaming dart. 
 
 Each gloried in their wanton part : 
 
 To make a lover, he 
 Employed the utmost of his art, 
 
 To make a beauty she ! 
 
 Though now I slowly bend to love, 
 
 Uncertain of my fate, 
 If your fair self my chains approve, 
 
 I shall my freedom hate. 
 
 Lovers, like dying men, may well 
 
 At first disordered be, 
 Since none alive can truly tell 
 
 What fortune they must see. 
 
 Charles Sedley, 
 
 279 
 PHYLLIS 
 
 PHYLLIS is my only joy, 
 
 Faithless as the winds or seas, 
 Sometimes cunning, sometimes coy, 
 Yet she never fails to please : 
 If with a frown 
 I am cast down, 
 Phyllis, smiling 
 And beguiling, 
 Makes me happier than before.
 
 APHRA BEHN 251 
 
 Though alas ! too late I find 
 Nothing can her fancy fix ; 
 Yet the moment she is kind 
 I forgive her with her tricks, 
 Which though I see, 
 I can't get free : 
 She deceiving, 
 I believing, 
 What need lovers wish for more ? 
 
 Charles Sedley. 
 
 280 
 LOVE ENTHRONED 
 
 LOVE in fantastic triumph sate, 
 
 Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed, 
 For whom fresh pains he did create, 
 
 And strange tyrannic power he showed. 
 From thy bright eyes he took his fires, 
 
 Which round about in sport he hurled ; 
 But 'twas from mine he took desires 
 
 Enough to undo the amorous world. 
 
 From me he took his sighs and tears, 
 
 From thee his pride and cruelty ; 
 From me his languishment and fears, 
 
 And every killing dart from thee. 
 Thus thou and I the god have armed, 
 
 And set him up a deity, 
 But my poor heart alone is harmed, 
 
 While thine the victor is, and free. 
 
 Aphra Behn. 
 
 28l 
 OF HIS MISTRESS 
 
 AN age in her embraces past 
 Would seem a winter's day, 
 
 Where life and light with envious haste 
 Are torn and snatch'd away.
 
 252 ROCHESTER 
 
 But, O ! how slowly minutes roll, 
 
 When absent from her eyes, 
 That fed my love, which is my soul ! 
 
 It languishes and dies ; 
 
 For then, no more a soul, but shade, 
 
 It mournfully does move, 
 And haunts my breast, by absence made 
 
 The living tomb of love. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, 
 
 282 
 ABSENT FROM THEE 
 
 ABSENT from thee, I languish still ! 
 
 Then ask me not : When I return ? 
 The straying fool 'twill plainly kill 
 
 To wish all day, all night to mourn. 
 
 Dear, from thine arms then let me fly, 
 That my fantastic mind may prove 
 
 The torments it deserves to try, 
 That tears my fix'd heart from my love. 
 
 When, wearied with a world of woe, 
 
 To thy safe bosom I retire, 
 Where love, and peace, and truth does flow, 
 
 May I contented there expire ! 
 
 Lest, once more wandering from that heaven, 
 I fall on some base heart unblest 
 
 Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven 
 And lose my everlasting rest ! 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. 
 
 283 
 LOVE AND LIFE 
 
 ALL my past life is mine no more, 
 
 The flying hours are gone : 
 Like transitory dreams given o'er, 
 Whose images are kept in store 
 By memory alone.
 
 ROCHESTER 253 
 
 The time that is to come is not ; 
 
 How can it then be mine ? 
 The present moment 's all my lot, 
 And that, as fast as it is got, 
 
 Phyllis, is only thine. 
 
 Then talk not of inconstancy, 
 
 False hearts, and broken vows ! 
 If I by miracle can be 
 This five-long minute true to thee, 
 
 'Tis all that Heaven allows. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. 
 
 284 
 UPON DRINKING IN A BOWL 
 
 VULCAN, contrive me such a cup 
 
 As Nestor used of old ! 
 Show all thy skill to trim it up, 
 
 Damask it round with gold. 
 
 Make it so large that, fill'd with sack 
 
 Up to the swelling brim, 
 Vast toasts on the delicious lake 
 
 Like ships at sea may swim. 
 
 Engrave not battle on his cheek : 
 
 With war I 've nought to do ! 
 I 'm none of those that took Maestrick, 
 
 Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew. 
 
 Let it no name of planets tell, 
 
 Fix'd stars, or constellations : 
 For I am no Sir Sidrophel, 
 
 Nor none of his relations. 
 
 But carve thereon a spreading vine ; 
 
 Then add two lovely boys ; 
 Their limbs in amorous folds entwine, 
 
 The type of future joys. 
 
 Cupid and Bacchus my saints are. 
 
 May drink and love still reign ! 
 With wine I wash away my care, 
 
 And then to love again. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
 
 254 ROCHESTER 
 
 285 
 I CANNOT CHANGE 
 
 I CANNOT change, as others do, 
 
 Though you unjustly scorn, 
 Since that poor swain, that sighs for you, 
 
 For you alone was born. 
 No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move 
 
 A surer way I '11 try, 
 And, to revenge my slighted love, 
 
 Will still love on and die. 
 
 When, kill'd with grief, Amyntas lies, 
 
 And you to mind shall call 
 The sighs that now unpity'd rise, 
 
 The tears that vainly fall, 
 That welcome hour, that ends this smart, 
 
 Will then begin your pain ; 
 For such a faithful tender heart 
 
 Can never break in vain. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. 
 
 286 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS 
 
 WHY dost thou shade thy lovely face ? O, why- 
 Does that eclipsing hand of thine deny 
 The sunshine of the Sun's enlivening eye ? 
 
 Without thy light, what light remains in me ? 
 Thou art my life : my way, my light 's in thee ; 
 I live, I move, and by thy beams I see. 
 
 Thou art my life : if thou but turn away, 
 
 My life 's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way : 
 
 Without thee, Love, I travel not but stray. 
 
 My light thou art : without thy glorious sight, 
 My eyes are darkened with eternal night. 
 My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light. 
 
 Thou art my way : I wander if thou fly. 
 Thou art my light : if hid, how blind am I ! 
 Thou art my life : if thou withdrawal, I die.
 
 255 
 
 ROCHESTER 
 
 My eyes are dark and blind, I cannot see : 
 To whom, or whither should my darkness flee, 
 But to that light ? and who 's that light but thee ? 
 
 If I have lost my path, dear lover, say, 
 Shall I still wander in a doubtful way ? 
 Love, shall a lamb of Israel's sheep-fold stray ? 
 
 My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray, 
 
 I cannot go, nor can I safely stay : 
 
 Whom should I seek, but thee, my path, my way ? 
 
 And yet thou turn'st thy face away, and fly'st me ! 
 And yet I sue for grace, and thou deny'st me ! 
 Speak, art thou angry, love, or only try'st me ? ... 
 
 Thou art the pilgrim's path, the blind man's eye, 
 The dead man's life : on thee my hopes rely : 
 If I but them remove, I surely die. 
 
 Dissolve thy sunbeams, close thy wings, and stay ! 
 See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray, 
 O thou that art my life, my light, my way ! 
 
 Then work thy will ! If passion bid me flee, 
 My reason shall obey, my wings shall be 
 Stretched out no farther than from me to thee. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. 
 
 287 
 MY DEAR MISTRESS 
 
 MY dear mistress has a heart 
 
 Soft as those kind looks she gave me, 
 When, with Love's resistless art 
 
 And her eyes, she did enslave me ; 
 But her constancy 's so weak, 
 
 She 's so wild and apt to wander, 
 That my jealous heart would break, 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 Melting joys about her move, 
 
 Killing pleasures, wounding blisses ; 
 
 She can dress her eyes in love, 
 
 And her lips can warm with kisses ;
 
 256 CONGREVE 
 
 Angels listen when she speaks ; 
 
 She 's my delight, all mankind's wonder : 
 But my jealous heart would break, 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. 
 
 288 
 1 DID BUT LOOK 
 
 I DID but look and love a-while, 
 
 'Twas but for one half-hour : 
 Then to resist I had no will, 
 
 And now I have no power 
 
 To sigh, and wish, is all my ease : 
 
 Sighs, which do heat impart 
 Enough to melt the coldest ice, 
 
 Yet cannot warm your heart. 
 
 O ! would your pity give my heart 
 
 One corner of your breast, 
 Twould learn of yours the winning art, 
 
 And quickly steal the rest ! 
 
 Thomas Otway. 
 
 289 
 FALSE THOUGH SHE BE 
 
 FALSE though she be to me and love, 
 
 I '11 ne'er pursue revenge ; 
 For still the charmer I approve, 
 
 Though I deplore her change. 
 
 In hours of bliss we oft have met : 
 
 They could not always last, 
 And though the present I regret, 
 
 I 'm grateful for the past. 
 
 William Congreve.
 
 POPE 2S7 
 
 290 
 LOVE IN HER EYES 
 
 LOVE in her eyes sits playing, 
 And sheds delicious death ; 
 
 Love in her lips is straying, 
 And warbling in her breath ; 
 
 Love on her breast sits panting, 
 And swells with soft desire : 
 
 Nor grace, nor charm, is wanting 
 To set the heart on fire. 
 
 John Gay. 
 
 291 
 
 THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL 
 
 VITAL spark of heavenly flame, 
 
 Quit, O, quit this mortal frame ! 
 
 Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 
 
 O, the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
 Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 
 And let me languish into life. 
 
 Hark, they whisper ! Angels say : 
 
 ' Sister spirit, come away ! ' 
 
 What is this absorbs me quite ? 
 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? 
 Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 
 
 The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring ! 
 Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 
 O Grave, where is thy Victory ? 
 O Death, where is thy sting ? 
 
 Alexander Pope. 
 R
 
 258 CAREY 
 
 292 
 SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 
 
 OF all the girls that are so smart 
 
 There 's none like pretty Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 There is no lady in the land 
 
 Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets, 
 
 And through the streets does cry 'cm ; 
 Her mother she sells laces long 
 
 To such as please to buy 'em. 
 But sure such folks could ne'er beget 
 
 So sweet a girl as Sally ! 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When she is by, I leave my work, 
 
 I love her so sincerely ; 
 My master comes like any Turk, 
 
 And bangs me most severely. 
 But let him bang his belly-full, 
 
 I '11 bear it all for Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Of all the days that 's in the week 
 
 I dearly love but one day, 
 And that 's the day that comes betwixt 
 
 A Saturday and Monday ; 
 For then I 'm dressed all in my best 
 
 To walk abroad with Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master carries me to church, 
 
 And often am I blame'd 
 Because I leave him in the lurch 
 
 As soon as text is name'd. 
 I leave the church in sermon-time, 
 
 And slink away to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley.
 
 THOMSON 259 
 
 When Christmas comes about again, 
 
 O, then I shall have money ! 
 I '11 hoard it up, and box it all, 
 
 I '11 give it to my honey. 
 I would it were ten thousand pounds, 
 
 I 'd give it all to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master and the neighbours all 
 
 Make game of me and Sally ; 
 And, but for her, I 'd better be 
 
 A slave, and row a galley ; 
 But when my seven long years are out, 
 
 O, then I '11 marry Sally ; 
 O, then we '11 wed, and then we '11 bed, 
 
 But not in our alley. 
 
 Henry Carey. 
 
 293 
 TO HER I LOVE 
 
 TELL me, thou soul of her I love, 
 Ah ! tell me, whither art thou fled ? 
 
 To what delightful world above, 
 Appointed for the happy dead ? 
 
 Or dost thou free, at pleasure, roam 
 And sometimes share thy lover's woe, 
 
 Where, void of thee, his cheerless home 
 Can now, alas ! no comfort know ? 
 
 ! if thou hoverest round my walk, 
 While, under every well-known tree, 
 
 1 to thy fancied shadow talk, 
 And every tear is full of thee : 
 
 Should then the weary eye of grief, 
 Beside some sympathetic stream, 
 
 In slumber find a short relief, 
 O, visit thou my soothing dream ! 
 
 James Thomson.
 
 260 COLLINS 
 
 294 
 
 AN ODE 
 
 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
 By all their country's wishes blest ! 
 When Spring, with dewy ringers cold, 
 Returns to deck their hallow d mould, 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 
 By Fairy hands their knell is rung, 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung, 
 There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay, 
 And Freedom shall a while repair, 
 To dwell a weeping hermit there. 
 
 William Cullins. 
 
 295 
 DIRGE IN CYMBELINE 
 
 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 
 
 Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
 
 Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, 
 And rifle all the .breathing spring. 
 
 No wailing ghost shall dare appear 
 To vex with shrieks this quiet grove, 
 
 But shepherd lads assemble here, 
 And melting virgins own their love. 
 
 No wither'd witch shall here be seen, 
 No goblins lead their nightly crew : 
 
 The female fays shall haunt the green, 
 And dress thy grave with pearly dow. 
 
 The red-breast oft at evening hours 
 Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
 
 With hoary moss and gather'd flowers, 
 To deck the ground where thou art laid. 
 
 When howling winds and beating rain 
 In tempests shake thy sylvan cell, 
 
 Or 'midst the chase on every plain, 
 The tender thought on thce shall dwell.
 
 COLLINS 261 
 
 Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 
 
 For thee the tear be duly shed : 
 Belov'd, till life can charm no more, 
 
 And mourn'd, till pity's self be dead. 
 
 William Collins. 
 
 296 
 ODE TO EVE-NING 
 
 IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 
 
 May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear, 
 
 Like thy own solemn springs, 
 
 Thy springs and dying gales, 
 
 O nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd Sun 
 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 
 
 With brede ethereal wove, 
 
 O'erhang his wavy bed : 
 
 Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat 
 With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 
 
 Or where the beetle winds 
 
 His small but sullen horn, 
 
 As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, 
 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum : 
 
 Now teach me, maid compos'd, 
 
 To breathe some soften'd strain, 
 
 Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
 May not unseemly with its stillness suit, 
 
 As, musing slow, I hail 
 
 Thy genial lov'd return ! 
 
 For when thy folding-star arising shows 
 His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 
 
 The fragrant Hours, and Elves 
 
 Who slept in buds the day, 
 
 And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge, 
 And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still, 
 
 The pensive Pleasures sweet 
 
 Prepare thy shadowy car.
 
 262 JEAN ELLIOT 
 
 Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene, 
 Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells, 
 
 Whose walls more awful nod 
 
 By thy religious gleams ! 
 
 Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, 
 Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, 
 
 That from the mountain's side 
 
 Views wilds and swelling floods, 
 
 And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires, 
 And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all 
 
 Thy dewy fingers draw 
 
 The gradual dusky veil. 
 
 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
 And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 
 
 While Summer loves to sport 
 
 Beneath thy lingering light, 
 
 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, 
 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 
 
 Affrights thy shrinking train, 
 
 And rudely rends thy robes : 
 
 So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 
 
 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 
 
 Thy gentlest influence own, 
 
 And love thy favourite name ! 
 
 William Collins. 
 
 297 
 THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST 
 
 I 'VE heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, 
 Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day ; 
 But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning : 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At bughts in the morning nae blythe lads are scorning 
 The lasses are lanely, and dowie, and wae ; 
 Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing, 
 Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her. away.
 
 GRAHAM OF GARTMORE 263 
 
 In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering : 
 The bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray. 
 At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At e'en, in the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming 
 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play ; 
 But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border ! 
 The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; 
 The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, 
 The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay. 
 
 We '11 hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking : 
 Women and bairns are heartless and wae, 
 Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning : 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 Jean Elliot. 
 
 298 
 WHEN LOVELY WOMAN 
 
 WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, 
 And finds too late that men betray, 
 
 What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
 What art can wash her guilt away ? 
 
 The only art her guilt to cover, 
 To hide her shame from every eye, 
 
 To give repentance to her lover, 
 And wring his bosom, is to die. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 IF DOUGHTY DEEDS 
 
 IF doughty deeds my lady please, 
 Right soon I '11 mount my steed, 
 
 And strong his arm, and fast his seat, 
 That bears frae me the meed.
 
 264 COWPER 
 
 I '11 wear thy colours in my cap, 
 
 Thy picture at my heart ; 
 And he that bends not to thine eye 
 Shall rue it to his smart ! 
 Then tell me how to woo thee, Love, 
 
 O, tell me how to woo thee ! 
 For thy dear sake nae care I '11 take. 
 Tho' ne'er another trow me. 
 
 If gay attire delight thine eye, 
 
 I '11 dight me in array, 
 I '11 tend thy chamber door all night, 
 
 And squire thee all the day. 
 If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 
 
 These sounds I '11 strive to catch : 
 Thy voice I '11 steal to woo thysel', 
 
 That voice that nane can match. 
 
 But if fond love thy heart can gain, 
 
 I never broke a vow, 
 Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 
 
 I never loved but you. 
 For you alone I ride the ring, 
 
 For you I wear the blue, 
 For you alone I strive to sing 
 O, tell me how to woo ! 
 
 Then tell me how to woo thee, Love. 
 
 O, tell me how to woo thee ! 
 For thy dear sake nae care I '11 take, 
 Tho' ne'er another trow me. 
 
 Graham ofGarhnore. 
 
 300 
 ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 
 
 TOLL for the brave ! 
 
 The brave that are no more ! 
 All sunk beneath the wave, 
 
 Fast by their native shore ! 
 
 Eight hundred of the brave, 
 Whose courage well was tried, 
 
 Had made the vessel heel, 
 And laid her on her side.
 
 COWPER 265 
 
 A land-breeze shook the shrouds, 
 
 And she was overset ; 
 Down went the Royal George, 
 
 With all her crew complete. 
 
 Toll for the brave ! 
 
 Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
 His last sea-fight is fought ; 
 
 His work of glory done. 
 
 It was not in the battle ; 
 
 No tempest gave the shock ; 
 She sprang no fatal leak ; 
 
 She ran upon no rock. 
 
 His sword was in its sheath, 
 
 His fingers held the pen, 
 When Kempenfelt went down 
 
 With twice four hundred men. 
 
 Weigh the vessel up, 
 
 Once dreaded by our foes ! 
 And mingle with our cup 
 
 The tears that England owes. 
 
 Her timbers yet are sound, 
 
 And she may float again 
 Full charged with England's thunder, 
 
 And plough the distant main. 
 
 But Kempenfelt is gone, 
 
 His victories are o'er, 
 And he and his eight hundred 
 
 Shall plough the wave no more. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 301 
 TO MARY 
 
 THE twentieth year is well-nigh past, 
 Since first our sky was overcast ; 
 Ah, would that this might be the last, 
 My Mar>- !
 
 266 COWPER 
 
 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
 I see thee daily weaker grow ; 
 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy needles, once a shining store, 
 For my sake restless heretofore, 
 Now rust disused, and shine no more, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 For though thou gladly wouldst fulful 
 The same kind office for me still, 
 Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 But well thou playedst the housewife's part, 
 And all thy threads with magic art 
 Have wound themselves about this heart, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy indistinct expressions seem 
 Like language uttered in a dream ; 
 Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
 Are still more lovely in my sight 
 Than golden beams of orient light, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 For, could I view nor them nor thee, 
 What sight worth seeing could I see ? 
 The sun would rise in vain for me, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Partakers of thy sad decline, 
 Thy hands their little force resign, 
 Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 
 
 My Mar}' ! 
 
 Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, 
 That now at every step thou movest 
 Upheld by two, yet still thou lovest, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And still to love, though prest with ill, 
 In wintry age to feel no chill, 
 With me is to be lovely still, 
 
 My Mary !
 
 MICKLE 267 
 
 But ah ! by constant heed I know, 
 How oft the sadness that I show 
 Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And should my future lot be cast 
 With much resemblance of the past, 
 Thy worn-out heart will break at last, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 William Cmvper. 
 
 302 
 
 THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE 
 HOUSE 
 
 AND are ye sure the news is true ? 
 
 And are ye sure he 's weel ? 
 Is this a time to think of wark ? 
 
 Ye jauds, fling by your wheel ! 
 Is this a time to think o' wark, 
 
 When Colin 's at the door ? 
 Gie me my cloak ! I '11 to the quay 
 
 And see him come ashore. 
 
 For there 's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There 's nae luck ava, 
 There 's little pleasure in the house, 
 
 When our gudeman's awa. 
 
 Rise up and mak' a clean fireside, 
 
 Put on the muckle pot ! 
 Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown, 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat, 
 And mak' their shoon as black as slaes, 
 
 Their hose as white as snaw ! 
 It 's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 
 For he 's been long awa. 
 
 There 's twa fat hens upon the bauk, 
 
 Been fed this month and mair : 
 Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, 
 
 That Colin weel may fare, 
 And mak' the table neat and clean, 
 
 Gar ilka thing look braw ! 
 It 's a' for love of my gudeman, 
 
 For he 's been long awa.
 
 268 ANNE LINDSAY 
 
 O, gi'e me down my bigonet, 
 
 My bishop satin gown, 
 For I maun tell the bailie's wife 
 
 That Colin 's come to town. 
 My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on, 
 
 My hose o' pearl blue ! 
 'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 
 For he s baith leal and true. 
 
 Sae true his words, sae smooth his speech, 
 
 His breath 's like caller air ! 
 His very foot has music in 't, 
 
 As he comes up the stair. 
 And will I see his face again ? 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I 'm downright dizzy with the thought, 
 
 In troth, I 'm like to greet. 
 
 For there 's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There 's nae luck ava, 
 There 's little pleasure in the house, 
 
 When our gudeman 's awa. 
 
 William Jn/itts A fickle. 
 
 303 
 AULD ROBIN GRAY 
 
 WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
 And a' the warld to rest are gane, 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
 While my gudeman lies sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, 
 But saving a croun he had naething else beside : 
 To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sen, 
 And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 
 
 He hadna been awa a week but only twa, 
 When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa 
 My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea 
 And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. 
 
 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
 I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; 
 Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his eV 
 Said : 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me ! '
 
 BLAKE 269 
 
 My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; 
 His ship it was a wrack . . . Why didna Jamie dee ? 
 Or why do I live to cry Wae 's me ? 
 
 My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak, 
 But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break : 
 They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea, 
 Sac auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
 When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I coulclna think it he 
 Till he said : ' I 'm come hame to marry thee." 
 
 O, sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
 We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away ; 
 I wish that I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee, 
 And why was I born to say Wae 's me ! 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and I carona to spin ; 
 I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
 But I '11 do my best a gude wife ay to be, 
 For auld Robin Gray, he is kind unto me. 
 
 Lady Anne Lindsay, 
 
 304 
 TO SPRING 
 
 O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down 
 Through the clear windows of the morning, turn 
 Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, 
 Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring ! 
 
 The hills tell each other, and the listening 
 Valleys hear ; all our longing eyes are turned 
 Up to thy bright pavilions : issue forth, 
 And let thy holy feet visit our clime ! 
 
 Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds 
 Kiss thy perfumed garments ; let us taste 
 Thy morn and evening breath ; scatter thy pearh 
 Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee !
 
 270 BLAKE 
 
 O, deck her forth with thy fair fingers ; pour 
 Thy soft kisses on her bosom ; and put 
 Thy golden crown upon her languished head, 
 Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee ! 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 305 
 HOW SWEET I ROAMED 
 
 How sweet I roamed from field to field, 
 
 And tasted all the summer's pride, 
 Till I the Prince of Love beheld 
 
 Who in the sunny beams did glide ! 
 
 He showed me lilies for my hair, 
 
 And blushing roses for my brow ; 
 He led me through his gardens fair 
 
 Where all his golden pleasures grow. 
 
 With sweet May-dews my wings were wet, 
 
 And Phoabus fired my vocal rage ; 
 He caught me in his silken net, 
 
 And shut me in his golden cage. 
 
 He loves to sit and hear me sing ; 
 
 Then, laughing, sports and plays with me ; 
 Then stretches out my golden wing, 
 
 And mocks my loss of liberty. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 306 
 MY SILKS AND FINE ARRAY 
 
 MY silks and fine array, 
 
 My smiles and languished air, 
 
 By love are driven away ; 
 And mournful lean Despair 
 
 Brings me yew to deck my grave : 
 
 Such end true lovers have ! 
 
 His face is fair as heaven 
 When springing buds unfold : 
 
 O, why to him was't given, 
 Whose heart is wintry cold ?
 
 BLAKE 271 
 
 His breast is love's all-worshipped tomb, 
 Where all love's pilgrims come. 
 
 Bring me an axe and spade, 
 
 Bring me a winding-sheet ; 
 When I my grave have made, 
 
 Let winds and tempests beat ; 
 Then down I '11 lie, as cold as clay 
 True love doth pass away ! 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 307 
 TO MEMORY 
 
 MEMORY, hither come, 
 
 And tune your merry notes, 
 And, while upon the wind 
 
 Your music floats, 
 I '11 pore upon the stream 
 Where signing lovers dream, 
 And fish for fancies, as they pass 
 Within the watery glass. 
 
 I '11 drink of the clear stream, 
 
 And hear the linnets' song, 
 And there I '11 lie and dream 
 
 The day along ; 
 
 And, when night comes, I '11 go 
 To places fit for woe, 
 Walking along the darkened valley 
 With silent Melancholy. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 308 
 TO THE MUSES 
 
 WHETHER on Ida's shady brow 
 Or in the chambers of the East, 
 
 The chambers of the Sun, that now 
 From ancient melody have ceased
 
 272 BLAKE 
 
 Whether in heaven ye wander fair, 
 Or the green comers of the earth, 
 
 Or the blue regions of the air 
 Where the melodious winds have birth ; 
 
 Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, 
 
 Beneath the bosom of the sea 
 Wandering in many a coral grove : 
 
 Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry, 
 
 How have you left the ancient love 
 That bards of old enjoyed in you ! 
 
 The languid strings do scarcely move, 
 The sound is forced, the notes arc few. 
 
 II :lliani Blake. 
 
 309 
 A SONG OF SINGING 
 
 PIPING down the valleys wild, 
 
 Piping songs of pleasant glee, 
 On a cloud I saw a child, 
 
 And he laughing said to me : 
 
 ' Pipe a song about a Lamb ! ' 
 
 So I piped with merry cheer. 
 ' Piper, pipe that song again.' 
 
 So I piped : he wept to hear. 
 
 ' Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; 
 
 Sing thy songs of happy cheer ! ' 
 So I sang the same again, 
 
 While he wept with joy to hear. 
 
 ' Piper, sit thee down and write 
 
 In a book, that all may read.' 
 So he vanished from my sight ; 
 
 And I plucked a hollow reed, 
 
 And I made a rural pen, 
 
 And I stained the water clear, 
 And I wrote my happy songs 
 
 Every child may joy to hear. 
 
 William Blakf.
 
 BLAKE 273 
 
 310 
 THE SICK ROSE 
 
 O ROSE, thou art sick ! 
 
 The invisible worm, 
 That flies in the night, 
 
 In the howling storm, 
 
 Has found out thy bed 
 
 Of crimson joy, 
 And his dark secret love 
 
 Does thy life destroy. 
 
 William Blake, 
 
 THE ANGEL 
 
 I DREAMT a dream ! What can it mean ? 
 And that I was a maiden Queen 
 Guarded by an Angel mild : 
 Witless woe was ne'er beguiled ! 
 
 And I wept both night and day, 
 And he wiped my tears away ; 
 And I wept both day and night, 
 And hid from him my heart's delight. 
 
 So he took his wings, and fled. 
 Then the morn blushed rosy red ; 
 I dried my tears, and armed my fears 
 With ten thousand shields, and spears. 
 
 Soon my Angel came again ; 
 I was armed, he came in vain ; 
 For the time of youth was fled, 
 And grey hairs were on my head. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 312 
 THE TIGER 
 
 TIGER, tiger, burning bright 
 In the forests of the night, 
 What immortal hand or eye 
 Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? 
 S
 
 274 BLAKE 
 
 In what distant deeps or skies 
 Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? 
 On what wings dare he aspire ? 
 What the hand dare seize the fire ? 
 
 And what shoulder and what art 
 Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? 
 And, when thy heart began to beat, 
 What dread hand and what dread feet ? 
 
 What the hammer ? what the chain ? 
 In what furnace was thy brain ? 
 What the anvil ? what dread grasp 
 Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? 
 
 When the stars threw down their spears, 
 And watered heaven with their tears, 
 Did he smile his work to see ? 
 Did he who made the lamb make thee ? 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
 In the forests of the night, 
 What immortal hand or eye 
 Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 313 
 THE SUNFLOWER 
 
 AH ! Sunflower, weary of time, 
 Who countest the steps of the sun, 
 
 Seeking after that sweet golden clime 
 Where the traveller's journey is done ; 
 
 Where the Youth pined away with desire, 
 And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, 
 
 Arise from their graves, and aspire 
 Where my Sunflower wishes to go ! 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 314 
 CRADLE SONG 
 
 SLEEP, sleep, beauty bright, 
 Dreaming in the joys of night ! 
 Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
 Little sorrows sit and weep.
 
 BURNS 275 
 
 Sweet babe, in thy face 
 Soft desires I can trace, 
 Secret joys and secret smiles, 
 Little pretty infant wiles. 
 
 As thy softest limbs I feel, 
 Smiles as of the morning steal 
 O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
 Where thy little heart doth rest. 
 
 O, the cunning wiles that creep 
 In thy little heart asleep ! 
 When thy little heart doth wake, 
 Then the dreadful light shall break. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 315 
 OF A' THE AIRTS 
 
 OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly like the west, 
 For there the bonie lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best : 
 There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 
 
 And monie a hill between, 
 But day and night my fancy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair. 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air. 
 There 's not a bonie flower that springs 
 
 By fountain, shaw, or green, 
 There 's not a bonie bird that sings, 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 Robert Burns, 
 
 316 
 THE HAPPY TRIO 
 
 We are na fou, we 're no that fou, 
 
 But just a drappie in our ee : 
 The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
 
 And aye we '11 taste the barley bree.
 
 276 BURNS 
 
 O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut, 
 
 And Rob and Allan cam to see : 
 Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, 
 
 Ye wad na find in Christendie. 
 
 Here are we met, three merry boys, 
 Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 
 
 And monie a night we Ve merry been, 
 And monie mae we hope to be ! 
 
 It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
 
 That 's blinkin in the lift sae hie : 
 She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
 
 But by my sooth she '11 wait a wee ! 
 
 Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
 
 A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
 Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 
 
 He is the King among us three ! 
 
 We are na fou, we 're no that fou, 
 
 But just a drappie in our ee ; 
 The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
 
 And aye we '11 taste the barley bree. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 317 
 JOHN ANDERSON MY JO 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John, 
 
 When we were first acquent, 
 Your locks were like the raven, 
 
 Your bonie brow was brent ; 
 But now your brow is beld, John, 
 
 Your locks are like the snaw ; 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 
 We clamb the hill thegither, 
 And monie a canty day, John, 
 
 We 've had wi* ane anither : 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 
 But hand and hand we '11 go, 
 And sleep thegither at the foot. 
 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 Robert Burns.
 
 BURNS 277 
 
 318 
 O, LEEZE ME ON MY SPINNIN WHEEL 
 
 O, LEEZE me on my spinnin wheel ! 
 O, leeze me on my rock and reel, 
 Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
 And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
 I '11 set me down and sing and spin, 
 While laigh descends the simmer sun, 
 Blest wi' content, and milk and meal 
 O, leeze me on my spinnin wheel ! 
 
 On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
 And meet below my theekit cot ; 
 The scented birk and hawthorn white 
 Across the pool their arms unite, 
 Alike to screen the birdie's nest 
 And little fishes' caller rest ; 
 The sun blinks kindly in the biel', 
 Where blythe I turn my spinnin wheel. 
 
 On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
 And Echo cons the doolfu' tale. 
 The lintwhites in the hazel braes, 
 Delighted, rival ither's lays. 
 The craik amang the claver hay, 
 The paitrick whirring o'er the ley, 
 The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
 Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 
 
 Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
 Aboon distress, below envy, 
 O, wha wad leave this humble state, 
 For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
 Amid the flaring, idle toys, 
 Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
 Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
 Of Bessy at her spinnin wheel ? 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 319 
 
 T AM GLEN 
 
 MY heart is a breaking, dear tittie, 
 
 Some counsel unto me come len'. 
 To anger them a' is a pity 
 
 But what will I do wi' Tam Glen ?
 
 278 BURNS 
 
 I 'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, 
 
 In poortith I might mak a fen' ; 
 What care I in riches to wallow, 
 
 If I maunna marry Tarn Glen ? 
 
 There 's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller, 
 ' Guid-day to you,' brute ! he comes ben. 
 
 He brags and he blaws o' his siller, 
 But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 
 
 My minnie does constantly deave me, 
 And bids me beware o' young men : 
 
 They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
 But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen ? 
 
 My daddie says, gin I '11 forsake him, 
 He '11 gie me guid hunder marks ten : 
 
 But, if it 's ordain'd I maun take him, 
 O, wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 
 
 Yestreen at the Valentines' dealing, 
 My heart to my mou gied a sten : 
 
 For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
 And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. 
 
 The last Halloween I was waukin 
 My droukit sark-slecve, as ye ken : 
 
 His likeness cam up the house staukin 
 And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen ! 
 
 Come counsel, dear tittie, don't tarry ! 
 
 I '11 gie you my bonie black hen, 
 Gif ye will advise me to marry 
 
 The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 
 
 Robert Hunts. 
 
 320 
 BONIE DOON 
 
 YE flowery banks o' bonie Boon, 
 How can ye blume sae fair ! 
 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
 And I sae fu' o' care !
 
 BURNS 279 
 
 Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
 
 That sings upon the bough : 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days, 
 
 When my fause luve was true. 
 
 Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 
 
 And wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
 
 To see the woodbine twine ; 
 And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 
 
 And sae did I o' mine. 
 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Frae aff its thorny tree ; 
 And my fause luver stole my rose, 
 
 But left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 321 
 GO FETCH TO ME 
 
 Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
 
 An' fill it in a silver tassie, 
 That I may drink before I go 
 
 A service to my bonie lassie ! 
 The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
 
 And I maun leave my bonie Mar)-. 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 
 The glittering spears are ranked ready, 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar, 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody. 
 But it 's no the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 Wad mak me langer wish to tarry, 
 Nor shout o' war that 's heard afar 
 
 It 's leaving thee, my bonie Mary ! 
 
 Robert Burns.
 
 28o BURNS 
 
 322 
 O MAY, THY MORN 
 
 O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 
 
 As the mirk night o' December ; 
 For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
 
 And private was the chamber ; 
 And dear was she I dare na name, 
 
 But I will aye remember ! 
 
 And here 's to them, that, like oursel, 
 
 Can push about the jorum ! 
 And here 's to them that wish us weel 
 
 May a' that 's guid watch o'er them ! 
 And here 's to them we dare na tell, 
 
 The dearest o' the quorum ! 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 323 
 THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T 
 
 O, AVHA my babie-clouts will buy ? 
 Wha will tent me when I cry ? 
 Wha will kiss me whare I lie ? 
 The rantin dog the daddie o 't ! 
 
 Wha will own he did the faut ? 
 Wha. will buy the groanin maut ? 
 Wha will tell me how to ca't ? 
 The rantin dog the daddie o 't ! 
 
 When I mount the creepie-chair, 
 Wha will sit beside me there ? 
 Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair 
 The rantin dog the daddie o 't ! 
 
 Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
 Wha will mak me fidgin fain ? 
 Wha will kiss me o'er again ? 
 The rantin dog the daddie o 't ! 
 
 Robert Burns.
 
 BURNS 281 
 
 324 
 THE GO W DEN LOCKS OF ANNA 
 
 YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine, 
 
 A place where body saw na' ; 
 Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
 
 The gowden locks of Anna. 
 The hungry Jew in wilderness 
 
 Rejoicing o'er his manna 
 Was naething to my hinny bliss 
 
 Upon the lips of Anna. 
 
 Ye monarchs, tak the east and west, 
 
 Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
 Gie me within my straining grasp 
 
 The melting form of Anna : 
 There I '11 despise imperial charms, 
 
 An Empress or Sultana, 
 While dying raptures in her arms 
 
 I give and take with Anna ! 
 
 Awa, thou flaunting god o' day ! 
 
 Awa, thou pale Diana ! 
 Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling ray, 
 
 When I 'm to meet my Anna ! 
 Come, in thy raven plumage, night, 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a', 
 And bring an angel pen to write 
 
 My transports wi' my Anna ! 
 
 The kirk and state may join, and tell 
 
 To do such things I maunna : 
 The kirk and state may gae to hell, 
 
 And I '11 gae to my Anna ! 
 She is the sunshine o' my ee, 
 
 To live but her I canna. 
 Had I on earth but wishes three, 
 
 The first should be my Anna. 
 
 -Robert Burns.
 
 282 BURNS 
 
 325 
 THE RIGS O' BARLEY 
 
 Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, 
 An' corn rigs are bonie : 
 
 I '11 ne'er forget that happy night, 
 Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 
 
 IT was upon a Lammas night, 
 
 When corn rigs are bonie, 
 Beneath the moon's unclouded light 
 
 I held awa to Annie. 
 The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 
 
 Till, 'tween the late and early, 
 Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 
 
 To see me thro' the barley. 
 
 The sky was blue, the wind was still, 
 
 The moon was shining clearly ; 
 I set her down wi' right good will, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 I kent her heart was a' my ain ; 
 
 I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
 I kiss'd her owre and owre again 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley. 
 
 I lock'd her in my fond embrace, 
 
 Her heart was locating rarely : 
 My blessings on that happy place, 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
 But, by the moon and stars so bright 
 
 That shone that hour so clearly, 
 She ay shall bless that happy night 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
 
 I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear, 
 
 I hae been merry drinking, 
 I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear, 
 
 I hae been happy thinking : 
 But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 
 
 Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, 
 That happy night was worth them a', 
 
 Amang the rigs o' barley.
 
 BURNS 283 
 
 Com rigs, an' barley rigs, 
 
 An' corn rigs are bonie : 
 I '11 ne'er forget that happy night, 
 
 Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 326 
 GREEN GROW THE RASHES 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, 
 
 Are spent amang the lasses, O ! 
 
 THERE 's nought but care on ev'ry han', 
 In every hour that passes, O : 
 
 What signifies the life o' man, 
 An' 'twere na for the lasses, O '' 
 
 The warly race may riches chase, 
 An' riches still may fly them, O, 
 
 An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
 Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O ; 
 
 But gie me a canny hour at e'en, 
 My arms about my dearie, O, 
 
 An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
 May a' gae tapsalteerie, O ! 
 
 For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, 
 Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O : 
 
 The wisest man the warl' saw, 
 He dearly lov'd the lasses, O ! 
 
 Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
 Her noblest work she classes, O : 
 
 Her prentice han' she tried on man, 
 And then she made the lasses, O. 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 
 Green grow the rashes, O ! 
 The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, 
 
 Are spent amang the lasses, O ! 
 
 Robert liii
 
 284 BURNS 
 
 327 
 
 AULD LANG SYNE 
 
 For auld lang syne, my dear, 
 
 For auld lang syne, 
 We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 And never brought to min' ? 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 And days o' lang syne ? 
 
 We twa hae rin about the braes, 
 
 And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
 But we ve wandered monie a weary foot 
 
 Sin auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 
 
 Frae mornin sun till dine ; 
 But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
 
 Sin auld lang syne. 
 
 And here 's a hand, my trusty fiere, 
 
 And gie 's a hand o' thine, 
 And we '11 tak a right guid-willie waught 
 
 For auld lang syne ! 
 
 And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, 
 
 And surely I '11 be mine ! 
 And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
 
 For auld lang syne ! 
 
 For auld lang syne, my dear, 
 
 For auld lang syne, 
 We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 328 
 DOES HAUGHTY GAUL INVASION THREAT 
 
 DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 
 
 Then let the loons beware, Sir, 
 There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 
 
 And volunteers on shore, Sir.
 
 BURNS 285 
 
 The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 
 And Criffel sink to Solway, 
 
 Ere we permit a foreign foe 
 On British ground to rally ! 
 
 O, let us not like snarling tykes 
 
 In wrangling be divided, 
 Till, slap ! come in an unco loon 
 
 And wi" a rung decide it ! 
 Be Britain still to Britain true, 
 
 Amang oursels united, 
 For never but by British hands 
 
 Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
 
 The kettle o' the Kirk and State, 
 
 Perhaps a clout may fail in 't ; 
 But deil a foreign tinkler loon 
 
 Shall ever ca' a nail in 't. 
 Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 
 
 And wha wad dare to spoil it, 
 By heaven, the sacrilegious dog 
 
 Shall fuel be to boil it ! 
 
 The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 
 
 And the wretch his true-born brother, 
 Who would set the mob aboon the throne, 
 
 May they be damned together ! 
 Who will not sing God save the King. 
 
 Shall hang as high 's the steeple ; 
 But while we sing God save the King, 
 
 We '11 ne'er forget the people. 
 
 Robert Burns, 
 
 329 
 O, MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE 
 
 O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose 
 That 's newly sprung in June ! 
 
 O, my luve 's like the melodic 
 That 's sweetly played in tune !
 
 286 BURNS 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonie lass, 
 
 So deep in luve am I, 
 And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry : 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
 
 And the rocks melt wi' the sun ! 
 I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve, 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile ! 
 And I will come again, my luve, 
 
 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 330 
 
 M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 
 Sae dauntingly gaed he, 
 He play'd a spring and danc'd it round, 
 
 Below the gallows tree. 
 
 FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong, 
 
 The wretch's destinie ! 
 M'Pherson's time will not be long 
 
 On yonder gallows tree. 
 
 O, what is death but parting breath ? 
 
 On monie a bloody plain 
 I 've dar'd his face, and in this place 
 
 I scorn him yet again ! 
 
 Untie these bands from off my hands, 
 
 And bring to me my sword, 
 And there 's no a man in all Scotland, 
 
 But I '11 brave him at a word ! 
 
 I 've lived a life of sturt and strife ; 
 
 I die by treacherie : 
 It burns my heart I must depart, 
 
 And not avenged be.
 
 BURNS 287 
 
 Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, 
 
 And all beneath the sky ! 
 May coward shame distain his name, 
 
 The wretch that dares not die ! 
 
 Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
 
 Sae dauntingly gaed he, 
 He play'd a spring and danc'd it round, 
 
 Below the gallows tree. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 331 
 CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING 
 
 An' Charlie he 's my darling, 
 My darling, my darling ! 
 Charlie he 's my darling, 
 The Young Chevalier ! 
 
 'TWAS on a Monday morning, 
 
 Right early in the year, 
 That Charlie cam' to our town, 
 
 The Young Chevalier ! 
 
 As he was walking up the street 
 
 The city for to view, 
 O, there he spied a bonie lass 
 
 The window lookin' through. 
 
 Sae light 's he j imped up the stair, 
 
 An' tirled at the pin ! 
 An' wha sae ready as hersel 
 
 To let the laddie in ? 
 
 He set his Jenny on his knee, 
 A 1 in his Highland dress ; 
 
 For brawlie weel he ken'd the way 
 To please a lassie best. 
 
 It 's up yon heathery mountain, 
 An' down yon scroggy glen, 
 
 We daur na gang a-milking 
 For Charlie an' his men ! 
 
 An' Charlie he 's my darling, 
 My darling, my darling ! 
 Charlie he 's my darling, 
 The Young Chevalier !
 
 288 BURNS 
 
 332 
 MARY MORISON 
 
 O MARY, at thy window be 
 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
 Those smiles and glances let me see, 
 
 That make the miser's treasure poor ! 
 
 How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
 
 Could I the rich reward secure, 
 The lovely Mary Morison ! 
 
 Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
 The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, 
 I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
 Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
 
 And yon the toast of a' the town, 
 I sigh'd, and said amang them a': 
 
 ' Ye are na Mary Morison.' 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 
 Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
 
 If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
 At least be pity to me shown : 
 
 A thought ungentle canna be 
 The thought o' Mary Morison. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 333 
 
 THE FAREWELL 
 
 IT was a' for our rightfu' King 
 We left fair Scotland's strand 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu' King 
 We e'er saw Irish land, 
 My dear 
 We e'er saw Irish land.
 
 WORDSWORTH 289 
 
 Now a' is done that men can do, 
 
 And a' is done in vain, 
 My love and native land farewell, 
 
 For I maun cross the main, 
 My dear 
 
 For I maun cross the main. 
 
 He turn'd him right and round about 
 
 Upon the Irish shore, 
 And gae his bridle-reins a shake, 
 
 With adieu for evermore, 
 My dear 
 
 With adieu for evermore. 
 
 The sodger from the wars returns, 
 
 The sailor frae the main ; 
 But I hae parted frae my love, 
 
 Never to meet again, 
 My dear 
 
 Never to meet again. 
 
 When day is gane, and night is come, 
 
 And a' folk bound to sleep, 
 I think on him that 's far awa, 
 
 The lee-lang night, and weep, 
 My dear 
 
 The lee-lang night, and weep. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 334 
 
 LUCY 
 
 SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways 
 
 Beside the springs of Dove, 
 A Maid whom there were none to praise 
 
 And very few to love : 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 
 Half hidden from the eye ! 
 Fair as a star, when only one 
 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 But she is in her grave, and, O, 
 The difference to me ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 T
 
 290 WORDSWORTH 
 
 335 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO 
 
 BLITHE New-comer ! I have heard, 
 
 1 hear thee and rejoice. 
 
 O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, 
 Or but a wandering voice ? 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 
 Thy twofold shout I hear : 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
 At once far off and near. 
 
 Though babbling only to the Vale 
 Of sunshine and of flowers, 
 Thou bringest unto me a tale 
 Of visionary hours. 
 
 Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 
 No bird, but an invisible thing, 
 
 A voice, a mystery : 
 
 The same whom in my schoolboy days 
 I listened to ; that Cry 
 Which made me look a thousand ways 
 In bush, and tree, and sky. 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 Through woods and on the green ; 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love 
 Still longed for, never seen. 
 
 And I can listen to thee yet ; 
 Can lie upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do beget 
 That golden time again. 
 
 O blessed Bird ! the earth we pace 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial, faery place : 
 That is fit home for thee ! 
 
 William Wordsworth.
 
 WORDSWORTH 291 
 
 336 
 
 SHE WAS A PHANTOM 
 
 SHE was a Phantom of delight 
 When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 
 A lovely Apparition, sent 
 To be a moment's ornament ; 
 Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair, 
 Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 From May-time and the cheerful Dawn : 
 A dancing Shape, an Image gay, 
 To haunt, to startle, and way -lay. 
 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 
 A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 
 And steps of virgin-liberty ; 
 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
 
 A Creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 
 
 And now I see with eyes serene 
 The very pulse of the machine ; 
 A Being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A traveller between life and death ; 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
 A perfect Woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
 With something of angelic light. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 337 
 
 ODE 
 
 THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
 
 The earth, and every common sight, 
 
 To me did seem 
 
 Apparelled in celestial light, 
 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream.
 
 292 WORDSWORTH 
 
 It is not now as it hath been of yore : 
 
 Turn wheresoe'er I may, 
 
 By night or day, 
 
 The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 
 
 The Rainbow comes and goes, 
 
 And lovely is the Rose ; 
 
 The Moon doth with delight 
 
 Look round her when the heavens are bare : 
 
 Waters on a starry night 
 
 Are beautiful and fair ; 
 
 The Sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
 
 But yet I know, where'er I go, 
 
 That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 
 
 Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
 
 And while the young lambs bound 
 
 As to the tabor's sound, 
 
 To me alone there came a thought of grief : 
 
 A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
 
 And I again am strong : 
 
 The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 
 
 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; 
 
 I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, 
 
 The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
 
 And all the earth is gay : 
 
 Land and Sea 
 
 Give themselves up to jollity, 
 
 And with the heart of May 
 
 Doth every Beast keep holiday ; 
 
 Thou Child of Joy, 
 
 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
 
 Shepherd-boy ! 
 
 Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 
 
 Ye to each other make ; I see 
 
 The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
 
 My heart is at your festival, 
 
 My head hath its coronal, 
 
 The fulness of your bliss, I feel I feel it all, 
 
 O evil day ! if I were sullen 
 
 While Earth herself is adorning, 
 
 This sweet May-morning, 
 
 And the children are culling 
 
 On every side, 
 
 In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
 
 Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm,
 
 WORDSWORTH 293 
 
 And the Babe leaps up on his mother's arm : 
 
 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
 
 But there 's a Tree, of many, one, 
 
 A single Field which I have looked upon, 
 
 Both of them speak of something that is gone : 
 
 The Pansy at my feet 
 
 Doth the same tale repeat : 
 
 Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
 
 Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 
 
 Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
 
 The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
 
 And cometh from afar : 
 
 Not in entire forgetfulness, 
 
 And not in utter nakedness, 
 
 But trailing clouds of glory do we come 
 
 From God, who is our home : 
 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
 
 Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
 
 Upon the growing Boy, 
 
 But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, 
 
 He sees it in his joy ; 
 
 The Youth, who daily further from the east 
 
 Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, 
 
 And by the vision splendid 
 
 Is on his way attended ; 
 
 At length the Man perceives it die away, 
 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
 
 Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
 
 And even with something of a Mother's mind, 
 
 And no unworthy aim, 
 
 The homely Nurse doth all she can 
 
 To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, 
 
 Forget the glories he hath known, 
 
 And that imperial palace whence he came. 
 
 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
 A six years' Darling of a pigmy size ! 
 See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
 Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 
 With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
 See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
 Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
 Shaped by himself with newly-learned art :
 
 294 WORDSWORTH 
 
 A wedding or a festival, 
 
 A mourning or a funeral ; 
 
 And this hath now his heart, 
 
 And unto this he frames his song : 
 
 Then will he fit his tongue 
 
 To dialogues of business, love, or strife : 
 
 But it will not be long 
 
 Ere this be thrown aside, 
 
 And with new joy and pride 
 
 The little Actor cons another part ; 
 
 Filling from time to time his ' humorous stage 
 
 With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 
 
 That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 
 
 As if his whole vocation 
 
 Were endless imitation. 
 
 Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 
 Thy Soul's immensity ; 
 Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 
 Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, 
 That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
 Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, 
 Mighty Prophet ! Seer blest ! 
 On whom those truths do rest, 
 Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
 In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
 Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
 Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, 
 A Presence which is not to be put by ; 
 Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might 
 Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
 Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
 Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? 
 Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, 
 And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
 Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 
 
 O joy ! that in our embers 
 
 Is something that doth live, 
 
 That nature yet remembers 
 
 What was so fugitive ! 
 
 The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
 
 Perpetual benediction : not indeed 
 
 For that which is most worthy to be blest : 
 
 Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
 
 Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,
 
 WORDSWORTH 295 
 
 With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast 
 
 Not for these I raise 
 
 The song of thanks and praise ; 
 
 But for those obstinate questionings 
 
 Of sense and outward things, 
 
 Fallings from us, vanishings, 
 
 Blank misgivings of a Creature 
 
 Moving about in worlds not realised, 
 
 High instincts before which our mortal Nature 
 
 Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised : 
 
 But for those first affections, 
 
 Those shadowy recollections, 
 
 Which, be they what they may, 
 
 Are yet the fountain light of all our day, 
 
 Are yet a master light of all our seeing, 
 
 Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
 
 Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
 
 Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake 
 
 To perish never, 
 
 Which neither listlessness nor mad endeavour, 
 
 Nor Man nor Boy, 
 
 Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
 
 Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 
 
 Hence in a season of calm weather, 
 
 Though inland far we be, 
 
 Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea 
 
 Which brought us hither, 
 
 Can in a moment travel thither, 
 
 And see the Children sport upon the shore, 
 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore 
 
 Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! 
 
 And let the young Lambs bound 
 
 As to the tabor's sound ! 
 
 We in thought will join your throng, 
 
 Ye that pipe and ye that play, 
 
 Ye that through your hearts to-day 
 
 Feel the gladness of the May ! 
 
 What though the radiance which was once so bright 
 
 Be now for ever taken from my sight, 
 
 Though nothing can bring back the hour 
 
 Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 
 
 We will grieve not, rather find 
 
 Strength in what remains behind ; 
 
 In the primal sympathy 
 
 Which having been must ever be ; 
 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring
 
 296 SCOTT 
 
 Out of human suffering ; 
 
 In the faith that looks through death, 
 
 In years that bring the philosophic mind. 
 
 And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
 
 Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 
 
 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
 
 I only have relinquished one delight 
 
 To live beneath your more habitual sway. 
 
 I love the Brooks, which down their channels fret, 
 
 Even more than when I tripped lightly as they : 
 
 The innocent brightness of a new-born Day 
 
 Is lovely yet ; 
 
 The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 
 
 Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
 
 That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; 
 
 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
 
 Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 
 
 To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 33* 
 
 HUNTING SONG 
 
 WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, 
 
 On the mountain dawns the day, 
 
 All the jolly chase is here, 
 
 With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear ! 
 
 Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
 
 Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
 
 Merrily, merrily, mingle they : 
 
 ' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
 
 The mist has left the mountain grey, 
 
 Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 
 
 Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : 
 
 And foresters have busy been, 
 
 To track the buck in thicket green : 
 
 Now we come to chant our lay : 
 
 ' Waken, lords and ladies gay.'
 
 SCOTT 297 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
 To the greenwood haste away ; 
 We can show you where he lies, 
 Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
 We can show the marks he made, 
 When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; 
 You shall see him brought to bay 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
 
 Louder, louder, chant the lay, 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
 
 Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 
 
 Run a course as well as we. 
 
 Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 
 
 Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk : 
 
 Think of this, and rise with day, 
 
 Gentle lords and ladies gay. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 339 
 
 PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU 
 
 PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil, 
 Wake thy wild voice anew, 
 
 Summon Clan-Conuil. 
 Come away, come away, 
 
 Hark to the summons ! 
 Come in your war array, 
 
 Gentles and commons. 
 
 Come from deep glen, and 
 
 From mountain so rocky, 
 The war- pipe and pennon 
 
 Are at Inverlochy. 
 Come, every hill-plaid 
 
 And true heart that wears one, 
 Come, every steel blade 
 
 And strong hand that bears one. 
 
 Leave untended the herd, 
 The flock without shelter ; 
 
 Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 
 The bride at the altar ;
 
 298 SCOTT 
 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 
 Leave nets and barges : 
 Come with your fighting gear, 
 
 Broadswords and targes. 
 
 Come as the winds come, 
 
 When forests are rended, 
 Come as the waves come, 
 
 When navies are stranded : 
 Faster come, faster come, 
 
 Faster and faster, 
 Chief, vassal, page and groom, 
 
 Tenant and master ! 
 
 Fast they come, fast they come ; 
 
 See how they gather ! 
 Wide waves the eagle plume, 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 
 
 Forward, each man, set ! 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Knell for the onset ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 340 
 PROUD MAI SI E 
 
 PROUD Maisie is in the wood, 
 
 Walking so early ; 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 
 
 Singing so rarely. 
 
 ' Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
 
 When shall I marry me ? ' 
 ' When six braw gentlemen 
 
 Kirkward shall carry ye.' 
 
 ' Who makes the bridal bed, 
 
 Birdie, say truly ? ' 
 ' The grey-headed sexton 
 
 That delves the grave duly. 
 
 ' The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
 
 Shall light thee steady ; 
 The owl from the steeple sing : 
 
 " Welcome, proud lady !"' 
 
 Sir Walter Scott.
 
 SCOTT 299 
 
 341 
 CORONACH 
 
 HE is gone on the mountain, 
 
 He is lost to the forest, 
 Like a summer-dried fountain, 
 
 When our need was the sorest. 
 The font, reappearing, 
 
 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 serest, 
 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. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 342 
 BRIGNALL BANKS 
 
 O, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there, 
 
 Would grace a summer queen : 
 And as I rode by Dalton Hall, 
 
 Beneath the turrets high, 
 A Maiden on the castle wall 
 
 Was singing merrily :
 
 300 SCOTT 
 
 ' O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ! 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English Queen.' 
 
 ' If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me 
 
 To leave both tower and town, 
 Thou first must guess what life lead we, 
 
 That dwell by dale and down ? 
 And if thou canst that riddle read, 
 
 As read full well you may, 
 Then to the greenwood shall thou speed 
 
 As blithe as Queen of May. ' 
 
 Yet sung she : ' Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ! 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English Queen. 
 
 ' I read you, by your bugle horn 
 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 I read you for a ranger sworn, 
 
 To keep the king's greenwood.' 
 'A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
 
 And 'tis at peep of light ; 
 His blast is heard at merry morn, 
 
 And mine at dead of night.' 
 
 Yet sung she : ' Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are gay ; 
 I would I were with Edmund there 
 
 To reign his Queen of May ! 
 
 1 With burnish'd brand and musketoon 
 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold Dragoon, 
 
 That lists the tuck of drum.' 
 ' I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his hum, 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 
 'And, O ! though Brignall banks be fair, 
 
 And Greta woods be gay, 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 
 
 Would reign my Queen of May !
 
 SCOTT 301 
 
 ' Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 
 A nameless death I '11 die ! 
 The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I 'm with my comrades met, 
 
 Beneath the greenwood bough, 
 What once we were we all forget, 
 
 Nor think what we are now.' 
 
 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 Would grace a summer queen. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 343 
 
 WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST 
 
 WHERE shall the lover rest, 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast, 
 
 Parted for ever ? 
 Where through groves deep and high 
 
 Sounds the far billow, 
 Where early violets die 
 
 Under the willow. 
 
 Eleu lore ! Soft shall be his pillow ! 
 
 There through the summer day 
 
 Cool streams are laving ; 
 There, while the tempest's sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving ; 
 There thy rest shalt thou take, 
 
 Parted for ever, 
 Never again to wake, 
 
 Never, O never ! 
 
 Eleu lore ! Never, O never ! 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest, 
 
 He, the deceiver, 
 Who could win maiden's breast, 
 
 Ruin, and leave her ?
 
 302 SCOTT 
 
 In the lost battle, 
 
 Borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles war's rattle 
 
 With groans of the dying. 
 
 Eleu loro ! There shall he be lying ! 
 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap 
 
 O'er the false-hearted ; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 
 
 Ere life be parted ; 
 Shame and dishonour sit 
 
 By his grave ever ; 
 Blessing shall hallow it, 
 
 Never, O never ! 
 
 Eleu loro! Never, O never ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 344 
 TIME 
 
 ' WHY sitt'st thou by that ruin'd hall, 
 
 Thou aged carle so stern and grey ? 
 Dost thou its former pride recall, 
 
 Or ponder how it passed away ! ' 
 
 ' Know'st thou not me ? ' the Deep Voice cried, 
 
 ' So long enjoy'd, so oft misused 
 Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 
 
 Desired, neglected, and accused ? 
 
 ' Before my breath, like blazing flax, 
 
 Man and his marvels pass away, 
 And changing empires wane and wax, 
 
 Are founded, flourish, and decay ! 
 
 ' Redeem mine hours the space is brief- 
 While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, 
 
 And measureless thy joy or grief, 
 
 When TIME and thou shall part for ever ! ' 
 
 Sir Walter Scott,
 
 SCOTT 303 
 
 345 
 
 DONALD CAIRO 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 
 DONALD CAIRD can lilt and sing, 
 Blithely dance the Highland fling, 
 Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
 Fleech till the gudewife be kind, 
 Houp a leglin, clout a pan, 
 Or crack a pow wi' ony man : 
 Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird 's come again. 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird 's come again. 
 
 Donald Caird can wire a maukin, 
 Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin', 
 Leisters kipper, makes a shift 
 To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift. 
 Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, 
 He can wauk when they are sleepers. 
 Not for bountith or reward 
 Daur ye mell wi' Donald Caird ! 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Gar the bagpipes hum amain, 
 Donald Caird 's come again. 
 
 Donald Caird can drink a gill 
 Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; 
 Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 
 Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; 
 When he 's fou he 's stout and saucy, 
 Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 
 Hieland chief and Lawland laird 
 Maun gie room to Donald Caird !
 
 304 SCOTT 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird 's come again. 
 
 Steek the amrie, lock the kist, 
 Else some gear may weel be mis't ; 
 Donald Caird finds orra things 
 Where Allan Gregor fand the tings : 
 Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo, 
 Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, 
 Webs or duds frae hedge or yard 
 ' Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Dinna let the Shirra ken 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 
 On Donald Caird the doom was stern, 
 Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 
 But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study, 
 Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie : 
 Rings of airn, and bolts of steel, 
 Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! 
 Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Dinna let the Justice ken 
 Donald Caird 's come again. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 346 
 SONG 
 
 AH ! County Guy, the hour is nigh : 
 
 The sun has left the lea, 
 The orange flower perfumes the bower, 
 
 The breeze is on the sea, 
 The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, 
 
 Sits hush'd his partner nigh : 
 Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, 
 
 But where is County Guy ?
 
 SCOTT 305 
 
 The village maid steals through the shade 
 
 Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
 To beauty shy, by lattice high, 
 
 Sings high-born Cavalier ; 
 The star of Love, all stars above, 
 
 Now reigns o'er earth and sky, 
 And high and low the influence know 
 
 But where is County Guy ? 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 347 
 
 BONNY DUNDEE 
 
 To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke : 
 ' Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke, 
 So let each Cavalier, who loves honour and me, 
 Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 ' Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
 Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ; 
 Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, 
 And it 's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! ' 
 
 Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street ; 
 The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat ; 
 But the Provost, douce man, said : 'Just e'en let him be ! 
 The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.' 
 
 As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, 
 
 Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; 
 
 But the young plants of grace they look'd couthie and slee, 
 
 Thinking : Luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! 
 
 With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was cramm'd, 
 As if half the West had set tryst to be hang'd ; 
 There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e, 
 As they watch'd for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits, and had spears 
 And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers ; 
 But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free 
 At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 He spurr'd to the foot of the proud Castle rock, 
 And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke : 
 ' Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words, or three, 
 For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. ' 
 U
 
 306 COLERIDGE 
 
 The Gordon demands of him, Which way he goes ? 
 ' Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose ! 
 Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, 
 Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 ' There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, 
 If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there 's chiefs in the North 
 There are wild Duniwassals three thousand times three, 
 Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 1 There 's brass on the target of barken'd bull-hide, 
 There 's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside : 
 The brass shall be burnish 'd, the steel shall flash free, 
 At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 ' Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks 
 Ere I own an usurper, I '11 couch with the fox ; 
 And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee 
 You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me ! ' 
 
 He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown, 
 The kettle-drums clash'd, and the horsemen rode on, 
 Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee 
 Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. 
 
 Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
 Come saddle the horses and call up the men, 
 Come open your gates, and let me gae free, 
 For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 348 
 KUBLA KHAN 
 
 IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man 
 
 Down to a sunless sea. 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground 
 With walls and towers were girdled round : 
 And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
 Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; 
 And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
 
 COLERIDGE 307 
 
 But O ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
 
 Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
 
 A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
 
 As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
 
 By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! 
 
 And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
 
 As if this Earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 
 
 A mighty fountain momently was forced : 
 
 Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst 
 
 Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
 
 Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : 
 
 And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
 
 It flung up momently the sacred river. 
 
 Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 
 
 Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, 
 
 Then reached the caverns measureless to man, 
 
 And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : 
 
 And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
 
 Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 
 
 The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
 
 Floated midway on the waves, 
 
 Where was heard the mingled measure 
 
 From the fountain and the caves. 
 It was* miracle of rare device, 
 A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 
 
 A damsel with a dulcimer 
 
 In a vision once I saw : 
 
 It was an Abyssinian maid, 
 
 And on her dulcimer she played, 
 
 Singing of Mount Abora. 
 
 Could I revive within me 
 
 Her symphony and song, 
 
 To such a deep delight 'twould win me 
 That with music loud and long, 
 I would build that dome in air, 
 That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
 And all who heard should see them there, 
 And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
 Weave a circle round him thrice, 
 And close your eyes with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed, 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
 
 308 LANDOR 
 
 349 
 GLYCINE'S SONG 
 
 A SUNNY shaft did I behold, 
 
 From sky to earth it slanted ; 
 And poised therein a bird so bold 
 
 Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted ! 
 
 He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled 
 Within that shaft of sunny mist : 
 
 His eyes of fire, his beak of gold, 
 All else of amethyst ! 
 
 And thus he sang : ' Adieu ! adieu ! 
 Love's dreams prove seldom true. 
 The blossoms they 
 Make no delay, 
 
 The sparkling dewdrops will not stay ! 
 Sweet month of May, 
 We must away, 
 Far, far away ! 
 To-day ! to-day ! ' 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
 
 350 
 
 SONGLETS 
 
 PLEASURE ! why thus desert the heart 
 
 In its spring-tide ? 
 I could have seen her, I could part, 
 
 And but have sigh'd ! 
 O'er every youthful charm to stray, 
 
 To gaze, to touch 
 Pleasure ! why take so much away, 
 
 Or give so much ? 
 
 I held her hand, the pledge of bliss, 
 Her hand that trembled and withdrew 
 
 She bent her head before my kiss 
 My heart was sure that hers was true.
 
 LANDOR 309 
 
 Now I have told her I must part, 
 She shakes my hand, she bids adieu, 
 
 Nor shuns the kiss Alas, my heart ! 
 Hers never was the heart for yon. 
 
 Mild is the parting year, and sweet 
 
 The odour of the falling spray ; 
 Life passes on more rudely fleet, 
 
 And balmless is its closing day. 
 I wait its close, I court its gloom, 
 
 But mourn that never must there fall 
 Or on my breast or on my tomb 
 
 The tear that would have sooth'd it all. 
 
 No, my own love of other years ! 
 
 No, it must never be. 
 Much rests with you that yet endears, 
 
 Alas ! but what with me ? 
 Could those bright years o'er me revolve 
 
 So gay, o'er you so fair, 
 The pearl of life we would dissolve, 
 
 And each the cup might share. 
 You show that truth can ne'er decay, 
 
 Whatever fate befalls ; 
 I, that the myrtle and the bay 
 
 Shoot fresh on ruin'd walls. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 351 
 ROSE AYLMER 
 
 AH, what avails the sceptred race ! 
 
 Ah, what the form divine ! 
 What every virtue, every grace ! 
 
 Rose Aylmer, all were thine. 
 Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 
 
 May weep, but never see, 
 A night of memories and sighs 
 
 I consecrate to thee. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor.
 
 310 LANDOR 
 
 352 
 THE MAID'S LAMENT 
 
 I LOVED him not ; and yet now he is gone 
 
 I feel I am alone. 
 I checked him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, 
 
 Alas ! I would not check. 
 For reasons not to love him once I sought, 
 
 And wearied all my thought 
 To vex myself and him ; I now would give 
 
 My love, could he but live 
 Who lately lived for me, and when he found 
 
 'Twas vain, in holy ground 
 He hid his face amid the shades of death. 
 
 I waste for him my breath 
 Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, 
 
 And this lorn bosom burns 
 With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 
 
 And waking me to weep 
 Tears that had melted his soft heart ; for years 
 
 Wept he as bitter tears. 
 ' Merciful God ! ' such was his latest prayer, 
 
 ' These may she never share ! ' 
 Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold 
 
 Than daisies in the mould, 
 Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, 
 
 His name, and life's brief date. 
 Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, 
 
 And, O, pray too for me ! 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 353 
 
 TWENTY YEARS HENCE 
 
 TWENTY years hence my eyes may grow 
 if not quite dim, yet rather so, 
 Yet yours from others they shall know 
 Twenty years hence. 
 
 Twenty years hence, though it may hap 
 That I be called to take a nap 
 In a cool cell where thunder clap 
 
 Was never heard :
 
 CAMPBELL 311 
 
 There breathe but o'er my arch of grass, 
 A not too sadly sighed ' Alas ! ' 
 And I shall catch, ere you can pass, 
 That winged word. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 354 
 
 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 
 
 I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, 
 In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days ; 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
 Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ; 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I loved a love once, fairest among women ; 
 Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man ; 
 Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly, 
 Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 
 
 Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, 
 Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, 
 Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 
 
 Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, 
 Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling ? 
 So might we talk of the old familiar faces 
 
 How some they have died, and some they have left me, 
 And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 Charles Lamb. 
 
 355 
 
 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 
 
 YE Mariners of England, 
 
 That guard our native seas, 
 
 Whose flag has braved a thousand years 
 
 The battle and the breeze,
 
 312 CAMPBELL 
 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 To match another foe, 
 And sweep through the deep, 
 While the stormy winds do blow ! 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The spirits of your fathers 
 
 Shall start from every wave, 
 
 For the deck it was their field of fame, 
 
 And Ocean was their grave. 
 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
 
 Your manly hearts shall glow, 
 
 As ye sweep through the deep, 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow ! 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
 
 No towers along the steep : 
 
 Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 
 
 Her home is on the deep. 
 
 With thunders from her native oak 
 
 She quells the floods below, 
 
 As they roar on the shore, 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow ! 
 
 When the battle rages loud and long, 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The meteor flag of England 
 
 Shall yet terrific burn, 
 
 Till danger's troubled night depart, 
 
 And the star of peace return. 
 
 Then, then, ye ocean warriors, 
 
 Our song and feast shall flow 
 
 To the feme of your name, 
 
 When the storm has ceased to blow ! 
 
 When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 356 
 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 
 
 OF Nelson and the North 
 Sing the glorious day's renown,
 
 CAMPBELL 313 
 
 When to battle fierce came forth 
 
 All the might of Denmark's crown, 
 
 And her arms along the deep proudly shone ! 
 
 By each gun the lighted brand 
 
 In a bold determined hand, 
 
 And the Prince of all the land 
 
 Led them on. 
 
 Like leviathans afloat, 
 
 Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 
 
 While the sign of battle flew 
 
 On the lofty British line : 
 
 It was ten of April morn by the chime : 
 
 As they drifted on their path, 
 
 There was silence deep as death ; 
 
 And the boldest held his breath, 
 
 For a time. 
 
 But the might of England flushed 
 
 To anticipate the scene, 
 
 And her van the fleeter rushed 
 
 O'er the deadly space between. 
 
 ' Hearts of oak ! ' our captains cried ; when each gun 
 
 From its adamantine lips 
 
 Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
 
 Like the hurricane eclipse 
 
 Of the sun. 
 
 Again ! again ! again ! 
 
 And the havoc did not slack, 
 
 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 shattered sail, 
 
 Or in conflagration pale 
 
 Light the gloom. . . . 
 
 Now joy, Old England, raise 
 For the tidings of thy might, 
 By the festal cities' blaze, 
 Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ! 
 And yet, amidst that joy and uproar, 
 Let us think of them that sleep 
 Full many a fathom deep 
 By thy wild and stormy steep, 
 Elsinore ! 
 
 Thomas Campbell.
 
 3 i4 MOORE 
 
 357 
 
 WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE 
 
 WHEN he, who adores thee, has left but the name 
 
 Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
 O ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 
 
 Of a life that for thee was resign'd ? 
 Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, 
 
 Thy tears shall efface thy decree ; 
 For Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 
 
 I have been but too faithful to thee. 
 
 With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 
 
 Every thought of my reason was thine ; 
 In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above 
 
 Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
 O ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 
 
 The days of thy glory to see ; 
 But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 
 
 Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 358 
 THE LEGACY 
 
 WHEN in death I shall calmly recline, 
 
 O, bear my heart to my mistress dear ! 
 Tell her it liv'd upon smiles and wine 
 
 Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here ; 
 Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow 
 
 To sully a heart so brilliant and light, 
 But balmy drops of the red grape borrow 
 
 To bathe the relic from morn till night. 
 
 When the light of my song is o'er. 
 
 Then take my harp to your ancient hall ; 
 Hang it up at that friendly door, 
 
 Where weary travellers love to call ; 
 Then if some bard, who roams forsaken, 
 
 Revive its soft note in passing along, 
 O 1 let one thought of its master waken 
 
 Your warmest smile for the child of song.
 
 MOORE 315 
 
 Keep this cup, which is now o'erflowing, 
 
 To grace your revel, when I 'm at rest : 
 Never, O ! never its balm bestowing 
 
 On lips that beauty hath seldom blest ; 
 But when some warm devoted lover 
 
 To her he adores shall bathe its brim, 
 Then, then my spirit around shall hover, 
 
 And hallow each drop that foams for him. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 359 
 
 THE IRISH PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS 
 
 THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my 
 
 way, 
 
 Till hope seemed to bud from each thorn that round me lay ; 
 The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd, 
 Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd ; 
 Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, 
 And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee. 
 
 Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd ; 
 Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn 'd ; 
 She woo'd me to temples, whilst thou lay'st hid in caves ; 
 Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas ! were slaves ; 
 Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be 
 Than wed what I lov'd not, or turn one thought from thee. 
 
 They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail 
 Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale ! 
 They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains, 
 That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains : 
 O ! foul is the slander no chain could that soul subdue 
 Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 360 
 SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND 
 
 SHE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 
 
 And lovers are round her, sighing : 
 But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
 
 For her heart in his grave is lying.
 
 316 MOORE 
 
 She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, 
 Every note which he lov'd awaking ; 
 
 Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, 
 How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 
 
 He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, 
 They were all that to life had entwin'd him ; 
 
 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 
 Nor long will his love stay behind him. 
 
 O ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
 When they promise a glorious morrow : 
 
 They '11 shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West 
 From her own lov'd island of sorrow. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 361 
 
 AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS 
 
 AND doth not a meeting like this make amends 
 
 For all the long years I 've been wand'ring away 
 To see thus around me my youth's early friends 
 
 As smiling and kind as in that happy day ? 
 Though haply o'er some of your brows, as o'er mine, 
 
 The snow-fall of time may be stealing what then ? 
 Like alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine 
 
 We '11 wear the gay tinge of youth's roses again. 
 
 What soften'd remembrances come o'er the heart, 
 
 In gazing on those we 've been lost to so long ! 
 The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, 
 
 Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng. 
 As letters some hand hath invisibly trac'd, 
 
 When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, 
 So many a feeling, that long seem'd effac'd, 
 
 The warmth of a moment like this brings to light. 
 
 And thus, as in memory's bark we shall glide, 
 
 To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, 
 Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide, 
 
 The wreck of full many a hope shining through ; 
 Yet still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, 
 
 That once made a garden of all the gay shore, 
 Deceiv'd for a moment, we '11 think them still ours, 
 
 And breathe the fresh air of life's morning once more.
 
 ELLIOT 317 
 
 So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, 
 
 Is all we can have of the few we hold dear, 
 And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 
 
 For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. 
 Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, 
 
 To meet in some world of more permanent bliss, 
 For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hast'ning on, 
 
 Is all we enjoy of each other in this ! 
 
 But, come the more rare such delights to the heart, 
 
 The more we should welcome, and bless them the more ! 
 They 're ours when we meet they are lost when we part, 
 
 Like birds that bring summer, and fly when 'tis o'er. 
 Thus circling the cup, hand in hand, ere we drink, 
 
 Let Sympathy pledge us, thro' pleasure, thro' pain, 
 That, fast as a feeling but touches one link, 
 
 Her magic shall send it direct thro' the chain ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 362 
 BATTLE SONG 
 
 DAY, like our souls, is fiercely dark : 
 
 What then ? 'Tis day ! 
 We sleep no more ; the cock crows hark ! 
 
 To arms ! away ! 
 They come ! they come ! the knell is rung 
 
 Of us or them ; 
 Wide o'er their march the pomp is flung 
 
 Of gold and gem. 
 What collared hound of lawless sway, 
 
 To famine dear 
 What pensioned slave of Attila, 
 
 Leads in the rear ? 
 Come they from Scythian wilds afar, 
 
 Our blood to spill ? 
 Wear they the livery of the Czar ? 
 
 They do his will. 
 Nor tasselled silk, nor epaulette, 
 
 Nor plume, nor torse 
 No splendour gilds, all sternly met, 
 
 Our foot and horse. 
 But, dark and still, we inly glow, 
 
 Condensed in ire ! 
 Strike, tawdry slaves, and ye shall know 
 
 Our gloom is fire.
 
 318 ELLIOT 
 
 In vain your pomp, ye evil powers, 
 
 Insults the land ; 
 Wrongs, vengeance, and the cause are ours, 
 
 And God's right hand ! 
 Madmen ! they trample into snakes 
 
 The wormy clod ! 
 Like fire beneath their feet awakes 
 
 The sword of God ! 
 Behind, before, above, below, 
 
 They rouse the brave ; 
 Where'er they go, they make a foe, 
 
 Or find a grave. 
 
 Ebeneser Elliot. 
 
 363 
 PLAINT 
 
 DARK, deep, and cold the current flows 
 Unto the sea where no wind blows, 
 Seeking the land which no one knows. 
 
 O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes 
 The mingled wail of friends and foes, 
 Borne to the land which no one knows. 
 
 Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes 
 With millions, from a world of woes, 
 Unto the land which no one knows ? 
 
 Though myriads go with him who goes, 
 Alone he goes where no wind blows, 
 Unto the land which no one knows. 
 
 For all must go where no wind blows, 
 And none can go for him who goes, 
 None, none return whence no one knows. 
 
 Yet why should he who shrieking goes 
 With millions, from a world of woes, 
 Reunion seek with it or those ? 
 
 Alone with God, where no wind blows, 
 And Death, his shadow doomed, he goes : 
 That God is there the shadow shows.
 
 PEACOCK 319 
 
 O shoreless Deep, where no wind blows ! 
 And, thou, O Land which no one knows 
 That God is All, His shadow shows ! 
 
 Ebenezer Elliot. 
 
 364 
 THE MEN OF GOTHAM 
 
 SEAMEN three ! What men be ye ? 
 
 Gotham's three wise men we be. 
 
 Whither in your bowl so free ? 
 
 To rake the moon from out the sea. 
 
 The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. 
 
 And our ballast is old wine 
 
 And your ballast is old wine. 
 
 Who art thou, so fast adrift ? 
 I am he they call Old Care. 
 Here on board we will thee lift. 
 No : I may not enter there. 
 Wherefore so ? 'Tis Jove's decree, 
 In a bowl Care may not be 
 In a bowl Care may not be. 
 
 Fear ye not the waves that roll ? 
 
 No : in charmed bowl we swim. 
 
 What the charm that floats the bowl ? 
 
 Water may not pass the brim. 
 
 The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine. 
 
 And our ballast is old wine 
 
 And your ballast is old wine. 
 
 Thomas L. Peacock. 
 
 365 
 THE GRAVE OF LOVE 
 
 I DUG beneath the cypress shade 
 What well might seem an elfin's grave, 
 
 And every pledge in earth I laid, 
 That erst thy false affection gave.
 
 CUNNINGHAM 
 
 I pressed them down the sod beneath ; 
 
 I placed one mossy stone above ; 
 And twined the rose's fading wreath 
 
 Around the sepulchre of love. 
 
 Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead 
 
 Ere yet the evening sun was set : 
 But years shall see the cypress spread, 
 
 Immutable as my regret. 
 
 Thomas L. Peacock . 
 
 366 
 BONNIE LADY ANN 
 
 THERE 's kames o' hinney 'tween my hive's lips, 
 
 An' gowd amang her hair ; 
 Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil, 
 
 Nae mortal een keek there : 
 What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch, 
 
 Or what arm o' luve dare span, 
 The hinney lips, the creamy loof, 
 
 Or the waist o' Lady Ann ! 
 
 She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose, 
 
 Wat wi' the blobs o' dew ; 
 But nae gentle lip, nor simple lip, 
 
 Maun touch her lady mou ; 
 But a broider'd belt wi' a buckle o' gowd 
 
 Her jimpy waist maun span 
 O, she 's an armfu' fit for heaven, 
 
 My bonnie Lady Ann ! 
 
 Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers 
 
 Tied up wi' silver thread, 
 An' comely sits she in the midst 
 
 Men's longing een to feed. 
 She waves the ringlets frae her cheek 
 
 Wi' her milky, milky han', 
 An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger o' God, 
 
 My bonnie Lady Ann ! 
 
 The morning cloud is tassel'd wi' gowd, 
 
 Like my luve's broider'd cap ; 
 An' on the mantle which my love wears 
 
 Are monie a gowden drap ;
 
 CUNNINGHAM 321 
 
 Her bonnie eebree 's a holie arch 
 
 Cast by no earthlie han' ; 
 An' the breath o' God 's atween the lips 
 
 O' my bonnie Lady Ann ! 
 
 I am her father's gardener lad, 
 
 An' poor, poor is my fa' ; 
 My auld rm'ther gets my wee, wee fee, 
 
 Wi' fatherless bairnies twa : 
 My Lady comes, my Lady gaes 
 
 Wi' a fou and kindly han' 
 O, the blessing o' God maun mix wi' my luve, 
 
 An' fa' on' Lady Ann ! 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 
 367 
 HAME, HAME, HAME 
 
 HAME, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, 
 O, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! 
 
 When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on the tree, 
 The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countrie. 
 Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, 
 O, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! 
 
 The green leaf o' loyaltie 's begun for to fa', 
 The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a' ; 
 But I '11 water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannic, 
 An' green it will grow in my ain countrie. 
 
 O, there 's naught frae ruin my country can save 
 But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave : 
 That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie, 
 May rise again and fight for their ain countrie. 
 
 The great are now gane, a' wha ventured to save, 
 The new grass is springing on the top o' their graves ; 
 But the sun thro' the mirk blinks blythe in my ee, 
 ' I '11 shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.' 
 
 Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, 
 Hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie ! 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 X
 
 322 BYRON 
 
 368 
 THE CASTLED CRAG OF DRACHENFELS 
 
 THE castled crag of Drachenfels 
 Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
 Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
 Between the banks which bear the vine, 
 And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, 
 And fields which promise corn and wine, 
 And scatter'd cities crowning these, 
 Whose far white walls along them shine, 
 Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 
 With double joy wert thou with me. 
 
 And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 
 And hands which offer early flowers, 
 Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
 Above, the frequent feudal towers 
 Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, 
 And many a rock which steeply lowers, 
 And noble arch in proud decay, 
 Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 
 But one thing want these banks of Rhine, 
 Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 
 
 I send the lilies given to me ; 
 Though long before thy hand they touch, 
 I know that they must wither'd be, 
 But yet reject them not as such ; 
 For I have cherish'd them as dear, 
 Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
 And guide thy soul to mine even here, 
 When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 
 And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine, 
 And offer'd from my heart to thine ! 
 
 The river nobly foams and flows, 
 
 The charm of this enchanted ground, 
 
 And all its thousand turns disclose 
 
 Some fresher beauty varying round : 
 
 The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
 
 Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
 
 Nor could on earth a spot be found 
 
 To nature and to me so dear, 
 
 Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
 
 Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! 
 
 Byron.
 
 BYRON 323 
 
 369 
 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY 
 
 SHE walks in beauty, like the night 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
 
 And all that 's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes : 
 
 Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less, 
 Had half-impair'd the nameless grace, 
 
 Which waves in every raven tress, 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face, 
 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express, 
 How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 
 
 And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 
 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 
 A heart whose love is innocent ! 
 
 Byron, 
 
 370 
 FARE THEE WELL 
 
 FARE thee well ! and if for ever, 
 
 Still for ever, fare thee well ! 
 Even though unforgiving, never 
 
 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. 
 
 Would that breast were bared before thee 
 Where thy head so oft hath lain, 
 
 While that placid sleep came o'er thee 
 Which thou ne'er canst know again ! 
 
 Would that breast, by thee glanced over 
 Every inmost thought could show ! 
 
 Then thou wouldst at last discover 
 'Twas not well to spurn it so.
 
 324 BYRON 
 
 Though the world for this commend thee 
 Though it smile upon the blow, 
 
 Even its praises must offend thee, 
 Founded on another's woe : 
 
 Though my many faults defaced me, 
 
 Could no other arm be found, 
 Than the one which once embraced me, 
 
 To inflict a cureless wound ? 
 
 Yet, O, yet thyself deceive not ! 
 
 Love may sink by slow decay, 
 But by sudden wrench, believe not, 
 
 Hearts can thus be torn away. 
 
 Still thine own its life retaineth 
 Still must mine, though bleeding, beat ; 
 
 And the undying thought which paineth 
 Is that we no more may meet ! 
 
 There are words of deeper sorrow 
 Than the wail above the dead : 
 
 Both shall live, but every morrow 
 Wake us from a widow'd bed. 
 
 And when thou wouldst solace gather, 
 When our child's first accents flow, 
 
 Wilt thou teach her to say : ' Father ! ' 
 Though his care she must forego ? 
 
 When her little hands shall press thee, 
 When her lip to thine is press'd, 
 
 Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee, 
 Think of him thy love had bless'd ! 
 
 Should her lineaments resemble 
 Those thou never more may'st see, 
 
 Then thy heart will softly tremble 
 With a pulse yet true to me. 
 
 All my faults perchance thou knowest, 
 All my madness none can know ; 
 
 All my hopes, where'er thou goest, 
 Wither, yet with thee they go. 
 
 Every feeling hath been shaken : 
 Pride, which not a world could bow, 
 
 Bows to thee by thee forsaken, 
 Even my soul forsakes me now.
 
 BYRON 325 
 
 But 'tis done all words are idle 
 
 Words from me are vainer still ; 
 But the thoughts we cannot bridle 
 
 Force their way without the will. 
 
 Fare thee well ! thus disunited, 
 
 Tom from every nearer tie, 
 Sear'd in heart, and lone, and blighted, 
 
 More than this I scarce can die. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 371 
 
 STANZAS TO AUGUSTA 
 
 THOUGH the day of my destiny 's over, 
 
 And the star of my fate hath declined, 
 Thy soft heart refused to discover 
 
 The faults which so many could find ; 
 Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, 
 
 It shrunk not to share it with me, 
 And the love, which my spirit hath painted, 
 
 It never hath found but in thee. 
 
 Then, when nature around me is smiling 
 
 The last smile which answers to mine, 
 I do not believe it beguiling, 
 
 Because it reminds me of thine ; 
 And when winds are at war with the ocean, 
 
 As the breasts I believed in with me, 
 If their billows excite an emotion, 
 
 It is that they bear me from thee. 
 
 Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, 
 
 And its fragments are sunk in the wave, 
 Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd 
 
 To pain it shall not be its slave ! 
 There is many a pang to pursue me : 
 
 They may crush, but they shall not contemn, 
 They may torture, but shall not subdue me 
 
 'Tis of thee that I think not of them ! 
 
 Though human, thou didst not deceive me, 
 Though woman, thou didst not forsake, 
 
 Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, 
 Though slander'd, thou never couldst shake :
 
 326 BYRON 
 
 Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, 
 
 Though parted, it was not to fly, 
 Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, 
 
 Nor, mute, that the world might belie. 
 
 Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, 
 
 Nor the war of the many with one 
 If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 
 
 'Twas folly not sooner to shun : 
 And if dearly that error hath cost me, 
 
 And more than I once could foresee, 
 I have found that, whatever it lost me, 
 
 It could not deprive me of thee. 
 
 From the wreck of the past, which hath peri&h'd, 
 
 Thus much I at least may recall : 
 It hath taught me that what I most cherish 'd 
 
 Deserved to be dearest of all : 
 In the desert a fountain is springing, 
 
 In the wide waste there still is a tree, 
 And a bird in the solitude singing 
 
 Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 372 
 WHEN WE TWO PARTED 
 
 WHEN we two parted 
 
 In silence and tears, 
 Half broken-hearted 
 
 To sever for years, 
 Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 
 
 Colder thy kiss ; 
 Truly that hour foretold 
 
 Sorrow to this. 
 
 The dew of the morning 
 
 Sunk chill on my brow 
 It felt like the warning 
 
 Of what I feel now. 
 Thy vows are all broken, 
 
 And light is thy fame ; 
 I hear thy name spoken, 
 
 And share in its shame
 
 BYRON 327 
 
 They name thee before me, 
 
 A knell to mine ear ; 
 A shudder comes o'er me 
 
 Why wert thou so dear ? 
 They know not I knew thee, 
 
 Who knew thee too well : 
 Long, long shall I rue thee 
 
 Too deeply to tell ! 
 
 In secret we met 
 
 In silence I grieve, 
 That thy heart could forget, , 
 
 Thy spirit deceive. 
 If I should meet thee 
 
 After long years, 
 How should I greet thee ? 
 
 With silence and tears. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 373 
 
 AND THOU ART DEAD 
 
 AND thou art dead, as young and fair, 
 
 As aught of mortal birth ! 
 And form so soft, and charms so rare, 
 
 Too soon return'd to Earth ! 
 Though Earth received them in her bed, 
 And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 
 
 In carelessness or mirth, 
 There is an eye which could not brook 
 A moment on that grave to look. 
 
 I will not ask where thou liest low, 
 
 Nor gaze upon the spot ; 
 There flowers or weeds at will may grow, 
 
 So I behold them not : 
 It is enough for me to prove 
 That what I loved, and long must love, 
 
 Like common earth can rot ; 
 To me there needs no stone to tell 
 'Tis nothing, that I loved so well. 
 
 Yet did I love thee to the last 
 
 As fervently as thou, 
 Who didst not change through all the past, 
 
 And canst not alter now.
 
 328 BYRON 
 
 The love where Death has set his seal, 
 Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 
 
 Nor falsehood disavow : 
 And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
 Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 
 
 The better days of life were ours ; 
 
 The worst can be but mine : 
 The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, 
 
 Shall never more be thine. 
 The silence of that dreamless sleep 
 I envy now too much to weep ; 
 
 Nor need I to repine 
 That all those charms have pass'd away 
 I might have watch'd through long decay. 
 
 The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 
 
 Must fall the earliest prey ; 
 Though by no hand untimely snatch 'd, 
 
 The leaves must drop away : 
 And yet it were a greater grief 
 To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, 
 
 Than see it pluck'd to-day ; 
 Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
 To trace the change to foul from fair. 
 
 I know not if I could have borne 
 
 To see thy beauties fade ; 
 The night that follow'd such a morn 
 
 Had worn a deeper shade : 
 Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd 
 And thou wert lovely to the last : 
 
 Extinguish'd, not decay'd 
 As stars that shoot along the sky 
 Shine brightest as they fall from high. 
 
 As once I wept, if I could weep, 
 
 My tears might well be shed 
 To think I was not near to keep 
 
 One vigil o'er thy bed : 
 To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, 
 To fold thee in a faint embrace, 
 
 Uphold thy drooping head, 
 And show that love, however vain, 
 Nor thou nor I can feel again.
 
 BYRON 329 
 
 Yet how much less it were to gain, 
 
 Though thou hast left me free, 
 The loveliest things that still remain 
 
 Than thus remember thee ! 
 The all of thine that cannot die 
 Through dark and dread Eternity 
 
 Returns again to me, 
 And more that buried love endears 
 Than aught, except its living years. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 374 
 
 THERE 'S NOT A JOY THE WORLD CAN GIVE 
 
 THERE 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away ! 
 When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay, 
 ; Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so 
 
 fast, 
 But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. 
 
 Then the few, whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness, 
 Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : 
 The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain 
 The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. 
 
 Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; 
 
 It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; 
 
 That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, 
 
 And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. 
 
 Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the 
 
 breast, 
 Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of 
 
 rest; 
 
 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, 
 All green and wildly fresh without but worn and grey beneath. 
 
 O, could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, 
 Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanish'd scene ! 
 As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, 
 So midst the withered waste of life those tears would flow to me. 
 
 Byron.
 
 330 BYRON 
 
 375 
 THERE BE NONE OF BEAUTY'S DAUGHTERS 
 
 THERE be none of Beauty's daughters 
 
 With a magic like thee ; 
 And like music on the waters 
 
 Is thy sweet voice to me : 
 When, as if its sound were causing 
 The charmed ocean's pausing, 
 The waves lie still and gleaming, 
 And the lull'd winds seem dreaming. 
 
 And the midnight moon is weaving 
 
 Her bright chain o'er the deep, 
 Whose breast is gently heaving, 
 
 As an infant's asleep : 
 So the spirit bows before thee, 
 To listen and adore thee, 
 With a full but soft emotion, 
 Like the swell of summer's ocean. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 376 
 MY BOAT IS ON THE SHORE 
 
 MY boat is on the shore, 
 
 And my bark is on the sea ; 
 But, before I go, Tom Moore, 
 
 Here 's a double health to thee ! 
 
 Here 's a sigh to those who love me, 
 And a smile to those who hate ; 
 
 And, whatever sky 's above me, 
 Here 's a heart for every fate. 
 
 Though the ocean roar around me, 
 
 Yet it still shall bear me on ; 
 Though a desert should surround me, 
 
 It hath springs that may be won. 
 
 Were 't the last drop in the well, 
 
 As I gasped upon the brink, 
 Ere my fainting spirit fell, 
 
 'Tis to thee that I would drink.
 
 BYRON 331 
 
 With that water, as this wine, 
 
 The libation I would pour 
 Should be : ' Peace with thine and mine, 
 
 And a health to thee, Tom Moore 5 ' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 377 
 
 SO, WELL GO NO MORE A ROVING 
 
 So, we'll go no more a roving 
 
 So late into the night, 
 Though the heart be still as loving, 
 
 And the moon be still as bright. 
 
 For the sword outwears its sheath, 
 And the soul wears out the breast, 
 
 And the heart must pause to breathe, 
 And love itself have rest. 
 
 Though the night was made for loving, 
 
 And the day returns too soon, 
 Yet we '11 go no more a roving 
 
 By the light of the moon. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 378 
 
 O, TALK NOT TO ME 
 
 O, TALK not to me of a name great in story ! 
 The days of our youth are the days of our glory, 
 And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
 Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 
 
 What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ? 
 'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled. 
 Then away with all such from the head that is hoary ! 
 What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ? 
 
 O Fame ! if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
 'Twas less for the sake of thy high sounding phrases, 
 Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
 She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
 
 332 BYRON 
 
 There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ; 
 Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; 
 When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 
 I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 379 
 
 THE ISLES OF GREECE 
 
 THE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 
 
 Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
 Where grew the arts of war and peace, 
 
 Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
 Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
 But all, except their sun, is set. 
 
 The Scian and the Teian muse, 
 The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 
 
 Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
 Their place of birth alone is mute 
 
 To sounds which echo further west 
 
 Than your sires' ' Islands of the Blest. ' 
 
 The mountains look on Marathon 
 And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
 
 And musing there an hour alone, 
 
 I dream'd that Greece might still be free ; 
 
 For, standing on the Persian's grave, 
 
 I could not deem myself a slave. 
 
 A king sate on the rocky brow 
 
 Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; 
 
 And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
 And men in nations all were his ! 
 
 He counted them at break of day 
 
 And when the sun set, where were they ? 
 
 And where are they ? and where art thou, 
 My country ? On thy voiceless shore 
 
 The heroic lay is tuneless now 
 The heroic bosom beats no more ! 
 
 And must thy lyre, so long divine, 
 
 Degenerate into hands like mine ?
 
 BYRON 333 
 
 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
 
 Though link'd among a fetter'd race, 
 To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
 
 Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; 
 For what is left the poet here ? 
 For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear. 
 
 Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 
 
 Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled. 
 Earth ! render back from out thy breast 
 
 A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
 Of the three hundred grant but three 
 To make a new Thermopylae ! 
 
 What, silent still ? and silent all ? 
 
 Ah ! no ; the voices of the dead 
 Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 
 
 And answer : ' Let one living head, 
 But one, arise we come, we come ! ' 
 'Tis but the living who are dumb. 
 
 In vain in vain ! Strike other chords, 
 
 Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
 Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 
 
 And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
 Hark ! rising to the ignoble call 
 How answers each bold Bacchanal ! 
 
 You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet 
 
 Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 
 Of two such lessons, why forget 
 
 The nobler and the manlier one ? 
 You have the letters Cadmus gave 
 Think ye, he meant them for a slave ? 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 
 We will not think of themes like these ! 
 It made Anacreon's song divine : 
 
 He served but served Polycrates 
 A tyrant ; but our masters then 
 Were still, at least, our countrymen. 
 
 The tyrant of the Chersonese 
 
 Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
 
 That tyrant was Miltiades ! 
 
 O ! that the present hour would lend 
 
 Another despot of the kind ! 
 
 Such chains as his were sure to bind.
 
 334 BYRON 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 
 On Suli's rock and Parga's shore 
 Exists the remnant of a line 
 
 Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 
 And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, 
 The Heracleidan blood might own. 
 
 Trust not for freedom to the Franks 
 They have a king who buys and sells ! 
 
 In native swords, and native ranks, 
 The only hope of courage dwells ; 
 
 But Turkish force and Latin fraud 
 
 Would break your shield, however broad. 
 
 Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
 
 Our virgins dance beneath the shade 
 I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 
 
 But, gazing on each glowing maid, 
 My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
 To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 
 
 Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, 
 Where nothing, save the waves and I, 
 
 May hear our mutual murmurs sweep : 
 There, swan-like, let me sing and die. 
 
 A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine 
 
 Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 
 
 Byron. 
 
 380 
 
 'ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY- 
 SIXTH YEAR' 
 
 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, 
 Since others it hath ceased to move : 
 Yet, though I cannot be beloved, 
 Still let me love ! 
 
 My days are in the yellow leaf ; 
 
 The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; 
 The worm, the canker, and the grief 
 Are mine alone ! 
 
 The fire that on my bosom preys 
 
 Is lone as some volcanic isle ; 
 
 No torch is kindled at its blaze 
 
 A funeral pile.
 
 SHELLEY 335 
 
 The hope, the fear, the jealous care, 
 
 The exalted portion of the pain 
 And power of love, I cannot share, 
 But wear the chain. 
 
 But 'tis not thus and 'tis not here 
 
 Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, 
 Where glory decks the hero's bier, 
 Or binds his brow. 
 
 The sword, the banner, and the field, 
 Glory and Greece, around me see ! 
 The Spartan, borne upon his shield, 
 Was not more free. 
 
 Awake ! (not Greece she is awake !) 
 
 Awake, my spirit ! Think through whom 
 Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, 
 And then strike home ! 
 
 Tread those reviving passions down, 
 Unworthy manhood ! Unto thee 
 Indifferent should the smile or frown 
 Of beauty be. 
 
 If thou regret'st thy youth, why live ? 
 
 The land of honourable death 
 Is here : up to the field, and give 
 Away thy breath ! 
 
 Seek out less often sought than found 
 
 A soldier's grave, for thee the best ; 
 Then look around, and choose thy ground, 
 And take thy rest. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 381 
 ODE TO THE WEST WIND 
 
 O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing 
 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou, 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
 
 336 SHELLEY 
 
 The winge'd seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow 
 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving every where, 
 Destroyer and preserver, hear, O, hear ! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, 
 Loose clouds, like earth's decaying leaves, are shed, 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, 
 
 Angels of rain and lightning : there are spread 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
 
 Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge 
 
 Of the horizon to the zenith's height, 
 
 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 
 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 
 Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst : O, hear ! 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
 Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, 
 
 Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day, 
 
 All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
 
 For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 
 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods, which wear 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
 
 SHELLEY 337 
 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear, 
 And tremble and despoil themselves : O, hear ! 
 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; 
 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
 
 The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
 Than thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 
 
 As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
 
 Scarce seemed a vision : I would ne'er have striven 
 
 As thus with thee in prayer hi my sore need ! 
 
 ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
 
 1 fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
 
 A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed 
 One too like thee : tameless, and swift, and proud. 
 
 Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : 
 What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 
 Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, 
 My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 
 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
 Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth ! 
 And, by the incantation of this verse, 
 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
 Be through my lips to unawakened earth 
 
 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O wind, 
 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 
 
 Percy Byss/ie Shelley. 
 Y
 
 338 SHELLEY 
 
 382 
 THE CLOUD 
 
 I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers 
 
 From the seas and the streams. 
 I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 
 
 In their noon-day dreams. 
 From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 
 
 The sweet buds every one, 
 When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 
 
 As she dances about the sun. 
 I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
 
 And whiten the green plains under, 
 And then again I dissolve it in rain, 
 
 And laugh as I pass in thunder. 
 
 I sift the snow on the mountains below, 
 
 And their great pines groan aghast ; 
 And all the night 'tis my pillow white, 
 
 While I sleep in the arms of the blast 
 Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, 
 
 Lightning my pilot sits ; 
 In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, 
 
 It struggles and howls at fits. 
 Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, 
 
 This pilot is guiding me, 
 Lured by the love of the genii that move 
 
 In the depths of the purple sea ; 
 Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, 
 
 Over the lakes and the plains, 
 Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, 
 
 The Spirit he loves remains ; 
 And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, 
 
 Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 
 
 The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes 
 
 And his burning plumes outspread, 
 Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, 
 
 When the morning star shines dead, 
 As on the jag of a mountain crag, 
 
 Which an earthquake rocks and swings, 
 An eagle alit one moment may sit 
 
 In the light of its golden wings ; 
 And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, 
 
 Its ardours of rest and of love,
 
 SHELLEY 339 
 
 And the crimson pall of eve may fall 
 
 From the depth of heaven above, 
 With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest 
 
 As still as a brooding dove. 
 
 That orbed maiden with white fire laden, 
 
 Whom mortals call the moon, 
 Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor 
 
 By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
 And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, 
 
 Which only the angels hear, 
 May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, 
 
 The stars peep behind her and peer ; 
 And I laugh to see them whirl and flee 
 
 Like a swarm of golden bees, 
 When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, 
 
 Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 
 Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, 
 
 Are each paved with the moon and these. 
 
 I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, 
 
 And the moon's with a girdle of pearl. 
 
 The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 
 When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. 
 
 From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, 
 Over a torrent sea, 
 
 Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof- 
 The mountains its columns be. 
 
 The triumphal arch, through which I march 
 With hurricane, fire, and snow, 
 
 When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, 
 Is the million-coloured bow : 
 
 The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, 
 
 While the moist earth was laughing below. 
 
 I am the daughter of earth and water 
 
 And the nursling of the sky. 
 I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores : 
 
 I change, but I cannot die. 
 For after the rain when, with never a stain, 
 
 The pavilion of heaven is bare, 
 And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams 
 
 Build up the blue dome of air, 
 I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 
 
 And out of the caverns of rain, 
 Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, 
 
 I arise and unbuild it again. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley.
 
 340 SHELLEY 
 
 383 
 
 ASTR/EA REDUX 
 
 THE world's great age begins anew, 
 
 The golden years return, 
 The earth doth like a snake renew 
 
 Her winter weeds outworn : 
 Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam 
 Like wrecks of a dissolving dream. 
 
 A brighter Hellas rears its mountains) 
 
 From waves serener far ; 
 A new Peneus rolls his fountains 
 
 Against the morning-star ; 
 Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep 
 Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. 
 
 A loftier Argo cleaves the main, 
 
 Fraught with a later prize ; 
 Another Orpheus sings again, 
 
 And loves, and weeps, and dies ; 
 A new Ulysses leaves once more 
 Calypso for his native shore. 
 
 O, write no more the tale of Troy, 
 If earth Death's scroll must be ! 
 
 Nor mix with Laian rage the joy 
 Which dawns upon the free, 
 
 Although a subtler Sphinx renew 
 
 Riddles of death Thebes never knew ! 
 
 Another Athens shall arise, 
 
 And to remoter time 
 Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, 
 
 The splendour of its prime, 
 And leave, if naught so bright may live, 
 All earth can take or Heaven can give. 
 
 Saturn and Love their long repose 
 Shall burst, more bright and good 
 
 Than all who fell, than One who rose, 
 Than many unsubdued :
 
 SHELLEY 341 
 
 Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, 
 But votive tears and symbol flowers. 
 
 O, cease ! must hate and death return ? 
 
 Cease ! must men kill and die ? 
 Cease ! drain not to its dregs the urn 
 
 Of bitter prophecy. 
 The world is weary of the past 
 O, might it die or rest at last ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 384 
 THE SONG OF PAN 
 
 FROM the forests and highlands 
 We come, we come ! 
 From the river-girt islands 
 Where loud waves are dumb, 
 Listening to my sweet pipings ! 
 The wind in the reeds and the rushes, 
 The bees on the bells of thyme, 
 The birds on the myrtle bushes, 
 The cicale above in the lime, 
 And the lizards below in the grass, 
 Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, 
 Listening to my sweet pipings. 
 
 Liquid Peneus was flowing, 
 
 And all dark Tempe lay 
 
 In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing 
 
 The light of the dying day, 
 
 Speeded by my sweet pipings. 
 
 The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, 
 
 And the nymphs of the woods and waves, 
 
 To the edge of the moist river-lawns 
 
 And the brink of the dewy caves, 
 
 And all that did then attend and follow, 
 
 Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, 
 
 With envy of my sweet pipings.
 
 342 SHELLEY 
 
 I sang of the dancing stars, 
 I sang of the daedal Earth, 
 And of Heaven, and the Giant Wars, 
 And Love, and Death, and Birth 
 And then I changed my pipings : 
 Singing how down the vale of Menalus 
 I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed ! 
 Gods and men, we are all deluded thus : 
 It breaks in our bosom, and then we bleed : 
 All wept, as I think both ye now would, 
 If envy or age had not frozen your blood, 
 At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 385 
 THE INDIAN SERENADE 
 
 I ARISE from dreams of thee 
 In the first sweet sleep of night, 
 When the winds are breathing low, 
 And the stars are shining bright : 
 I arise from dreams of thee, 
 And a spirit in my feet 
 Hath led me who knows how ! 
 To thy chamber window, Sweet ! 
 
 The wandering airs they faint 
 On the dark, the silent stream 
 And the champak's odours fail 
 Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
 The nightingale's complaint, 
 It dies upon her heart ; 
 As I must on thine, 
 
 beloved as thou art ! 
 
 O, lift me from the grass ! 
 
 1 die ! I faint ! I fail ! 
 Let thy love in kisses rain 
 On my lips and eyelids pale. 
 
 My cheek is cold and white, alas ! 
 My heart beats loud and fast 
 O, press it to thine own again, 
 Where it will break at last ! 
 
 Percy Bysike Shelley.
 
 SHELLEY 343 
 
 386 
 RARELY, RARELY, COMEST THOU 
 
 RARELY, rarely comest thou, 
 
 Spirit of Delight ! 
 Wherefore hast thou left me now 
 
 Many a day and night ? 
 Many a weary night and day 
 'Tis since thou art fled away. 
 
 How shall ever one like me 
 
 Win thee back again ? 
 With the joyous and the free 
 
 Thou wilt scoff at pain. 
 Spirit false ! thou hast forgot 
 All but those who need thee not. 
 
 As a lizard with the shade 
 
 Of a trembling leaf, 
 Thou with sorrow art dismayed ; 
 
 Even the sighs of grief 
 Reproach thee, that thou art not near, 
 And reproach thou wilt not hear. 
 
 Let me set my mournful ditty 
 
 To a merry measure : 
 Thou wilt never come for pity, 
 
 Thou wilt come for pleasure ; 
 Pity then will cut away 
 Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 
 
 I love all that thou lovest, 
 
 Spirit of Delight ! 
 The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed, 
 
 And the starry night, 
 Autumn evening, and the morn 
 When the golden mists are born. 
 
 I love snow, and all the forms 
 
 Of the radiant frost ; 
 I love waves, and winds, and storms 
 
 Everything almost 
 Which is Nature's, and may be 
 Untainted by man's misery.
 
 344 SHELLEY 
 
 I love tranquil solitude, 
 
 And such society 
 As is quiet, wise, and good ; 
 
 Between thee and me 
 What difference ? But thou dost possess 
 The things I seek, not love them less. 
 
 I love Love though he has wings, 
 
 And like light can flee ; 
 But above all other things, 
 
 Spirit, I love thee 
 Thou art love and life ! O, come, 
 Make once more my heart thy home ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 387 
 I FEAR THY KISSES 
 
 I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden, 
 
 Thou needest not fear mine : 
 My spirit is too deeply laden 
 
 Ever to burthen thine. 
 
 I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, 
 
 Thou needest not fear mine : 
 Innocent is the heart's devotion 
 
 With which I worship thine. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 388 
 TO NIGHT 
 
 SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave, 
 Spirit of Night ! 
 Out of the misty eastern cave, 
 Where all the long and lone daylight, 
 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 
 Which make thee terrible and dear 
 Swift be thy flight ! 
 
 Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, 
 
 Star-inwrought ! 
 
 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day
 
 SHELLEY 345 
 
 Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
 Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, 
 Touching all with thine opiate wand 
 Come, long sought ! 
 
 When I arose and saw the dawn, 
 
 I sighed for thee ; 
 
 When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
 
 And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
 
 And the weary Day turned to his rest, 
 
 Lingering like an unloved guest, 
 
 I sighed for thee. 
 
 Thy brother Death came, and cried : 
 ' Wouldst thou me ? ' 
 Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
 Murmured like a noon-tide bee : 
 ' Shall I nestle near thy side? 
 Wouldst thou me ? ' And I replied : 
 No, not thee ! 
 
 Death will come when thou art dead, 
 Soon, too soon ! 
 
 Sleep will come when thou art fled. 
 Of neither would I ask the boon 
 I ask of thee, beloved Night 
 Swift be thine approaching flight, 
 Come soon, soon ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 389 
 FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION 
 
 MY faint spirit was sitting in the light 
 
 Of thy looks, my love ; 
 It panted for thee like the hind at noon 
 
 For the brooks, my love. 
 Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight 
 
 Bore thee far from me ; 
 My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon, 
 Did companion thee. 
 
 Ah ! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed, 
 
 Or the death they bear, 
 
 The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove 
 With the wings of care ;
 
 346 SHELLEY 
 
 In the battle, in the darkness, in the need, 
 
 Shall mine cling to thee, 
 Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, 
 It may bring to thee. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 390 
 SONG 
 
 Music, when soft voices die, 
 Vibrates in the memory ; 
 Odours, when sweet violets sicken, 
 Live within the sense they quicken ; 
 Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, 
 Are heaped for the beloved's bed : 
 And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, 
 Love itself shall slumber on. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 391 
 LAM ENT 
 
 O WORLD ! O life ! O time ! 
 On whose last steps I climb, 
 
 Trembling at that where I had stood before, 
 When will return the glory of your prime ? 
 No more O, never more ! 
 
 Out of the day and night 
 A joy has taken flight : 
 
 Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, 
 Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
 No more O, never more ! 
 
 Percy Byssht Skellty. 
 
 392 
 A BRIDAL SONG 
 
 THE golden gates of Sleep unbar, 
 
 Where Strength and Beauty, met together, 
 Kindle their image, like a star 
 
 In a sea of glassy weather.
 
 SHELLEY 347 
 
 Night, with all thy stars look down 
 
 Darkness, weep thy holiest dew 
 Never smiled the inconstant moon 
 
 On a pair so true ! 
 Let eyes not see their own delight : 
 Haste, swift Hour, and thy flight 
 Oft renew ! 
 
 Fairies, sprites, and angels keep her ! 
 
 Holy stars, permit no wrong ! 
 And return to wake the sleeper, 
 Dawn ere it be long ! 
 O joy ! O fear ! what will be done 
 In the absence of the sun ! 
 Come along ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 393 
 
 SONG 
 
 WHEN the lamp is shattered, 
 The light in the dust lies dead ; 
 
 When the cloud is scattered, 
 The rainbow's glory is shed ; 
 
 When the lute is broken, 
 Sweet tones are remembered not ; 
 
 When the lips have spoken, 
 Loved accents are soon forgot. 
 
 As music and splendour 
 Survive not the lamp and the lute, 
 
 The heart's echoes render 
 No song when the spirit is mute : 
 
 No song but sad dirges, 
 Like the wind through a ruined cell, 
 
 Or the mournful surges 
 That ring the dead seaman's knell. 
 
 When hearts have once mingled, 
 Love first leaves the well-built nest : 
 
 The weak one is singled 
 To endure what it once possessed. 
 
 O Love ! who bewailest 
 The frailty of all things here, 
 
 Why choose you the frailest 
 For your cradle, your home and your bier ?
 
 348 SHELLEY 
 
 Its passions will rock thee 
 As the storms rock the ravens on high. 
 
 Bright reason will mock thee, 
 Like the sun from a wintry sky. 
 
 From thy nest every rafter 
 Will rot, and thine eagle home 
 
 Leave thee naked to laughter, 
 When leaves fall and cold winds come. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 394 
 
 TO JANE 
 
 THE keen stars were twinkling, 
 And the fair moon was rising among them, 
 
 Dear Jane ! 
 
 The guitar was tinkling, 
 
 But the notes were not sweet till you sung them 
 Again. 
 
 As the moon's soft splendour 
 O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven 
 
 Is thrown, 
 
 So your voice most tender 
 To the strings without soul had then given 
 Its own. 
 
 The stars will awaken, 
 Though the moon sleep a full hour later 
 
 To-night ; 
 
 No leaf will be shaken, 
 Whilst the dews of your melody scatter 
 Delight. 
 
 Though the sound overpowers, 
 Sing again, with your dear voice revealing 
 
 A tone 
 
 Of some world far from ours, 
 Where music and moonlight and feeling 
 Are one. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley.
 
 KEATS 349 
 
 395 
 HYMN TO PAN 
 
 ' O THOU, whose mighty palace roof doth hang 
 
 From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth 
 
 Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death 
 
 Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness ; 
 
 Who lovest to see the Hamadryads dress 
 
 Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken ; 
 
 And through whole solemn hours dost sit, and hearken 
 
 The dreary melody of bedded reeds 
 
 In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds 
 
 The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth, 
 
 Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth 
 
 Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx do thou now, 
 
 By thy love's milky brow, 
 
 By all the trembling mazes that she ran, 
 
 Hear us, great Pan ! 
 
 ' O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet turtles 
 Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles, 
 What time thou wanderest at eventide 
 Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side 
 Of thine enmossed realms : O thou, to whom 
 Broad-leaved fig-trees even now foredoom 
 Their ripened fruitage ; yellow-girted bees 
 Their golden honey-combs ; our village leas 
 Their fairest-blossomed beans and poppied com ; 
 The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, 
 To sing for thee ; low- creeping strawberries 
 Their summer coolness ; pent-up butterflies 
 Their freckled wings ; yea, the fresh-budding year 
 All its completions be quickly near. 
 By every wind that nods the mountain pine, 
 O forester divine ! 
 
 ' Thou, to whom every Faun and Satyr flies 
 For willing service ; whether to surprise 
 The squatted hare while in half-sleeping fit ; 
 Or upward ragged precipices flit 
 To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw ; 
 Or by mysterious enticement draw 
 Bewildered shepherds to their path again ; 
 Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, 
 And gather up all fancifullest shells 
 For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells,
 
 350 KEATS 
 
 And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping ; 
 Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping, 
 The while they pelt each other on the crown 
 With silvery oak-apples, and fir-cones brown 
 By all the echoes that about thee ring, 
 Hear us, O satyr king ! 
 
 ' O Hearkener to the loud^clapping Shears, 
 While ever and anon to his shorn peers 
 A ram goes bleating: Winder of the Horn, 
 When snouted wild-boars, routing tender corn, 
 Anger our huntsmen : Breather round our farms, 
 To keep off mildews, and all weather harms : 
 Strange Ministrant of undescribed sounds, 
 That come a-swooning over hollow grounds, 
 And wither drearily on barren moors : 
 Dread Opener of the Mysterious Doors 
 Leading to universal knowledge see, 
 Great Son of Dryope, 
 The many that are come to pay their vows 
 With leaves about their brows ! 
 
 ' Be still the unimaginable lodge 
 
 For solitary thinkings ; such as dodge 
 
 Conception to the very bourne of heaven, 
 
 Then leave the naked brain ! be still the leaven, 
 
 That spreading in this dull and clodded earth, 
 
 Gives it a touch ethereal a new birth ! 
 
 Be still a symbol of immensity ; 
 
 A firmament reflected in a sea ; 
 
 An element filling the space between ; 
 
 An unknown but no more ! We humbly screen 
 
 With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bending, 
 
 And, giving out a shout most heaven-rending, 
 
 Conjure thee to receive our humble Paean 
 
 Upon thy Mount Lycean ! ' 
 
 John Kcah. 
 
 396 
 THE INDIAN LADY 
 
 I 
 
 O SORROW ! 
 Why dost borrow 
 The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips ?
 
 KEATS 351 
 
 To give maiden blushes 
 To the white rose bushes ? 
 Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips ? 
 
 O Sorrow ! 
 
 Why dost borrow 
 The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye ? 
 
 To give the glow-worm light ? 
 
 Or, on a moonless night, 
 To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry ? 
 
 O Sorrow ! 
 
 Why dost borrow 
 The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue ? 
 
 To give at evening pale 
 
 Unto the nightingale, 
 That thou mayest listen the cold dews among ? 
 
 Sorrow ! 
 Why dost borrow 
 
 Heart's lightness from the merriment of May ? 
 
 A lover would not tread 
 
 A cowslip on the head, 
 Though he should dance from eve till peep of day 
 
 Nor any drooping flower 
 
 Held sacred for thy bower, 
 Wherever he may sport himself and play. 
 
 To Sorrow ! 
 
 1 bade good morrow, 
 
 And thought to leave her far away behind ; 
 
 But cheerly, cheerly ! 
 
 She loves me dearly ; 
 She is so constant to me, and so kind : 
 
 I would deceive her, 
 
 And so leave her, 
 But ah ! she is so constant and so kind. 
 
 Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, 
 I sat a-weeping : in the whole world wide 
 There was no one to ask me why I wept 
 
 And so I kept 
 Brimming the water-lily cups with tears 
 
 Cold as my fears.
 
 352 KEATS 
 
 Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side, 
 I sat a-weeping : what enamour'd bride, 
 Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds, 
 
 But hides and shrouds 
 Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side ? 
 
 And as I sat, over the light blue hills 
 There came a noise of revellers : the rills 
 Into the wide stream came of purple hue 
 
 'Twas Bacchus and his crew ! 
 The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills 
 From kissing cymbals made a merry din 
 
 T"was Bacchus and his kin ! 
 Like to a moving vintage down they came, 
 Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame ; 
 All madly dancing through the pleasant valley, 
 
 To scare thee, Melancholy ! 
 O then, O then, thou wast a simple name ! 
 And I forgot thee, as the berried holly 
 By shepherds is forgotten, when in June, 
 Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon 
 
 I rush'd into the folly ! . . . 
 
 Ill 
 
 ' Whence came ye, merry Damsels ! whence came yc, 
 So many, and so many, and such glee ? 
 Why have ye left your bowers desolate, 
 
 Your lutes, and gentler fate ? ' 
 ' We follow Bacchus ! Bacchus on the wing, 
 
 A-conquering ! 
 
 Bacchus, young Bacchus ! good or ill betide, 
 We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide : 
 Come hither, lady fair, and joined be 
 
 To our wild minstrelsy ! ' 
 
 ' Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs ! whence came ye, 
 So many, and so many, and such glee ? 
 Why have ye left your forest haunts ? why left 
 
 Your nuts in oak-tree cleft ? ' 
 ' For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree ; 
 For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms, 
 
 And cold mushrooms ; 
 
 For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth ; 
 Great god of breathless cups and chirping mirth ! 
 Come hither, lady fair, and joined be 
 
 To our mad minstrelsy ! '
 
 KEATS 353 
 
 IV 
 
 Over wide streams and mountains great we went, 
 And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent, 
 Onward the tiger and the leopard pants, 
 
 With Asian elephants : 
 
 Onward these myriads with song and dance, 
 With zebras striped and sleek Arabians' prance, 
 Web-footed alligators, crocodiles, 
 Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files, 
 Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil 
 Of seamen and stout galley-rowers' toil : 
 With toying oars and silken sails they glide, 
 
 Nor care for wind and tide. 
 
 Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes, 
 From rear to van they scour about the plains ; 
 A three days' journey in a moment done ; 
 And always, at the rising of the sun, 
 About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn, 
 On spleenful unicorn. 
 
 I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown 
 
 Before the vine-wreath crown ! 
 I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing 
 
 To the silver cymbals' ring ! 
 I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce 
 
 Old Tartary the fierce ! 
 The kings of Ind their jewel-sceptres vail, 
 And from their treasures scatter pearled hail ; 
 Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans, 
 
 And all his priesthood moans, 
 Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale ! 
 Into these regions came I, following him, 
 Sick -hearted, weary so I took a whim 
 To stray away into these forests drear, 
 
 Alone, without a peer : 
 And I have told thee all thou mayest hear. 
 
 Young stranger ! 
 
 I "ve been a ranger 
 In search of pleasure throughout every clime. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis not for me : 
 
 Bewitch'd I sure must be, 
 To lose in grieving all my maiden prime. 
 Z
 
 354 KEATS 
 
 Come then, Sorrow, 
 
 Sweetest Sorrow ! 
 Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast : 
 
 I thought to leave thee, 
 
 And deceive thee, 
 But now of all the world I love thee best. 
 
 There is not one, 
 
 No, no, not one 
 But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid : 
 
 Thou art her mother 
 
 And her brother, 
 Her playmate and her wooer in the shade.' 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 397 
 
 TO THE POETS 
 
 BARDS of Passion and of Mirth, 
 Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
 Have ye souls in heaven too, 
 Double-lived in regions new ? 
 Yes, and those of heaven commune 
 With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
 With the noise of fountains wondrous 
 And the parle of voices thund'rous ; 
 With the whisper of heaven's trees 
 And one another, in soft ease 
 Seated on Elysian lawns 
 Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; 
 Underneath large blue-bells tented, 
 Where the daises are rose-scented, 
 And the rose herself has got 
 Perfume which on earth is not ; 
 Where the nightingale doth sing 
 Not a senseless, tranced thing, 
 But divine melodious truth, 
 Philosophic numbers smooth, 
 Tales and golden histories 
 Of heaven and its mysteries. 
 
 Thus ye live on high, and then 
 On the earth ye live again ; 
 And the souls ye left behind you 
 Teach us, here, the way to find you,
 
 KEATS 355 
 
 Where your other souls are joying, 
 Never slumber'd, never cloying. 
 Here your earth-born souls still speak 
 To mortals, of their little week ; 
 Of their sorrows and delights ; 
 Of their passions and their spites ; 
 Of their glory and their shame ; 
 What doth strengthen and what maim : 
 Thus ye teach us, every day, 
 Wisdom, though fled far away ! 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 
 Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
 Ye have souls in heaven too, 
 Double-lived in regions new ! 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 398 
 TO PSYCHE 
 
 GODDESS ! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung 
 By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, 
 
 And pardon that thy secrets should be sung 
 Even into thine own soft-conched ear : 
 
 Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see 
 The winged Psyche with awakened eyes ? 
 
 1 wandered in a forest thoughtlessly, 
 
 And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, 
 Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side 
 
 In deepest grass, beneath the whispering roof 
 
 Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran 
 
 A brooklet, scarce espied : 
 'Mid hushed, cool-rooted flowers fragrant-eyed, 
 
 Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, 
 They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass ; 
 
 Their arms embraced, and their pinions too ; 
 
 Their lips touched not, but had not bade adieu 
 As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber, 
 And ready still past kisses to outnumber 
 
 At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love : 
 The winged boy I knew ; 
 
 But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove ? 
 His Psyche true !
 
 356 KEATS 
 
 O latest-born and loveliest vision far 
 
 Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy ! 
 Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star 
 
 Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky ; 
 Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, 
 
 Nor altar heaped with flowers ; 
 Nor Virgin-choir to make delicious moan 
 
 Upon the midnight hours ; 
 No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet 
 
 From chain-swung censer teeming ; 
 No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat 
 
 Of pale-mouthed prophet dreaming ! 
 
 brightest ! though too late for antique vows, 
 Too-too late for the fond believing lyre, 
 
 When holy were the haunted forest boughs, 
 Holy the air, the water, and the fire ; 
 
 Yet even in these days so far retired 
 From happy pieties, thy lucent fans, 
 Fluttering among the faint Olympians, 
 
 1 see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired ! 
 So let me be thy choir, and make a moan 
 
 Upon the midnight hours ! 
 Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet 
 
 From swinged censer teeming : 
 Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat 
 
 Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming. 
 
 Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane 
 
 In some untrodden region of my mind, 
 Where branched thoughts, new-grown with pleasant pain, 
 
 Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind : 
 Far, far around shall those dark-clustered trees 
 
 Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep ; 
 And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees 
 
 The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep ; 
 And in the midst of this wide quietness 
 A rosy sanctuary will I dress 
 With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain 
 
 With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, 
 With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, 
 
 Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same : 
 And there shall be for thee all soft delight 
 
 That shadowy thought can win, 
 A bright torch, and a casement ope at night 
 
 To let the warm Love in ! 
 
 John Keats.
 
 KEATS 357 
 
 399 
 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-winged Dryad of the Trees, 
 
 In some melodious plot 
 Of beechen green and shadows numberless, 
 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 
 
 O, for a draught of vintage, that hath been 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 grey hairs ; 
 
 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies j 
 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 I 
 
 Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, 
 
 Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
 But on the viewless wing 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.
 
 3$8 KEATS 
 
 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 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam 
 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 
 
 Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 
 
 To toll me back from thee to my sole self. 
 Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
 As she is famed to do, deceiving elf ! 
 Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 
 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
 Up the hill -side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
 
 In the next valley-glades : 
 Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? 
 Fled is that music : do I wake or sleep ? 
 
 John Keats.
 
 KEATS 359 
 
 4OO 
 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 
 
 1 O, WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
 
 Alone and palely loitering ? 
 The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 
 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 'O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
 
 So haggard and so woe-begone ? 
 The squirrel's granary is full, 
 
 And the harvest 's done. 
 
 ' I see a lily on thy brow 
 
 With anguish moist and fever dew, 
 And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
 
 Fast withereth too.' 
 
 ' I met a lady in the meads, 
 
 Full beautiful a faery's child : 
 Her hair was long, her foot was light, \ 
 
 And her eyes were wild. 
 
 ' I made a garland for her head, 
 And bracelets too, and fragrant zone. 
 
 She looked at me as she did love, 
 And made sweet moan. 
 
 ' I set her on my pacing steed, 
 
 And nothing else saw all day long, 
 For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
 
 A faery's song. 
 
 * She found me roots of relish sweet, 
 
 And honey wild, and manna dew, 
 And sure in language strange she said : 
 
 ' I love thee true ! ' 
 
 ' She took me to her elfin grot, 
 And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, 
 
 And there I shut her wild wild eyes 
 With kisses four.
 
 360 HOOD 
 
 ' And there she lulled me asleep, 
 And there I dreamed ah ! woe betide ! 
 
 The latest dream I ever dreamed 
 On the cold hill's side ! 
 
 ' I saw pale kings and princes too, 
 
 Pale warriors, death-pale were they all. 
 
 They cried : ' La Belle Dame sans Merci 
 Hath thee in thrall ! ' 
 
 ' I saw their starved lips in the gloam, 
 With horrid warning gaped wide, 
 
 And I awoke and found me here 
 On the cold hill's side. 
 
 ' And this is why I sojourn here, 
 
 Alone and palely loitering, 
 Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, 
 
 And no birds sing. ' 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 4OI 
 IT WAS THE TIME OF ROSES 
 
 IT was not in the winter 
 Our loving lot was cast : 
 It was the time of roses 
 We plucked them as we passed ! 
 
 II 
 
 That churlish season never frown'd 
 On early lovers yet ! 
 O, no the world was newly crown'd 
 With flowers, when first we met. 
 
 Ill 
 
 'Twas twilight, and I bade you go, 
 
 But still you held me fast : 
 
 It was the time of roses 
 
 We plucked them as we passed. 
 
 Thomas Hood,
 
 BED DOES 361 
 
 4O2 
 DREAM-PEDLARY 
 
 IF. there were dreams to sell, 
 
 What would you buy ? 
 Some cost a passing bell ; 
 
 Some a light sigh 
 
 That shakes from Life's fresh crown 
 Only a rose-leaf down. 
 If there were dreams to sell, 
 Merry and sad to tell, 
 And the crier rung the bell, 
 
 What would you buy ? 
 
 A cottage lone and still, 
 
 With bowers nigh, 
 Shadowy, my woes to still, 
 
 Until I die. 
 
 Such pearl from Life's fresh crown 
 Fain would I shake me down. 
 Were dreams to have at will, 
 This would best heal my ill, 
 
 This would I buy. 
 
 But there were dreams to sell 
 
 111 didst thou buy ; 
 Life is a dream, they tell, 
 
 Waking, to die. 
 Dreaming, a dream to prize, 
 Is wishing ghosts to rise ; 
 
 And, if I had the spell 
 
 To call the buried well, 
 Which one would I ? 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddots. 
 
 403 
 DIRG E 
 
 IF thou wilt ease thine heart 
 Of love and all its smart, 
 
 Then sleep, dear, sleep, 
 And not a sorrow 
 
 Hang any tear on your eyelashes ! 
 
 Lie still and deep, 
 Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes 
 The rim o' the sun to-morrow 
 In eastern sky.
 
 362 BEDDOES 
 
 But wilt thou cure thine heart 
 Of love and all its smart, 
 Then die, dear, die ! 
 "Pis deeper, sweeter, 
 Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming 
 
 With folded eye, 
 
 And then alone, amid the beaming 
 Of love's stars, thou 'It meet her 
 In eastern sky. 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
 
 404 
 HOW MANY TIMES 
 
 How many times do I love thee, dear? 
 Tell me how many thoughts there be 
 In the atmosphere 
 Of a new-fall'n year, 
 Whose white and sable hours appear 
 
 The latest flake of eternity : 
 So many times do I love thee, dear ! 
 
 How many times do I love again ? 
 Tell me how many beads there are 
 In a silver chain 
 Of evening rain, 
 Unravelled from the tumbling main, 
 
 And threading the eye of a yellow star : 
 So many times do I love again ! 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
 
 405 
 
 ULALUME 
 
 THE skies they were ashen and sober, 
 
 The leaves they were crisped and sere 
 The leaves they were withering and sere ; 
 
 It was night in the lonesome October 
 Of my most immemorial year ; 
 
 It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 
 In the misty mid region of Weir 
 
 It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 
 
 In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
 
 POE 363 
 
 Here once, through an alley Titanic 
 
 Of cypress, I roamed with my soul 
 
 Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 
 These were days when my heart was volcanic 
 
 As the scoriae rivers that roll 
 
 As the lavas that restlessly roll 
 Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 
 
 In the ultimate climes of the Pole 
 That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 
 
 In the realms of the Boreal Pole. 
 
 Our talk had been serious and sober, 
 
 But our thoughts they were palsied and sere 
 Our memories were treacherous and sere 
 
 For we knew not the month was October, 
 And we marked not the night of the year 
 (Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 
 
 We noted not the dim lake of Auber 
 
 (Though once we had journeyed down here), 
 
 Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber 
 
 Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 
 
 And now, as the night was senescent 
 And star -dials pointed to morn 
 As the star-dials hinted of morn 
 
 At the end of our path a liquescent 
 And nebulous lustre was born, 
 
 Out of which a miraculous crescent 
 Arose with a duplicate horn 
 
 Astarte's bediamonded crescent 
 
 Distinct with its duplicate horn. 
 
 And I said : ' She is warmer than Dian 
 She rolls through an ether of sighs 
 She revels in a region of sighs : 
 
 She has seen that the tears are not dry on 
 
 These cheeks, where the worm never dies, 
 
 And has come past the stars of the Lion 
 To point us the path to the skies 
 To the Lethean peace of the skies 
 
 Come up, in despite of the Lion, 
 
 To shine on us with her bright eyes 
 
 Come up through the lair of the Lion 
 With love in her luminous eyes.'
 
 364 POE 
 
 But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 
 
 Said : ' Sadly this star I mistrust 
 Her pallor I strangely mistrust 
 
 O, hasten ! O, let us not linger ! 
 
 O, fly ! let us fly ! for we must.' 
 
 In terror she spoke, letting sink her 
 
 Wings until they trailed in the dust 
 
 In agony sobbed, letting sink her 
 
 Plumes till they trailed in the dust 
 Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 
 
 I replied : ' This is nothing but dreaming ; 
 
 Let us on by this tremulous light ! 
 
 Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! 
 Its Sybilic splendour is beaming 
 
 With Hope and in Beauty to-night : 
 
 See ! it flickers up the sky through the night ! 
 Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, 
 
 And be sure it will lead us aright 
 We safely may trust to a gleaming 
 
 That cannot but guide us aright, 
 
 Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.' 
 
 Thus I pacified Psyche, and kissed her, 
 And tempted her out of her gloom 
 And conquered her scruples and gloom ; 
 
 And we passed to the end of the vista, 
 
 But were stopped by the door of a tomb 
 By the door of a legended tomb ; 
 
 And I said : ' What is written, sweet sister, 
 On the door of this legended tomb ? ' 
 She replied : ' Ulalume Ulalume 
 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! ' 
 
 Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
 
 As the leaves that were crisped and sere 
 As the leaves that were withering and sere 
 
 And I cried : ' It was surely October 
 On this very night of last year 
 That I journeyed I journeyed down here 
 That I brought a dread burden down here ! 
 On this night of all nights in the year, 
 Ah, what demon has tempted me here? 
 
 Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber, 
 This misty mid region of Weir 
 
 Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
 This ghoul -haunted woodland of Weir.' 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe.
 
 POE 365 
 
 406 
 FOR ANNIE 
 
 THANK Heaven ! the crisis 
 
 The danger is past, 
 And the lingering illness 
 
 Is over at last 
 And the fever called ' Living ' 
 
 Is conquered at last. 
 
 Sadly, I know 
 
 I am shorn of my strength, 
 And no muscle I move^ 
 
 As I lie at full length 
 But no matter ! I feel 
 
 I am better at length. 
 
 And I rest so composed, 
 
 Now, in my bed, 
 That any beholder 
 
 Might fancy me dead 
 Might start at beholding me, 
 
 Thinking me dead. 
 
 The moaning and groaning, 
 
 The sighing and sobbing 
 Are quieted now, 
 
 With that horrible throbbing 
 At heart Ah ! that horrible, 
 
 Horrible throbbing ! 
 
 The sickness the nausea 
 
 The pitiless pain 
 Have ceased, with the fever 
 
 That maddened my brain 
 With the fever called ' Living ' 
 
 That burned in my brain. 
 
 And O ! of all tortures 
 
 That torture the worst 
 Has abated the terrible 
 
 Torture of thirst 
 For the naphthaline river 
 
 Of Passion accurst 
 I have drunk of a water 
 
 That quenches all thirst :
 
 366 POE 
 
 Of a water that flows, 
 
 With a lullaby sound, 
 From a spring but a very few 
 
 Feet under ground 
 From a cavern not very far 
 
 Down under ground. 
 
 And Ah ! let it never 
 
 Be foolishly said 
 That my room it is gloomy, 
 
 And narrow my bed 
 For man never slept 
 
 In a different bed 
 And, to sleep, you must slumber 
 
 In just such a bed. * 
 
 My tantalised spirit 
 
 Here blandly reposes, 
 Forgetting, or never 
 
 Regretting its roses 
 Its old agitations 
 
 Of myrtles and roses : 
 
 For now, while so quietly 
 
 Lying, it fancies 
 A holier odour 
 
 About it, of pansies 
 A rosemary odour, 
 
 Commingled with pansies 
 With rue and the beautiful 
 
 Puritan pansies. 
 
 And so it lies happily, 
 
 Bathing in many 
 A dream of the truth 
 
 And the beauty of Annie 
 Drowned in a bath 
 
 Of the tresses of Annie. 
 
 She tenderly kissed me, 
 
 She fondly caressed, 
 And then I fell gently 
 
 To sleep on her breast 
 Deeply to sleep 
 
 From the heaven of her breast. 
 
 When the light was extinguished, 
 She covered me warm,
 
 POE 367 
 
 And she prayed to the angels 
 
 To keep me from harm 
 To the queen of the angels 
 
 To shield me from harm. 
 
 And I lie so composedly, 
 
 Now in my bed 
 (Knowing her love), 
 
 That you fancy me dead 
 And I rest so contentedly, 
 
 Now in my bed 
 (With her love at my breast), 
 
 That you fancy me dead 
 That you shudder to look at me, 
 
 Thinking me dead : 
 
 But my heart it is brighter 
 
 Than all of the many 
 Stars in the sky, 
 
 For it sparkles with Annie 
 It glows with the light 
 
 Of the love of my Annie 
 With the thought of the light 
 
 Of the eyes of my Annie. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 407 
 THE HAUNTED PALACE 
 
 IN the greenest of our valleys 
 
 By good angels tenanted, 
 Once a fair and stately palace 
 
 Radiant palace reared its head. 
 In the monarch Thought's dominion, 
 
 It stood there ! 
 Never seraph spread a pinion 
 
 Over fabric half so fair ! 
 
 Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 
 
 On its roof did float and flow 
 (This all this was in the olden 
 
 Time long ago), 
 And every gentle air that dallied 
 
 In that sweet day, 
 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 
 
 A winged odour went away.
 
 368 POE 
 
 Wanderers in that happy valley 
 
 Through two luminous windows saw 
 Spirits moving musically 
 
 To a lute's well-tuned law, 
 Round about a throne where, sitting 
 
 (Porphyrogene !) 
 In state his glory well befitting, 
 
 The ruler of the realm was seen. 
 
 And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
 
 Was the fair palace door, 
 Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing 
 
 And sparkling evermore, 
 A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 
 
 Was but to sing, 
 In voices of surpassing beauty, 
 
 The wit and wisdom of their king. 
 
 But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 
 
 Assailed the monarch's high estate 
 (Ah, let us mourn ! for never morrow 
 
 Shall dawn upon him desolate !) ; 
 And round about his home the glory, 
 
 That blushed and bloomed, 
 Is but a dim-remembered story 
 
 Of the old time entombed. 
 
 And travellers, now, within that valley 
 
 Through the red-litten windows see 
 Vast forms, that move fantastically 
 
 To a discordant melody, 
 While, like a ghastly rapid river, 
 
 Through the pale door 
 A hideous throng rush out forever, 
 
 And laugh but smile no more. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 408 
 ANNABEL LEE 
 
 IT was many and many a year ago, 
 
 In a kingdom by the sea, 
 That a maiden there lived whom you may know 
 
 By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
 And this maiden she lived with no other thought 
 
 Than to love and be loved by me.
 
 POE 369 
 
 I was a child, and she was a child 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea : 
 But we loved with a love that was more than love 
 
 I and my Annabel Lee 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason that, long ago, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 So that her high-born kinsman came 
 
 And bore her away from me, 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 
 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 
 Went envying her and me ! 
 Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 
 
 Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
 
 Of those who were older than we 
 
 Of many far wiser than we 
 And neither the angels in heaven above 
 
 Nor the demons down under the sea 
 Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : 
 
 For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 And so all the night-tide I lie down by the side 
 Of my darling my darling ! my life and my bride, 
 
 In the sepulchre there by the sea, 
 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
 Edgar Allan Pot. 
 
 2 A
 
 NOTES 
 
 1-3. GEOFFREY CHAUCER (1340-1400). 
 
 J. From The Legend of Good Women : Text A in Professor Skeat's 
 Third Volume of The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer (Oxford, 
 1894). A formal ballade, less the envoy. 
 
 gilte~ golden clere=bright disteyne=bed'\m 
 
 y-ftre= together cAr=face betray sed=- betrayed 
 
 Maketh = make (imp. ) soutt = sound 
 
 2. Selected from the Fifth Book of Troilus and Criseyde. It is, not 
 a formal lyric but, an excerpt from a romance in verse. But it is 
 charged with an emotion which is not of a day but of all time ; its 
 effect is absolutely lyrical ; and, to this compiler at least, it makes as 
 perfect a liederkranz as is in the language. Section i corresponds to 
 Stanzas 77-79 of Professor Skeat's Edition (as above), Vol. ii. 
 
 y-hight= called quaint = quenched gye- guide lisse=}oy 
 ii corresponds to Stanzas 81-3. 
 
 ones = once : alderlevest = dearest of all 
 
 in corresponds to Stanzas 91-92, the first two lines of Stanza 91 
 
 being omitted. 
 
 IV corresponds to Stanzas 93-94. 
 
 A=hence : 7H=begin to 
 v corresponds to Stanzas 96-97. 
 
 sote= sweet stoundetne2e=ham time to time 
 
 bote= benefit tw inned parted 
 
 3. A triple roundel, as Professor Skeat notes ( Works, as above, 
 i. 386-7). 
 
 A// = them A#/f = heal ftalt = holds 
 
 y-strike= struck :/a*=slate 
 
 4-6. WILLIAM DUNBAR (c. 14651-1520?). 
 
 A master of metre, a rare humourist, a satirist of lasting distinction, 
 a writer whose vocabulary amazes even now, the most considerable poet 
 bred in Scotland between Robert Henryson and Robert Burns, Dunbar
 
 372 NOTES 
 
 lived to see himself in print in the first volume issued by the Scottish 
 Press (1508). My text is more or less modernised from The Poems 
 of William Dunbar, edited, in Four Parts, by John Small (M.A. , 
 F.S.A. Scot.) for the Scottish Text Society (Edinburgh, 1884-90). 
 4. This number consists of Stanzas i.-xiii. and Stanzas xxiv.-xxv. of 
 Dunbar's Lament for the Makaris ( poets) Quhen He Wes Seik. 
 For the form, that of the kyrielle (a favourite with Dunbar, who has 
 a round dozen of examples), see Banville, Petit Traitl : 
 
 Qui voudra s^avoir la pratique 
 De cette reine jurjdique, 
 Je dis que bien mise en effet 
 La Kyrielle ainsi sefait. 
 
 The ' Monk of Bury ' (Stanza xiii.) is John Lydgate. 
 
 lruklt~ feeble luickir^ willow /w=rest 
 
 dansand= dancing tyrand= tyrant Rhetors = orators 
 
 enarmed= under arms stour= battle Hes done petvously 
 
 s<nukand= sucking ca/te*= chief of a gar- devour = Has pitifully 
 .$/**= sly rison devoured 
 
 sickir= secure tovr= tower Of force = of necessity 
 
 ntellee =mellay piscence= puissance retneid= remedy 
 
 ca*//0=hero surrifians= surgeons dispone= prepare 
 
 sary= woe-begone A rt-magicians = wizards 
 
 Here are Stanzas xiv.-xxiii., for whose omission I make no apology, 
 even though they demonstrate beyond the possibility of doubting that 
 Dunbar's Lament was suggested by Villon's immortal trilogy of bal- 
 lades, ' Des Dames du Temps Jadis ' ; ' Des Seigneurs du Temps 
 Jadis ' ; and ' Mesme Propos en Vieil Langage Fran9ois ' : 
 
 The gude Syr Hew of Eglintoun, 
 Et eik Heryot, et Wy_ntoun, 
 He hes tane out of this cuntre ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 That scorpioun fell hes done infek 
 Maister lohne Clerk, and James Afflek, 
 Fra balat making et trigide ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 Holland et Harbour he has berevit ; 
 Allace ! that he nought with ws lewit 
 Schir Mungo Lokert of the Le ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 Clerk of Tranent eik he has tane, 
 
 That maid the anteris of Gawane ; 
 
 Schir Gilbert Hay endit has he ; 
 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 He has Blind Hary, et Sandy Trail) 
 Slaine with his schour of mortal! haill, 
 Quhilk Patrik lohnestoun myght nought fle ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 He hes re_ft Merseir his endite, 
 That did in luf so lifly write, 
 So schort, so quyk, of sentence hie ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me.
 
 NOTES 373 
 
 He hes tane Roull of Aberdene, 
 And gentill Roull of Corstorphin[e] ; 
 Two bettir fallowis did no man se ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 In Dumfermelyne he has done rovne 
 With Maister Robert Henrisoun ; 
 Schir lohne the Ros enbrast hes he ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 And he has now tane, last of aw, 
 Gud gentill Stobo et Quintyne Schaw, 
 Of o^uham all wichtis hes pet6 : 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 Gud Maister Walter Kennedy, 
 In poynt of dede lyis veraly, 
 Gret reuth it wer that so suld be ; 
 Timor Mortis conturbat me. 
 
 5. The obsession of Winter, which bears so heavily on such middle- 
 aged folk as are susceptible to external influences, has nowhere been 
 conveyed, I think, so powerfully as here. 
 
 </> = dark dnt mlic = muddy dule = wretched 
 
 duli- tpreit = lurkforschoir=<xifiKS for dread requeir= require 
 
 troubled spirit &z/=live kist= chest 
 
 does forloir=- wearies low t = stoop cowp = cup 
 
 yettis= gates 
 
 6. The stanza here is the ballade octave, but the rhymes change as 
 the octave ends. In the last verse but one, as often in Burns, the 
 strong Scots r gives ' world ' the value of a dissyllable. 
 
 Wend theefro = pass from thee ytJiand= steady 
 
 Dress from desert = Forth from the waste ass = ashes 
 
 graithzng in thy gait = working on thy road 
 
 7-8. JOHN SKELTON (14 P-IS29). 
 
 7- The litany In Praise of Johanna Scroope forms part of The Bokc. 
 of Phyllyp Sparowe. The Latin refrains are omitted. In the original, 
 upon the line ' In beauty and virtue,' there follows this quatrain : 
 
 Haec claritate gemina, 
 
 O gloriosa fccmina, 
 
 Memor esto verbi tui servo tuo ! 
 
 Servus tuus sum ego. 
 
 Upon the recurrence of the same line : 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 O gloriosa foemina, 
 
 Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo, domina, 
 Et ex praecordiis sonant praeconia. 
 
 The third overword runs thus : 
 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 
 O gloriosa foemina, 
 
 Defecit in salutatione tua anima mea ; 
 
 Quid petis filio, mater dulci&sima ? babae !
 
 374 
 
 NOTES 
 
 The fourth : 
 
 The fifth : 
 
 The sixth : 
 
 The seventh : 
 
 The eighth : 
 
 Hac claritate gcmina, 
 O gloriosa fcemina, 
 
 8uomodo dilexi legem tuam, domina ! 
 ecedant vetera, nova sint omnia. 
 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 
 O gloriosa fcemina, 
 
 Iniquos odio habui ! 
 
 Non calumnientur me superbi. 
 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 
 O gloriosa foemina, 
 
 Mirabilia testimonia tua ! 
 
 Sicut novellae plantationes in juventute sua. 
 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 
 O glorios_a foemina, 
 
 Clamavi in toto corde, exaudi me ! 
 
 Misericordia tua magna est super me. 
 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 
 O gloriosa fcemtna, 
 
 Prmcipes persecuti sunt me gratis ! 
 
 Omnibus consideratis, 
 
 Paradisus voluptatis _ 
 
 Ha;c virgo est dulcissima. 
 
 The ninth and last : 
 
 Hac claritate gemina, 
 
 O gloriosa foemina ! 
 
 Requiem acternam dona eis, Domine ! 
 
 cltrt= bright eitnevi(d= refreshed sfc/=deep 
 
 jelofer= gillyflower enJtatched crossed fas taunce =chee 
 
 tote= glance tvood=maA 
 
 emportured with cordge (doubtful : perhaps =) full of passion. 
 
 8. The song In Praise of Isabel Pennell is taken from The Garland 
 of Laurell (lines 972-1002). 
 
 rtflariHg odorous //<yfcr=gillyflower 
 
 The text is that printed by Dyce in the First Volume of his Edition 
 of The Poetical Works of John Skelton (London, 1843). 
 
 9. SIR THOMAS WYATT (1503-1542). 
 
 Reprinted and modernised from Mr. Arber's Reprint (London, 
 1870) of the Miscellany called Songes and Sonnetles -written by the ryght 
 honorable Lorde Henry Howard, late Barle of Surrey and other [sic]. 
 Apud Richardum Tottel (1557). The title in Tottel reads: The 
 louer complayneth the unkindnes of his lout. Wyatt is rather an 
 ingenious metrist than a poet ; but he made his mark, and even now, 
 as here, is sometimes readable.
 
 NOTES 375 
 
 10-12. HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY 
 (1517-1546), 
 
 the true Morning Star of the English Renascence, of whom Marlowe 
 learned the numerousness of the heroic iambic, and Shakespeare, as 
 my No. II will show, the cadence and the cut, the capacity and spirit, 
 of the English quatorzain. All three pieces are modernised from Mr. 
 Arber's Reprint of Tottel. The original title of 10 is A praise of his 
 Icrue : wherin he reproueth them that compare their Ladies with his ; 
 that of 12 is Complaint of the absence of her louer being upon the sea, 
 
 13. NICHOLAS GRIMALD (1519-1562). 
 
 The first among the Songes Written by Nicolas Grimald, as reprinted 
 by Mr. Arber in his Edition of Tottel. 
 
 14-17. ALEXANDER SCOTT (1520?- 158-?), 
 
 called ' the Scottish Anacreon,' was a writer of singular elegance 
 and ease, an expert in form, at once a lyrist and a wit ; but for nearly 
 two centuries he existed only in the famous Manuscript compiled, 
 (1568), in a time of pestilence, by George Bannatyne. Allan Ramsay, 
 drawing on this Manuscript for his Ever Green (1724), quoted some 
 Scotts as nearly as he dared (for Scott, like all trie makers, was 
 anything but mim-mouthed) and in 1821 the late David Laing, keen 
 for the honour of Scotland, but shrinking, as Ramsay before him, 
 from Scott in his integrity, published a First Edition of the Poems, 
 complete, I believe, so far as numbers go, but something chastened in 
 the matter of diction. An Edition has been done of late for the Scot- 
 tish Text Society ; but my text is more or less modernised from The 
 Bannatyne MS. as printed (1879) at Glasgow for the Hunterian Club. 
 14 is No. ccxxxi. in the Hunterian Edition aforesaid. The stanza is 
 the ballade octave a b, ab, b c , b c. 
 
 /na/^=keep jV0r=than sallgang= shall go 
 
 btlappit = oppressed perigall=- privileged sen = since 
 -<:= garden-close /<zj^=rest sai/=sa.ve 
 
 suo.i/= sweet haif= have clear of hue = bright in colour 
 
 Do go wit A mine, with mind invart = Go as I go, not merely in semblance, 
 
 but also in spirit. 
 
 15. The stanza, an exceeding hard one, is a variation from that 
 of the decasyllabic ballade : also of ten verses on four rhymes. 
 
 kalesome= lusty /<7w/ = leap Braisit=- enveloped 
 
 Fermit= confirmed tkirlage= servitude sallat = refreshment 
 
 Inblanckfartn^ Free of charge jyW=grieve siching=- sighing 
 
 fussy = repine herd=\xep stter= rudder 
 
 2=without ct>rse=boay cxr=charge 
 
 Whilk=- which meittand= having fed syne walk= then depart 
 
 cassis exchange A0u>/*=hope wathe= danger
 
 376 NOTES 
 
 16. Here Scott writes with the very cadence of Christina Rossetti, 
 and the Swinburne of a certain number in the old, inoubliadle, epoch- 
 making Poems and Ballads. 
 
 reteid=rtmedy deid= death j/cA=sigh 
 
 /AzV/ 1 rrf=enslaved makand= making gloir=%\my 
 
 17. A. set of this number, differently staged and five stanzas long, is 
 printed in Mr. Yeowell's Edition of Wyatt in the Aldine Poets, under 
 this heading : The Abused Lover Admonishes the Unwary to Beware 
 of Love. 
 
 18. RICHARD EDWARDS (1523-1566). 
 
 18. Reprinted and modernised from The Paradice of Dainty 
 Denises : ' Containing sundry pithie precepts, learned Counsailes and 
 excellent Inuentions : right pleasant and profitable for all estates. 
 Deuised and written for the most parte by M. Edwardes, sometime of 
 her Majesties Chappell : the rest by sundry learned Gentlemen both 
 of Honor and Worship, whose names heerafter followe. Whereunto 
 is added sundry new Inuentions, very pleasant and delightfull. At 
 London. Printed by Edward Allde for Edward White dwelling at 
 the little North doore of Saint Paules Church, at the signe of the 
 Gunne. Anno 1596.' The present piece is the Forty-Ninth Deuise. 
 
 19-26. ANONYMOUS. 
 
 19. From the Royal MS. (Appendix 58) in the British Museum. 
 The quatrain has been printed in Professor Ewald Fliigel's Neueng- 
 lischesLesebuch(H.&\\e, 1895). 20. From the Second Edition of Tottel's 
 Miscellany (Mr. Arber's reprint). 21. From Tottel's Miscellany 
 (Arber), where it opens thus : 
 
 ' My youthful years are past, 
 My joyful days are gone : 
 My life it may not last, 
 My grave and I am one.' 
 
 The first four quatrains are here omitted. 22. This graceful lyric 
 lacks nothing of the formal ballade, save the envoy, and the consonance 
 of rhymes a \ a through all three octaves. Preserved in The 
 Bannatyne MS. (Part v. No. cxcii. in the Hunterian Club's 
 impression), it was transcribed by Ramsay for The Ever Green, 
 and there may very well have given Burns a hint for the metrical 
 structure of his Mary Morison (p. 288). 
 
 o'er/ret= adorned scAawes=woods 
 
 sheen = bright /*=complain 
 
 done depa.int= painted hyd and //w=skin and complexion 
 
 /2tt/.s=catches a glimpse <*= more 
 
 23. From Mr. Arber's reprint of Tottel's Miscellany (1870). 
 
 24. No. ccxx. in The Bannatyne MS., as above. This fresh and 
 joyous ditty is mentioned in The Complaynt of Scotland (1549), and is 
 quoted, with an additional stanza and a tune, in John Forbes his Songs
 
 NOTES 377 
 
 and Fancies (1682), often described as the 'Aberdeen Cantus.' David 
 Laing inclined to ascribe it, not without reason, as I think, to Alexander 
 Scott, who writes, indeed, of May in the right Chaucerian spirit : 
 
 ' May is the moneth maist amene 
 For them in Venus' service bene 
 
 To recreate their heavy hearts : 
 May causes courage from the splene, 
 And everything in May revarts,' etc. 
 
 theett bright preluciand shining ////=into 
 
 bevris= boughs 6irtk=\ajaA 
 
 25. No. ccxxvi. in The Bannatync MS., as above. Attributed to 
 Alexander Scott by Henry Weber (who may very well have got the 
 idea from Sir Walter himself), and reprinted by David Laing in the 
 notes to his edition of that maker (1821). Compare, in effect, 
 No. 15 in the present collection. 
 
 highdbcrve = uplifted w//=wish Y/=health t*zz-l=inward 
 
 z><r.r*=delightful others' = each other's us and= using _departs = divides 
 glmvffin = 'to open the eyes at intervals in awaking from a disturbed sleep' 
 renteid=- remedy deid= death 
 
 26. From Mr. Arber's reprint of Tottel's Miscellany, as above. 
 
 27-69. 
 
 27. From Exodus, chap. xv. The first eighteen verses are set 
 down, with the refrain of Miriam in the twenty-first verse as a finale. 
 28. From The Second Book of Samuel, chap. i. The verses selected 
 run from the nineteenth to the twenty-seventh, inclusive. 29. The 
 Twenty-Fourth Psalm of David. 30. The Twenty-Ninth Psalm of 
 David. 31. The Forty-Second Psalm : ' to the chief musician 
 Maschil, for the sons of Koran. 1 32. The Forty-Seventh Psalm : ' to 
 the chief musician, a Psalm for the sons of Korah.' 33. The Eighty- 
 Third Psalm : 'a Song or Psalm of Asaph.' 34. The One Hundred 
 and Fourth Psalm. 35. The One Hundred and Twenty-Sixth Psalm : 
 'a song of degrees.' 36. The One Hundred and Thirty-Seventh 
 Psalm. 37. The One Hundred and Thirty-Ninth Psalm. 38. The 
 One Hundred and Forty-Eighth Psalm. 39. The Third Chapter of 
 The Book of Job. The first two verses are omitted. 40. The Reply of 
 Eliphaz the Temanite in the Fourth Chapter of The Book of Job. The 
 first two verses are omitted. 41. The Ninth and Tenth Chapters of 
 The Book of Job, containing the Reply to Bildad. 42. The Fourteenth 
 Chapter of The Book of Job. 43. The Twenty-Sixth Chapter of The 
 Book of Job. The first verse is omitted. 44. The Thirty-Eighth and 
 Thirty-Ninth Chapters of The Book of Job. 45. The Fortieth and 
 Forty- First Chapters of The Book of Job. The first six verses of the 
 Fortieth Chapter are omitted. 46. The Seventh Chapter of The 
 Proverbs. 47. The Thirty-First Chapter of The Proverbs. The first 
 nine verses are omitted. 48. The First Chapter of Ecclesiastes. The 
 first verse is omitted. 49. The first eleven verses of the Ninth Chapter 
 of Ecclesiastes. 50. The first seven verses of the Twelfth Chapter of
 
 378 NOTES 
 
 Ecclesiastes. 51. The First Chapter of The Song of Songs. The first 
 verse is omitted. $2. The Second and Third Chapters of The Song 
 of Songs. 53. The Fourth Chapter of The Song of Songs. 54. The 
 Fifth Chapter of The Song of Songs. 55- The Seventh Chapter of 
 The Song of Songs. 56. The Thirteenth Chapter of The Book of the 
 Prophet Isaiah, with the exception of the first verse. 57- The 
 Fifteenth Chapter of Isaiah : ' the Burden of Moab.' 58. The 
 Twenty-Third Chapter of Isaiah : ' the Burden of Tyre.' 59. The last 
 two verses of the Thirty-Fourth Chapter of Isaiah, to which is added 
 the Thirty-Fifth Chapter. 60. From the tenth to the twentieth 
 verse inclusive of the Thirty- Eighth Chapter of Isaiah. 6l. The 
 twelve opening verses of the Fifty-Second Chapter of Isaiah. 62. The 
 Sixtieth Chapter of Isaiah. 63. From the third to the twelfth verses 
 inclusive of the Forty-Sixth Chapter of The Book of the Prophet 
 Jeremiah. 64. The First Chapter of The Lamentations of Jeremiah. 
 65. The Seventh Chapter of The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel. The fi rs t 
 verse and half the second are omitted. 66. The Nineteenth Chapter 
 of Esekiel. The first verse and two words of the second omitted. 
 
 67. The Second Chapter of Joel, to the end of the eleventh verse. 
 
 68. From the fourth to the ninth i verse of A mos, his Fifth Chapter. 
 
 69. The Third Chapter of Habakkuk, being his prayer upon 
 Shigionoth. The first verse is deleted, as are the final direction ' to the 
 chief singer on stringed instruments.' 
 
 70. GEORGE GASCOIGNE (i53-?-i577)- 
 
 The Lullaby is reprinted from the volume entitled A Hundreth 
 sundrie Flowres bounde vp in one small Poesie : ' Gathered partely (by 
 translation) in the fyne outlandish Gardins of Euripides, Quid, 
 Petrarke, Ariosto, and others : and partly by indention, out of our 
 owne fruitefull Orchardes in Englande : Yelding sundrie sweete 
 savours of Tragical, Comical, and Morall Discourses, bothe pleasaunt 
 and profitable to the well smelling noses of learned Readers. 1 The 
 book, imprinted at London 'for Richarde Smith,' is anonymous and 
 without date ; but it is referred to 1572. Gascoigne's share in its com- 
 position is avowed by the Printer's confession (p. 344) : ' I will now 
 deliver unto you so many more of Master Gascoignes Poems as have 
 come to my hands, who hath never been dayntie of his doings, and 
 therfore I conceale not his name. 1 There is good reason to believe 
 that The deuises of sundrie Gentlemen, of which the Lullaby forms 
 part, are all the work of Gascoigne himself. 
 
 71-72. ALEXANDER MONTGOMERIE (i54-M6io?). 
 
 The text of both examples is partly modernised from Dr. Cranstoun's 
 Edition of The Poems of Alexander Montgomerie, printed at Edin- 
 burgh for the Scottish Text Society in 1887. The title of 71 is He 
 bids adeu to his Maistress (Miscellaneous Poems, xxxix. ). The stanza 
 is that of Montgomerie's long allegory The Cherry and the Slae, and
 
 NOTES 379 
 
 his charming Banks of Helicon; and, as he everywhere approves 
 himself a metrist of extraordinary skill, there is no reason to doubt 
 the tradition which ascribes its invention to him. 
 
 hant into= enter 3/=wUhout iucinds=try /ai=mate 
 
 72. The title in Dr. Cranstoun is The night is neir Gone. 
 
 Now shroudes the s/uiivs=tiow the woods clothe themselves 
 skaih = clear, empty 
 
 lowes= flames 
 rone = rowan berry 
 hurckons= hedgehogs 
 kairs= hares 
 
 lamps = gal lops 
 trottt = throne 
 
 govjans = daisies 
 frone=bcll 
 ftzz'& = mates 
 stoned steed= stallion 
 freikes = warriors 
 j&ttftBfi 
 
 poirty= partner 
 tynds horns 
 dichts= scours 
 crumps = prances 
 wicht= strong 
 groomes= riders 
 
 73-75. NICHOLAS BRETON (1542-1626?). 
 
 73- Under the heading, A Sweet Lullaby, these verses from The 
 Arbour of Amorous Devices (1593-4) are attributed to Nicholas Breton 
 by Mr. A. H. Bullen in his Poems, Chiefly Lyrical, from Romances and 
 Prose-Tracts of the Elizabethan Age (London, 1890). 74. Reprinted 
 from the aforesaid collection. 75- Mr. Bullen states that this piece of 
 Breton's, 'originally published in 1591,' is 'from Michael Este's 
 Madrigals of Three, Four and Five Parts, 1604.' It is here given 
 as in Bullen's Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age 
 (London, 1889). 
 
 76-77. EDMUND SPENSER (1552-1599). 
 
 76- This sumptuous and majestic pageant of pure lyrism is re- 
 printed from the Fifth Volume of the Aldine Edition of The Poetical 
 Works of Edmund Spenser (London, 1866). Such forms as ' theyr ' 
 and 'rayse' are spelled modernwise. 77- The original title is: 
 Prothalamion : or a Spousall Verse, made by Edm. Spenser. ' In 
 honour of the double marriage of the two Honorable and vertuous 
 Ladies, the Ladie Elizabeth, and the Ladie Katherine Somerset, 
 Daughters to the Right Honorable the Earle of Worcester, and 
 espoused to the two worthie Gentlemen, M. Henry Gilford and 
 M. William Peter, Esquyers.' The text is taken from the Aldine 
 Edition (as above). 
 
 78-79. SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1552-1618). 
 
 From Dr. Hannah's Edition of The Poems of Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 Collected and Authenticated with those of Sir Henry Wotton and other 
 Courtly Poets from 1540 to 1650 (London, 1875). The current 
 spelling, ' Raleigh,' is retained, though, in fact, it does not appear 
 that Sir Walter ever used it.
 
 380 NOTES 
 
 80. ANTHONY MUNDAY (1553-1633). 
 
 Reprinted from the Second Edition of England's Helicon, or The 
 Muses Harmony, printed for Richard More in London, and ' sould at 
 his Shop in S. Dunstanes Church-yard. 1614.' The First Edition 
 dates from 1600. The verses To Colin Clout are assigned to 
 'Shepheard Tonie," otherwise Anthony Munday, or, as some think, 
 for no good reason, Anthony Copley. 
 
 81-88. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586). 
 
 8l. The Fourth Song in Astrophel and Stella, reprinted and 
 modernised from Dr. Grosart's Edition of The Complete Poems of Sir 
 Philip Sidney (London, 1877). 82. The Seventy-Seventh Sonnet in 
 Astrophel and Stella. 83. The Thirty-First Sonnet in Astrop/iel and 
 Stella. 84. The Thirty-Third Sonnet in Astrophel and Stella. 
 85. Reprinted from that section of Dr. Grosart's Second Volume 
 entitled Pansiesfrom Penshurst and Wilton. The song is set To the 
 tune of ' Wilhelmus van Nassau.' 86. No. xlix. in Dr. Grosart's 
 Reprint of the Poems from The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia (vol. 
 ii.). The closing stanza is omitted. 87. No. xii. of the section 
 Sidera in Dr. Grosart's Second Volume. 88. The One Hundred 
 and Tenth Sonnet in Astrophel and Stella. 
 
 89. JOHN LYLY (1554-1606). 
 
 The Spring's Welcome, as Mr. Bullen styles it in his Lyrics front 
 the Dramatists of the Elizabethan Age (London, 1889), occurs in 
 Alexander and Campaspe. It is to be noted that ' Lyly's songs are 
 not found in the original editions of his plays. ' 
 
 90-92. THOMAS LODGE (i556?-i625). 
 
 These numbers are reprinted from Mr. A. H. Bullen 's Poems, 
 Chiefly Lyrical, from Romances and Prose- Tracts of the Elizabethan 
 Age: with Chosen Poems of Nicholas Breton (London, 1890). 
 
 93. GEORGE PEELE (i558?-i592?). 
 
 From Polyhymnia (1590), and here given, with one slight change, 
 after Mr. Bullen's text in the Lyrics from the Dramatists of the 
 Elizabethan Age (London, 1889). 
 
 94-96. ROBERT GREENE (1560 M592). 
 
 04. Doron's Description of Samela in Menaphon (Vol. vi. of 
 Dr. Grosart's Reprint of The Complete Works in Prose and Verse of
 
 NOTES 381 
 
 Robert Greene, M.A. For private circulation only). 95. Sephestia's 
 Song to her Child in Menaphon. 06. The Shepheards Wives Song in 
 The Mourning Garment (Grosart, Works, Vol. ix. ut supra.) 
 
 97. ROBERT SOUTHWELL (1560.1595). 
 
 First given in Saint Peter's Complaint, Newly Augmented with 
 other Poems: undated but ascribed to 1596. Here reprinted from 
 Dr. Grosart's Edition, in the Fuller Worthies' Library, of The Complete 
 Works of Robert Southwell, S.J. (privately printed in 1872.) 
 
 98-99. SAMUEL DANIEL (1562-1619). 
 
 98. A sequence of three sonnets (Nos. xxxiv.-xxxvi.) from Delia and 
 Rosamund (1594), reprinted by Mr. Arber in Vol. iii. of An English 
 Garner. The intention is plainly lyrical, as the 'true begetter* is 
 plainly Ronsard. A fourth, completing the cycle, is omitted, as of 
 less merit than its compeers. 99. The song of the First Chorus in 
 Hymens Triumph (Act v. sc. i). 
 
 100-102. MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1616). 
 
 100. The Forty-Third number in Idea : ' In Sixty-Three Sonnets, by 
 Michael Drayton, Esquire.' (London, 1619.) 101. From Poems Lyrick 
 and Pastorall. (London, N.D.) The Sixty- First Number in Idea (as 
 above). 
 
 103-104. CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE (1564-1593), AND 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1552-1618). 
 
 103. Incompletely given in The Passionate Pilgrim (1599), this 
 number is presented at length in England's Helicon, with Marlowe's 
 name attached to it. Walton cites it in The Complete Angler (1653) 
 as ' that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlowe, now at least 
 fifty years ago.' 104. Partly printed, like the companion-piece, in 
 The Passionate Pilgrim, and fully set forth in England's Helicon, 
 over the signature ' Ignoto.' Walton denotes it as 'made by Sir 
 Walter Raleigh in his younger days.' 
 
 105-127. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616). 
 
 105. From Love's Labour's Lost (Act iv. sc. 3). 106. From The 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona (Act iv. sc. 2). 107. From Love's Labour's 
 Lost (Act v. sc. 2). 108. The first stanza is sung by Amiens, the 
 second by the chorus, in the Forest of Arden in As You Like It (Act 
 ii. sc. 5). 109. Amiens his song in As You Like It (Act ii. sc. 7). 
 110. The Boy's song in Measure for Measure (Act iv. sc. i). in. 
 From Cymbeline (Act ii. sc. 3). 112. Sung by Guiderius and Arviragus 
 in Cymbeline (Act iv. sc. 2). 113-114. Ariel in The Tempest (Act i.
 
 382 NOTES 
 
 sc. 2 ; and Act v. sc. i). 115-127. The Twenty-Ninth ; Thirtieth ; 
 Fifty -Third; Seventy-First; Seventy-Third ; Ninetieth; Ninety-Seventh; 
 Hundred and Second ; Hundred and Fourth ; Hundred and Ninth ; 
 Hundred and Sixteenth ; and Hundred and Forty-Sixth of Shake- 
 speare's Sonnets. 
 
 128. RICHARD ROWLANDS alias 'VERSTEGEN 
 (1565-1630?). 
 
 The grandson of Theodore Roland Verstegen, a Dutchman, 
 whose family was expatriated c. 1500, Richard Rowlands was born in 
 the shadow of the Tower of London, and partly educated at Christ 
 Church, Oxford, which, being an ardent Catholic, and as such de- 
 clining to take the tests, he left without a degree. Antiquary, 
 polemist, poet, and translator, as occasion served (he knew Anglo- 
 Saxon, wrote Latin, and was master of several living languages, 
 German included, besides his own) he was a zealous champion of his 
 Church against Elizabeth (his Theatrum Crudelitatum Hereticarum, 
 Antwerp, 1587, was translated into French, and went through three 
 editions in its original form) he published (1601) his Odes in Imita- 
 tion of the Seaven Penitential Psalms ; ' with sundry other Poemes 
 and ditties tending to devotion and Pietie," and from Our Blessed 
 Ladies Lullaby, one of the numbers contained therein (pp. 50-54), 
 the lyric treated in this Note is excerpted. I took it from the enlarged 
 Edition of The Golden Treasury (1890), where it is printed anony- 
 mously, and referred to a collection dated 1620 ; but I am indebted 
 to Mr. Palgrave for the information (he had it not himself, he tells 
 me, till his own volume was stereotyped, and correction was, of 
 course, impossible) which has enabled me to set it in its right per- 
 spective as a piece of pure Elizabethanism. Mr. Orby Shipley, I may 
 add, has reprinted all the twenty-four stanzas of Our Blessed Ladies 
 Lullaby, in his Carmina Mariana (London, 1893). 
 
 129-135. THOMAS CAMPION (1567-1640). 
 
 Campion, a most curious metrist, is, with so much else that is sweet 
 and good in Elizabethan verse, Mr. A. H. Bullen's find ; and these 
 numbers are reprinted from his delightful Lyrics from Elizabethan 
 Song-Books, an anthology which shows, on every page, how high was 
 the lyric average of the ' spacious times ' which bred it. 129 appears 
 in Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs (1601). 130. First given in 
 Campion's Third Book of Airs (c. 1617). 132. From Campion's Fourth 
 Book of Airs (c. 1617). 133. From Campion's Third Book of Airs 
 (c. 1617). 134. From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs (1601). 
 135. From Two Bookes of Ay res. The First Containing Diuine and 
 Moral! Songs. ... To be sung to the Lute and Viols, in two, three, 
 and foure Parts ; or by one Voyce to an Instrument,' reprinted in Mr. 
 Bullen's edition of The Works of Dr. Thomas Campion (London, 
 1889). In my first selection from Campion I included that very
 
 NOTES 383 
 
 graceful thing, Follow thy Fair Sun, from The Book of Airs. After- 
 wards I withdrew it. Now, repenting me of its exclusion, I am minded 
 to give it here : 
 
 FOLLOW THY FAIR SUN 
 
 FOLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 
 
 Though thou be black as night, 
 
 And she made all of light, 
 Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 
 
 Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! 
 
 Though here thou liv'st disgraced, 
 
 And she in heaven is placed, 
 Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth ! 
 
 Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth ! 
 
 That so have scorched thee 
 
 As thou still black must be 
 Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. 
 
 Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! 
 
 There comes a luckless night 
 
 That will dim all her light ; 
 And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 
 
 Follow still, since so thy fates ordained ! 
 
 The sun must have his shade, 
 
 Till both at once do fade, 
 The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained.' 
 
 136-137. THOMAS NASHE (1567-1600). 
 
 136. Reprinted, after Mr. Bullen, from Summer's Last Will and 
 Testament (1600). 137. Reprinted after the text in Mr. Bullen's 
 Lyrics from the Dramatists of the Elizabethan Age (London, 1889). 
 
 138. SIR HENRY WOTTON (1568-1639). 
 
 From Dr. Hannah's Edition of The Poems of Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 Collected and Authenticated with thoseof Sir Henry Wotton and other 
 Courtly Poets from 1540 to 1650 (London, 1875). The song, set to 
 music, was printed in Este's Sixth Set of Ayres in 1624. 
 
 139-152. ANONYMOUS. 
 
 139-140. Reprinted from The Phoenix Nest (1593), according to the 
 text in the Second Volume of T. Park's Heliconia (London, 1815). 
 141-142. From the Second Volume of Davisoris Poetical Rhapsody 
 (Mr. Bullen's reprint, London, 1891). 143. From John Dowland's 
 Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs (1603). The text is that in 
 Mr. Bullen's Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age 
 (London, 1889). 144. Given by Mr. Bullen (as above) from Robert 
 Jones's Second Book of Songs and Airs (1601). 145. Cited from John 
 Dowland's Second Book of Songs or Airs (1600) by Mr. Bullen i;
 
 384 NOTES 
 
 above). 146. From John Wilbye's Madrigals (1598). (Bullen, as 
 above.) 147. From Robert Jones's Second Book of Songs and Airs 
 ( 1601 ). (Bullen, as above. ) 148. From John Dowland's First Book of 
 Songs or Airs (lyy?}. (Bullen, as above.) 149. From John Wilbye s 
 Second Set of Madrigals (1609). 150. From Thomas Ford's Music of 
 Sundry Kinds (1607), as Mr. Bullen notes. 151. From John Wilbye s 
 Second Set of Madrigals (1609). 152. From Thomas Bateson's First 
 Set of English Madrigals (1604). (Bullen, as above.) 
 
 153-162. BEN JONSON (1573-1637). 
 
 153. From Cynthia's Revels (Act v. sc. 3). The text of the Jonson 
 lyrics is taken from Gifford's Edition, re-edited by Lieutenant-Colonel 
 Francis Cunningham (London, 1871). 154. The fourth of the ' ten lyric 
 pieces ' in ' celebration of Charis.' The verses, as they stand, appeared 
 in Underwoods (1640) : the Second and Third Stanzas were printed 
 earlier (1631) in The Devil Is an Ass, first played in 1616. 155. The 
 Sixth Song in The Forest. 156. The Seventh Song in The Forest, 
 written, if we may believe the Conversations with Drummond, as ' a 
 penance to approve it [the thesis] in verse," by command of Lady 
 Pembroke. 157. The Ninth Song in The Forest, and perhaps the 
 best known of Jonson's lyrics. Cumberland, with much indignation, 
 expresses his surprise ' to find our learned poet, Ben Jonson, had 
 been poaching in an obscure collection of love-letters, written by the 
 sophist Philostratus in a very rhapsodical stile,' &c. The song is, in 
 fact, the most exquisite piece of selection and arrangement in the 
 whole range of English verse. 158. Hedon's song in Cynthia's Revels 
 (Act iv. sc. i). 159. The Seventh Number in the Underwoods series, 
 where the full title runs Begging Another, on Colour of Mending the 
 Former. l6o. The Third in the Underwoods series (and section). 
 161. From The Hue and Cry after Cupid, a masque with nuptial 
 songs ' celebrating the happy marriage of John, Lord Ramsay, 
 Viscount Hadington, with the Lady Elizabeth Ratcliffe, daughter to 
 the Right Honourable Earl of Sussex.' 162. The Second in the 
 Underwoods series (and section). 
 
 163-165. JOHN DONNE (1573-1631). 
 
 From Dr. Grosart's Edition of The Complete Poems of John Donne, 
 D.D., printed for private circulation in 1872-1873. 
 
 166. RICHARD BARNFIELD (1574-1637). 
 
 From Barnfield's Poems: in Divers Humors: 'Printed by G. S. 
 for lohn laggard, and are to be solde at his shoppe neere Temple- 
 barre, at the Signe of the Hand and Starre ' (1598). I follow, with 
 certain differences, Dr. Grosart's Edition of the Complete Poems, 
 printed for the Roxburghe Club (London, 1876).
 
 NOTES 385 
 
 167. JOSEPH HALL (1574-1656). 
 From The Shaking of the Olive Tree, issued posthumously in 1660. 
 
 168. ANONYMOUS. 
 
 From Walter Porter's Madrigals and Airs (1632), quoted in 
 Mr. Bullen's Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age (as 
 above). 
 
 160-170. THOMAS DEKKER (1575-1640). 
 
 From The Pleasant Comedy of Patient Grissell (1603), by Dekker, 
 Chettle and Haughton ; but Mr. Bullen, from whose Lyrics of the 
 Elizabethan Dramatists I reprint, adds: 'Doubtless the songs are 
 by Dekker.' 
 
 171-172. THOMAS HEYWOOD (i57-?-i6 ?). 
 
 171. From The Fair Maid of the Exchange (1607). 172. From 
 The Rape of Lucrece (1608). Reprinted, like its predecessor, from 
 Mr. Bullen's Lyrics of the Elizabethan Dramatists (as above). 
 
 173-180. JOHN FLETCHER (1579-1625). 
 
 173. From The Maid's Tragedy (Act ii. sc. i). 174. Sung by the 
 Boy in The Captain (Act iii. sc. 4). 175. From The Captain (Act iv. 
 sc. 5). The song was conveyed by Thomas Killigrew( 1612-1683), and 
 appears in Thomaso, or The Wanderer (Part I. Act ii. sc. 3). 
 176-177. From Valentinian (Act ii. sc. 5), where it is sung upon the 
 entry of Chilax, Lucina, Claudia and Marcellina. 178. Leandro's 
 song in The Spanish Curate (Act ii. sc. 4), the subject of the play 
 being derived from Ce"spedes y Meneses his Gerardo, Englished by 
 Leonard Digges. 179- From The Two Noble Kinsmen (Act. i. sc. i). 
 There are who think that, at least, the songs in this play are 
 Shakespeare's. 180. Sung by the Passionate Lord in The Nice 
 Valour (Act iii. sc. 3). The text is Mr. Bullen's (as above). 
 
 181. PHILIP MASSINGER (1584-1639). 
 Eudocia's song in The Emperor of the East (Act v. sc. 3). 
 
 182. FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1585-1613). 
 
 From Dyce's Reprint of the Poems (Beaumont and Fletcher, 
 Works, vol. xi. p. 497). 
 
 2B
 
 386 NOTES 
 
 183-184. WILLIAM DRUMMOND (1585-1649). 
 
 Reprinted from The Poetical Works of William Drummond of 
 Hawthornden, as edited by William B. Turnbull (London, 1856). 
 
 185. GILES FLETCHER (1588-1623). 
 
 The Song of the Enchantress, inserted between the Fifty-Ninth and 
 Sixtieth Stanzas of Christ's Victorie on Earth, reprinted in Dr. Grosart's 
 edition of The Complete Poems of Giles Fletcher, B.D. (London, 1876). 
 
 186. JOHN FORD (1586-1640). 
 
 This dirge from The Broken Heart (Act v. sc. 3) is sung by the 
 chorus at Calantha's order : 
 
 ' Command the voices 
 
 Which wait at th' altar now to sing the song 
 I fitted for my end.' 
 
 187-188. WILLIAM BROWNE (1588-1644). 
 
 From The Poems of William Browne of Tavistock: edited by 
 Gordon Goodwin, with an Introduction by A. H. Bullen (London, 
 1894) ; with certain readings from Chalmers's version in the English 
 Poets (1818). 
 
 189-192. THOMAS CAREW (1589-1639). 
 
 From The Poems and Masque of Thomas Carew, ' Gentleman of the 
 Privy-Chamber to King Charles I., and Cup-bearer to His Majesty.' 
 Edited by Joseph Woodfall Ebsworth (London, 1893). 
 
 193. FRANCIS QUARLES (1592-1664). 
 
 From the Fifth Book of the Emblemes as given in Dr. Grosart's 
 Edition of The Complete Works in Prose and Verse of Francis Quarles. 
 The four last stanzas are omitted. 
 
 194. PETER HAUSTED (159-7-1645). 
 From The Rival Friends (Act iv. sc. 15). A. H. Bullen (as above). 
 
 195-198. GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1634). 
 
 From The Temple. Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, 
 printed at Cambridge by Buck and Daniel in 1633.
 
 NOTES 387 
 
 199-221. ROBERT HERRICK (1594-1674). 
 
 The text followed is Mr. Pollard's: The Hesperides and Nolle 
 Numbers, published by Messrs. I^awrence and Bullen (London, 1891). 
 The three and twenty little masterpieces of which my selection from 
 this unique lyrist is composed, are all from the Hesperides, and are 
 numbered as follows : 53, 94, 132, 160, 178, 201, 205, 208, 216, 
 227, 238, 257, 262, 267, 274, 316, 413, 442, 447, 497, 582, 621, 665. 
 The list is a long one, truly ; but I think it will be found that not a 
 single number could be spared. 
 
 222-223. JAMES SHIRLEY (1596-1661). 
 
 222. Reprinted from Mr. Bullen's Lyrics from the Dramatists of the 
 Elizabethan Age. The song occurs in The Imposture (Act ii. sc. 2). 
 223. Cited by Mr. Bullen (as above) from the Third Scene (the play 
 is not divided into Acts) of The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, where 
 it is given to Calchas, this, says Oldys, is ' the fine song which old 
 Bowman used to sing to King Charles, and which he has often sung 
 to me.' 
 
 224. JOHN WEBSTER (i5_?-i6 ?). 
 
 The dirge from The Duchess of Malfi (Act iv. sc. 2). 
 
 225. JASPER MAYNE (1604-1672). . 
 
 From The Amorous Warre (Act iv. sc. 5), where the song is put 
 into the mouths of 'Two Amazons.' The play exists with a title- 
 page dated 1648, but is mostly found bound up with The City Match, 
 reprinted in 1658 ' both long since written by J. M. of Ch. Ch. in 
 Oxon.' 
 
 226-228. SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT (1605-1668). 
 
 From the Poems on Several Occasions, Never before Printed, given 
 in Herringman's folio, 'at the sign of the Blew Anchor,' dated 1673. 
 In the original the title of 227 is ' The Soldier Going to the Field.' 
 228 is Viola's song in The Law against Lovers (Act iii. sc. i). 
 
 229. WILLIAM HABINGTON (1605-1654). 
 From Mr. Arber's reprint of Castara (1870). 
 
 230-231. EDMUND WALLER (1605-1687). 
 
 From Robert Bell's Edition of the Poetical Works of Edmund 
 Waller (London, 1854). Waller wrote little that is worth remembering, 
 and nothing that is remembered save these two numbers. But he 
 respected bis art, and generally wrote well.
 
 388 NOTES 
 
 232-235. SIR JOHN SUCKLING (1608-1642). 
 
 From The Works of Sir John Suckling, containing all his Poems, 
 Love- Verses, Songs, Letters, and his Tragedies and Comedies. Never 
 before printed in one volume. (London, 1696.) I wish I could quote, 
 and quote in all its ripe yet elegant completeness, the unrivalled 
 Ballad of a Wedding. But it is outside the scheme of this book. 
 
 236-244. JOHN MILTON (1608-1674). 
 
 236-238. From Poems : English and Latin, with a Few in Italian 
 and Greek. Reprinted in vol. ii. of Professor Masson's Edition of 
 Milton's Poetical Works (London, 1874). 239-241. From Comus. 
 Milton's Poetical Works, vol. ii. of Masson's Edition. 242. Lycidas 
 is reprinted entire from Masson. 243. A Song from Comus. As 
 above, from Vol. ii. of Masson's Edition. 244. Part of a Chorus 
 (11. 1268-1286) from Samson Agonistes. 
 
 245. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT (1615-1643). 
 
 Reprinted from the verses at the end of the volume entitled 
 Comedies, Tragi- Comedies, with other Poems, by Mr. William Cart- 
 wright, late Student of Christ-Church in Oxford, and Proctor of the 
 University : ' The Ayres and Songs set by Mr. Henry Lawes, servant 
 to His late Majesty in His Publick and Private Musick.' (London, 
 1651.) ' My son Cartwright writes like a man." Thus Ben Jonson. 
 He knew what be was talking about ; yet one cannot read his son 
 without a certain sense of disappointment. 
 
 246. THOMAS JORDAN (i6i2?-i68s). 
 
 From the Roxburghe Ballads. But Jordan was City Poet in his 
 day, and the piece is given in London's Triumph (London, 1675), 
 and in Mr. Ebsworth's Bagford Ballads ii. 722-4). The Stanzas here 
 selected are the First, Second, Third (which has been lavishly, but 
 not excessively, praised by Mr. Swinburne) and Seventh. A coarser 
 set (arranged, no doubt, by the ingenious Tom D'Urfey) appears in 
 Wit and Mirth (1619), and is found in many eighteenth century 
 song-books, and some original asperities of rhythm and expression 
 have got rubbed away in the course of its descent down the stream 
 of years ; while the refrain survives unto this day in the burden of an 
 American thieves' song: 
 
 ' O, where will be the culls of the bing 
 
 A hundred stretches hence ?_ 
 
 The bene morts that sweetly sing, 
 
 A hundred stretches hence : 
 
 and in a proverb dear to the British Workman : ' What 's the odds 
 in a hundred years after?' In the Third Stanza 'bit' (=' piece') is
 
 NOTES 389 
 
 still a cant name for a girl ; while 'hogo' (Fr. haut gout) was, when 
 the song was written, good enough fashionable slang for ' a taste,' or 
 ' a savoury morsel.' 
 
 247. JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUESS OF MONTROSE 
 (1612-1650). 
 
 The First, Second, and Fifth Stanzas from the Roxburghe Collection 
 in the British Museum (iii. , p. 579), entitled A Proper New Ballad to 
 the Tune of I'll never Love thee mare,' and best known as 'Mon- 
 trose's Lines.' There is not much doubt that Montrose wrote them. 
 
 248-250. RICHARD CRASHAW (1615-1652). 
 
 From Mr. Turnbull's Edition of The Complete Works of Richard 
 Crashaw in the ' Library of Old Authors.' (London, 1858.) 
 
 251-253. RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658). 
 
 From ' Lucasta. The Poems of Richard Lovelace.' In Two Parts. 
 The First comprising those published by himself; the Second, his 
 posthumous poems.' (Chiswick, 1818.) 
 
 254. ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1668). 
 
 From the Third Book of Davideis as given in The Works of Mr. 
 Abraham Cowley : consisting of those which were formerly Printed, 
 and those which he Design' d for the Press. ' New Published out of the 
 Author's Original Copies with The Cutter of Coleman- Street.' (London, 
 1700.) 
 
 255. ALEXANDER BROME (1620-1666). 
 
 The seventeenth in order of the Songs and other Poems. By Alex. 
 Brome, Gent. (London, 1668.) 
 
 256-257. ANDREW MARVELL (1621-1678). 
 
 Reprinted from the First Volume of Dr. Grosart's Edition, in the 
 Fuller Worthies' Library, of The Complete Works in Verse and Prose 
 of Andrew Marvell, M.P. (1872). 
 
 258-262. HENRY VAUGHAN (1621-1695). 
 
 From Mr. Lyte's edition of Silex Scintillans, etc. Sacred Poems 
 and Pious Ejaculations. By Henry Vaughan, ' Silurist' (London, 
 1883.)
 
 390 NOTES 
 
 263-266. ANONYMOUS. 
 
 263. From the Percy Folio MS. (1650). Sets are found in The Tea- 
 Table Miscellany (1724), i. 179-80, and the Orpheus Caledonius (1733) 
 ' 7 I "73- I n both the last line runs thus : ' For a maid again 1 '11 
 never be ' ; and the latter includes this very superfluous stanza : 
 
 When Cockle-sheik turn siller Bells, 
 And Muscles grow on every Tree, 
 When Frost and Snaw shall warm us a', 
 Then shall my Love prove true to me.' 
 
 tuafy waly=Q\A and alas syne= afterwards siller =silver 
 
 bovf d=\xxA cramasie=cnmsoa a'=oak 
 
 a/e = comb burn = brook busk adorn 
 
 brae= hillside lichtly=xom 
 
 264. With slight verbal changes, from Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of 
 the Scottish. Border (Kelso, 1802). The verses given in the text are 
 the Second Part of the ballad. The First Part ' the production of a 
 different and inferior bard,' the Editor thinks begins thus : 
 
 ' O ! sweetest sweet, and fairest fair, 
 Of birth and worth beyond compare, 
 Thou art the causer of my care, 
 Since first I loved thee. 1 
 
 265. From the Third Volume of Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
 Border. 
 
 corbies = ravens mant=moan //=know 
 
 gang= go fail-dyke = fence of turfs ten = eyes 
 
 ^r^ = knows Jtavse-6attt= breast-bone MA=thatch 
 
 ae = one the tane= the one 
 
 266. This is Mr. F. T. Palgrave's redaction of the ballad from the 
 text of divers sets, done for The Golden Treasury. I am indebted to 
 him for permission to reproduce it here. 
 
 hccht promised fift^'if twined= bereft 
 
 lavrock=\*x\i hatighs^ riverside meadows marrow = spouse 
 
 lec-lang = livelong ilka every 
 
 By way of contrast I subjoin the set sent, with other fragments of 
 folk-song current in the West, by Robert Burns (1787) to W. Tytler 
 of Woodhouselee, and printed in Cromek's Scottish Songs (1810). 
 Burns, who had not then begun to vamp songs for Johnson's Museum, 
 protested to his correspondent that he ' counted it sacrilege ' to lay 
 improving hands on ' the shattered wrecks of these venerable old 
 compositions. 1 But, I think, the first quatrain is plainly his own : 
 
 ' Nae birdies sang the mirky hour 
 
 Among the braes o* Yarrow, 
 But slumbered on the dewy boughs 
 To wait the waukening morrow. 
 
 " Where shall I gang, my ain true love, 
 
 Where shall I gang to bide me ; 
 For weel ye ken, i' yere father's bow'r 
 
 It wad be death to find me."
 
 NOTES 391 
 
 " O, go you to yon tavern house, 
 
 An' there count owre your lawin, 
 An' if I be a woman true 
 
 I '11 meet you in the dawin." 
 
 O, he 's gone to yon tavern house 
 
 An' counted owre his lawin, 
 When in there cam three armed men 
 
 To meet him in the dawin. 
 
 O, woe be unto woman's wit, 
 
 It has beguiled many ! 
 She promised to come hersel', 
 
 But she sent three men to slay me ! 
 
 Get up, get up, now sister Ann, 
 
 I fear we've wrought you sorrow ; 
 Get up, ye '11 find your true love slain 
 
 Among the banks of Yarrow. 
 
 She sought him east, she sought him west, 
 
 She sought him braid and narrow, 
 Till in the clintin of a craig 
 
 She found him drown'd in Yarrow. 
 
 She 's ta'en three links of her yellow hair, 
 
 That hung down lang and yellow, 
 And she 's tied it about sweet Willie's waist, 
 
 An' drawn him out of Yarrow. 
 
 I made my love a suit of clothes, 
 
 I clad him all in tartan, 
 But ere the morning sun arose 
 
 He was a' bluid to the gartan. 
 
 For yet another of many sets see Allan Ramsay, The Tea-Table 
 Miscellany, ii. 114; and Thomson, Orpheus Caledonius, ii. no. 
 Hamilton of Bangour's descant on the same theme is of extreme 
 interest as the most notable experiment in cadence done in the first 
 half of the eighteenth century : a period when scarce any one could 
 be stately but in rigid iambics, and when the anapest (speaking 
 generally, for it, too, had its moments) was given over to the service 
 of Bacchus and the expression of the Abstract Buck. 
 
 267. ANONYMOUS. 
 
 From the first Westminster Drollery (1671), where it appears as 
 A Song at the Duke's House. Mr. Ebsworth, from whose Reprint of 
 the Drolleries (1875) it is taken, notes that a vastly inferior set (lacking 
 the Second and Third Octaves, too) appears, to an air by Henry Lawes, 
 in Playford's Select Ayres and Dialogues (1659). The full title of the 
 collection, which begins with the pleasant, affectionate ditty ascribed 
 to Charles ii.: 
 
 ' I pass all my Hours in a shady old Grove, 
 And I live not the Day that I see not my Love :
 
 392 NOTES 
 
 runs thus : Westminster Drollery ; or, A Choice Collection of the 
 Newest Songs and Poems Both at Court and Theaters. ' By a Person 
 of Quality. With Additions. London : Printed for H. Brome at the 
 Gun in St. Paul's Church Yard near the West End. MD/CLXXI.' 
 
 268. THOMAS STANLEY (1625-1678). 
 
 From Poems and Translations. By Thomas Stanley, Esquire. 
 ' Printed for the Author, and his Friends.' (London, 1647.) 
 
 269-273. JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1700). 
 
 The Dryden pieces are few in number for the simple reason that the 
 lyrics of this master rhythmist, this rare artist in cadence, whether or 
 not he wrote ' to please a ribald King and Court,' are often too gross in 
 sentiment and too lewd in effect for quotation. The present selection 
 is reprinted from Walter Scott's edition of The Works of John Dryden. 
 (Edinburgh, 1821.) 269. The Song for Saint Cecilia's Day is given in 
 vol. xi. 270 is likewise reprinted from vol. xi. 271. From Cleomenes 
 (Act ii. sc. 2). 272. Damilcar's song from Tyrannic Love; or. The 
 Royal Martyr (Act iv. sc. i). 273. From Secret Love ; or, The Maiden 
 Queen (Act iv. sc. 2). 
 
 274. THOMAS BETTERTON (1635-1710). 
 
 From The Prophetess; or, The History of Diocletian. (London, 
 1716.) Founded on Beaumont and Fletcher's play, remodelled, 'with 
 alterations and additions, after the manner of an Opera by Betterton.' 
 Purcell wrote the music for it in 1690-1. The song, which may 
 be fairly described as at the worst a capital imitation of Dryden, 
 occurs in Act iii. sc. 3. 
 
 275-276. THOMAS FLATMAN (16 ?-i7 ?). 
 From Poems and Songs. By Thomas Flatman. (London, 1674. ) 
 
 277. CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET 
 (1637-1706). 
 
 From the first volume of The Works of Celebrated A uthors, of Whose 
 Writings there are but small Remains. (London, 1750.) Herein 
 Dorset figures with Roscommon, Halifax, and Garth. 
 
 278-279. SIR CHARLES SEDLEY (1639-1701). 
 
 278. Victoria's song from The Mulberry Garden (Act iii. sc. i), 
 given in the Second Volume of The Works of the Honourable Sir 
 Charles Sedley, Bart., in Prose andVerse. (London, 1722. ) 279- From 
 the Poems on Several Occasions in Sedley's First Volume (as above). 
 (London, 1722.)
 
 NOTES 393 
 
 280. APHRA BEHN (1642-1689). 
 
 Reprinted from Poems upon Several Occasions : with a Voyage to the 
 Island of Love. By Mrs. A. Behn. (London, 1684.) The title of the 
 song in this Edition is Love Arm'd. 
 
 281-287. JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER 
 (1647-1680). 
 
 281-285. From Poems, &<:., on Several Occasions: with Valentinian ; 
 a Tragedy. Written by the Right Honourable John, late Earl of 
 Rochester. (London, 1696. ) The original form of 281 consists of nine 
 stanzas ; the first three are here selected. 286. Reprinted, save for 
 the omission of certain stanzas, from The Works of the Right Honour- 
 able the Earls of Rochester and Roscommon. ' With some Memoirs of 
 the Earl of Rochester's Life by Monsieur St. Evremont In a letter 
 to the Dutchess of Mazarine.' The Third Edition. (London, 1709.) 
 287. Reprinted from the 1696 edition of Poems, &*<:., on Several 
 Occasions : with Valentinian ; a Tragedy (as above). 
 
 288. THOMAS OTWAY (1651-1685). 
 
 Under the style of The Inchantment, this song figures among 
 Poems by Mr. Thomas Otway in A Supplement to the Works of the 
 Most Celebrated Minor Poets. (London, 1750.) 
 
 289. WILLIAM CONGREVE (1670-1729). 
 
 From the Poems on Several Occasions in the second volume of The 
 Works of Mr. William Congreve. (London, 1719.) 
 
 290. JOHN GAY (1688-1732). 
 
 Acis's song from the first act of Ads and Galatea : ' An English 
 Pastoral Opera. In three Acts. As it is Perform'd at the New 
 Theatre in the Hay-Market ; Set to Musick by Mr. Handel.' (London, 
 1733- ) 
 
 291. ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744). 
 
 From Elwin and Courthppe's Edition of Pope's Works (vol. iv.). 
 The first draft of The Dying Christian to his Soul was printed as 
 early as 1730 in Lewis's Miscellany : 
 
 1 Vital spark of heavenly flame, 
 
 Dost thou quit this mortal frame ? 
 
 Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, 
 
 Oh the pain, the bliss of dying; 
 Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, 
 Let me languish into life.
 
 394 NOTES 
 
 My swimming eyes are sick of light, 
 
 The lessening world forsakes my sight, 
 
 A damp creeps cold o'er every part, 
 
 Nor moves my pulse, nor heaves my heart, 
 The hovering soul is on the wing, 
 Where, mighty Death ? oh, where 's thy sting ? 
 
 I hear around soft music play, 
 
 And angels beckon me away ! 
 
 Calm as forgiven hermits rest, 
 
 I'll sleep, or infants at the breast ; 
 Till the last trumpet rends the ground, 
 Then wake with pleasure at the sound.' 
 
 This version of Hadrian's Animula vagula, blandula was rejected 
 for that in the text, which appeared in 1736. 
 
 292. HENRY CAREY (i69-?-i742). 
 
 From Poems on Several Occasions. By Henry Carey. (London, 
 1729.) The earlier Editions (of 1713 and 1720) contain neither Sally 
 in our Alley nor Namby-Pamby. 
 
 293. JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748). 
 
 From the First Volume of the quarto: Works of James Thomson, 
 with his last Corrections and Improvements. (London, 1762.) 
 
 294-296. WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1757). 
 
 From Langhorne's Edition of The Poetical Works of Mr. William 
 Collins : with Memoirs of the Author ; and Observations on his Genius 
 and Writings. (London, 1765.) 
 
 297. JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805). 
 From Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (as above). 
 
 t"/a = each 
 bughts = folds 
 dowie = drooping 
 lyart= faded 
 swankies = strapping 
 youngsters 
 
 loaning= field road 
 daffing= larking 
 hairst = harvest 
 runkled= wrinkled 
 bogle = bogey 
 Dool and wae = sorrow and woe 
 
 wede taken 
 leglin = milk-pail 
 bandsters binders 
 Jleeching wheedling 
 ilka af = each one 
 ivae miserable 
 
 loaning =& grassy road by a field- or meadow-side 
 
 298. OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1728-1774). 
 
 Olivia's song, from the Fifth Chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield. 
 (London, 1766.)
 
 NOTES 395 
 
 299. ROBERT GRAHAM, OF GARTMORE (1735-1797). 
 
 From Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. (Kelso, 1802.) Sir 
 Walter wrote that these stanzas ' are averred to be of the age of 
 Charles I.' They are also (as in the Dictionary of National 
 Biography) ascribed to Robert Graham (afterwards Cunninghame- 
 Graham), M. P. for Stirlingshire in 1794-6 ; and in effect, the flavour 
 of them is neo-romantic enough to justify the ascription. 
 
 300-301. WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800). 
 
 From the third volume of Poems. ' By William Cowper, of the Inner 
 Temple, Esq.' (London, 1815.) 
 
 302. WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE (1734-1788) 
 OR JEAN ADAMS (1710-1765). 
 
 'About the year 1771 or '72 it came first on the streets as a ballad, 
 and I suppose the composition of the song was not much anterior to 
 that period.' Thus Burns of this delightful thing, which is claimed 
 for both Mickle and a certain Jean Adams, once a teacher at Craw- 
 ford's Dyke, near Greenock, who published a volume of verse, and 
 died (1765) in Glasgow Town Hospital. 
 
 /a</j=jades gudeman= husband s?aes = s\oes 
 
 <5aK/t = beam tkraw= wring ilka = every 
 
 brow = nice bigonet = a linen coif bishop = ' a bustle, 
 
 >naung-ae=must go ca//e?-= fresh utaurnure' 
 
 303. LADY ANNE LINDSAY (1750-1825). 
 
 Reprinted, with slight variations, from Sir Walter Scott's text ' the 
 first authentic edition ' prepared for, and dedicated to, the Bannatyne 
 Club (July 1828). 
 
 ye=kine gudeman= husband zw'=earn 
 
 wraith= ghost sair= sorely greet = weep 
 
 304.314. WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827). 
 
 304-308. From Poetical Sketches. (London, 1783.) 309. Entitled 
 Introduction in the Songs of Innocence. (London, 1789.) SIO-S 1 ^- From 
 the Songs of Experience. (London, 1794.) Gilchrist, in his Life of 
 William Blake, gives a version of The Tiger, with small variants 
 from the original. The second version is given by Mr. W. M. 
 Rossetti (pp. 120-121) in his edition of The Poetical Works of William 
 Blake, Lyrical and Miscellaneous. (London, 1874.)
 
 396 NOTES 
 
 315-333. ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796). 
 
 315. Many of Burns's songs are only parcel-Burns are Burns, that 
 is, plus some one else (forgotten). But this sincere and charming 
 lyric (which is very often sung in Scotland, as it is printed in Mr. Pal- 
 grave's Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics (1893), with additions by 
 absurd Scotsmen) is, so far as I know, undoubted and unquestioned. 
 airts=- points (of the compass) row = roll shaw=\vood 
 
 316. This admirable extravaganza is pure Burns likewise. 
 
 _/<7tt = drunk drappie in. our =droplet in our eye 
 
 rfaa> = dawn 6ree=brew lee-lang live-long 
 
 Christendie Christendom blinkin= shining /zy/=welkin 
 
 Az>=high wyle=coax a wee=z little 
 
 gang awa=go away 
 
 317- As it stands, this is all Burns, except the first and last lines of 
 the stanza, which date from the sixteenth century, and are used to 
 excellent purpose in a song (not fit for modern print) ' found in The 
 Masque (London, 1768), and other song-books' (The Centenary 
 Burns, iii. 249, Edinburgh, 1896). 
 
 jo= sweetheart acquent= acquainted iz'=straight 
 
 t>eM=ba\d /<?a/=pate canty=}olly 
 
 318. Suggested by an old song, but none the less an excellent example 
 of Burns at his best and happiest. 
 
 leeze me on=- commend me to cleeds=- clothes 
 
 />H = well 
 laigh = \<y>t 
 theekit= thatched 
 iief- shelter 
 z'M/r'j=each other's 
 ley= pasture 
 a^all 
 
 fiaps = wraps 
 ilka= every 
 birk= birch 
 az'X.\j = oaks 
 craik corncrake 
 jinkin = dodging 
 
 ficl= comfortably 
 burnies = brooklets 
 caiier=coo\ 
 lintiuhites= linnets 
 paitrick= partridge 
 aboon= above 
 
 319. Right Burns, this. 
 
 tittie= sister & = lend raa/=fine 
 
 poortith = poverty tnak a fen = make a shift 
 
 blows o' his siller = vapours about his money tninnie= mother 
 
 cleave = deafen ;fcn = leap ivaukin= lying awake to 
 
 droukit= drenched watch 
 
 320. Burns and none else. It exists in three sets, of which this is 
 the second and the best. The more popular version was spoiled by 
 being bombasted with inexpressive adjectives to make it fit a tune. 
 
 321. Burns, who was scrupulous in the matter of ascriptions, declared 
 the first quatrain (the best of the song) to be traditional ; but thus 
 far we have only his word for it. 
 
 tassie=cup 
 
 322. This also is very Burns : it is held to refer to Sylvander's last 
 (victorious) meeting with Clarinda (6th December 1791). 323. Pure 
 Burns: 'I composed this song pretty early in life,' he says, 'and
 
 NOTES 397 
 
 sent it to a young girl ' (Armour or Paton) ' a very particular 
 acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud.' 
 
 baiiie-clouts = baby -clothes //=heed _faut= fault 
 
 groanin^ lying-in groanin >naui = a.le for the gossips 
 
 creepic-chair=\.\& stool of repentance crack=ta\\i 
 
 my lane= alone fidgin-fain = tingling with fondness 
 
 324. This, too, is Burns's own ; and he thought it one of his best. 
 ester-night ^zV=give i7=each 
 
 325. All Burns except the two first lines of the chorus. It appeared 
 in the Kilmarnock Edition (1786), and is therefore very early work. 
 
 rz]f,r= ridges tentle*s = careless fear money 
 
 326. Suggested by a blackguard old song preserved, together with 
 another set attributed to Burns, in the ' unique and interesting garland 
 called The Merry Muses of Scotland (c. 1800), probably almost cer- 
 tainly collected by Burns himself (The Centenary Burns t as above, 
 i. 415, 1896) : 
 
 ' Green grows the rashes, O, 
 Green grows the rashes, O, 
 The feather bed is no sae saft,' etc. 
 
 canny = quiet gang tapsalteerit=%f> topsy-turvy. 
 
 iuarly = worldly dottce = prudent 
 
 327. Burns asserted of this famous song that he ' took it down from 
 an old man's singing.' For the older sets on which it is certainly 
 founded, see The Centenary Burns (as above) iii. 407-410. 
 
 rz=run /azV#V= paddled dtne = noon 
 
 braes = hills burn= brook TV auckt = draught 
 
 g-0wans= daisies W2W-zw//zV= friendly J?ere=paitner 
 
 328. Pure Burns, this one. 
 
 loons rascals unco= stranger rw-=cudgel 
 
 tinkler= tinker ca'=drive 
 
 329. An arrangement, first and last, of fancies and expressions cur- 
 rent in popular song long before Burns wrote. For his origins see 
 The Centenary Burns (as above), iii. 402-406. His result is not 
 incomparable to Ben Jonson's in Drink to Me Only, as to which see 
 ante, p. 384, Note to No. 157. 330. Suggested, and more, by an old 
 broadside ballad, The Last Words of James Mackpherson, Murderer, 
 which ends thus : 
 
 1 Thus wantonly and rantingly 
 
 I am resolved to die ; 
 And with undaunted courage I 
 
 Will mount this fatal tree.' 
 
 spring=a. dance tune : siurt = trouble 
 
 331. This, like Kenmure 's On and Awa, is probably referable to a 
 Jacobite original ; but none has ever been discovered. 
 
 sae = so jimp(d= jumped scroggy= scrubby 
 
 brawly weel= finely well tirled= rasped
 
 398 NOTES 
 
 332. Pure Burns, again, and very early work, though it remained 
 unpublished till 1800 (Currie). For the stanza, see ante, p. 376, Note 
 to No. 22. 
 
 trysted= appointed sfoure=dust, turmoil canna- cannot 
 
 333. The third stanza is the last of the broadside ballad of Mally 
 Stewart, which begins thus : 
 
 ' The cold winter is past and gone, 
 And now comes on the spring, 
 And I am one of the King's lifeguards, 
 And must go fight for my King, 
 
 My dear 
 I must go fight for my King ' : 
 
 a copy of which, dating as early as 1745-6, was communicated to the 
 editors of The Centenary Burns (iii. 433-436) by the Rev. J. W. 
 Ebsworth. The rest is Burns. 
 
 334-337. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850). 
 
 334. Poems Founded on the Affections, No. yiil. 335. Poems of the 
 Imagination, No. I. 33^- Poems of the Imagination, No. vin. 337. 
 ' Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.' 
 
 338-347. SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832). 
 
 The Scott numbers are reprinted from The Poetical Works of Sir 
 Walter, edited by Lockhart and published by Cadell (Edinburgh) in 
 1848. 338. This Hunting Song is said to have been ' first published 
 in the continuation of Strutt's Queenhoo Hall, 1808, inserted in the 
 Edinburgh Annual Register of the same year, and set to a Welsh air 
 in Thomson's Select Melodies, vol. iii., 1817.' 339. Written, Lockhart 
 notes, ' for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also be seen, 
 set to music, in Thomson's Collection, 1830.' 340. This wonderful 
 lyric, wherein Romance is taken in the act as nowhere else in song, is 
 from The Heart of Midlothian (Chapter xl. ). 341. From The Lady 
 of the Lake (Canto iii. ). 342. From Rokeby (Canto iii. ). 343. From 
 Marmion (Canto iii.). 344. From The Antiquary (Chapter x.). 345. 
 'Written for Albyn's Anthology, vol. ii., 1818, and set to music in 
 Mr. Thomson's Collection, in 1822.' (Lockhart.) 
 
 Caird= tinker Klt= carol gudeman=. husband 
 
 Fleech= wheedle gudewife=vf\k A<?w/=hoop 
 
 leglin = milk-pail e/0/ = mend pan = pot 
 
 wa/W=hare leisters kipper = spears pow=- pate 
 
 Ilka = every salmon hostler--wift = hostess 
 
 cantle o' the caiusey lends a bicker=tco\\s a fou= drunk 
 
 middle of the pavement bowl atnrie cupboard 
 
 kist = chest steek=shut orra=odd 
 
 Dunts o' kebbuck = pieces gear= property tails o' woo= portions of 
 
 of cheese webs or duds = sheets or wool 
 
 Whiles =\ayn clothes vntddie= gallows 
 
 Craig to fc/A*r=neck to a/rw=iron 
 
 halter
 
 NOTES 399 
 
 346. From Quentin Durward (Chapter iv.). 347. In his Journal 
 (December 22, 1825) Sir Walter writes : ' The air of Bonny Dundee 
 running in my head to-day, I wrote a few verses to it before dinner, 
 taking the keynote from the story of Clavers leaving the Scottish 
 Convention of Estates in 1688-89. I wonder if they are good ? ' 
 
 dcmce= prudent ilk car line = each beldam flyting= scolding 
 
 couthie = pleasant set tryst = made an appointment gullies = knives 
 cowls of Kilmarnock= broad bonnets marrows = comrades 
 
 348-349. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE (1772-1834). 
 
 The text is that published in Mr. Ashe's Aldine Edition. (London, 
 1885. ) Glycine's song is from Zapolya (1817). 
 
 350-353. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-1864). 
 
 350. The songlets under this number are given separately (Nos. 
 x. , Ixv. , Ixxv., clxxvi.) in the Miscellaneous Poems, which form the 
 Eighth Volume of Landor's Works and Life. (London, 1876.) 351. 
 This is numbered cii. in the Miscellaneous Poems just noted. 352. 
 The Maid's Lament is found in The Citation of William, Shakespeare 
 ( Works, vol. ii., pp. 483-484). 353. This song is numbered Iviii. in 
 the Miscellaneous Poems aforesaid. 
 
 354. CHARLES LAMB (1775-1834). 
 From The Poetical Works of Charles Lamb. (London, 1836.) 
 
 355-356. THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844). 
 
 From the Aldine Edition of Thomas CampbelFs Poetical Works. 
 (London, 1875.) 355. This noble ballad is imitated from an ancient 
 broadside : 
 
 ' You Gentlemen of England, 
 That lives at home at ease, 
 Full little do you think upon 
 The dangers of the seas,' etc. : 
 
 from which, moreover, Campbell borrowed his refrain : 
 
 ' When the stormy winds do blow.' 
 
 And this again is given by Mr. Ebsworth (Roxburghe Ballads, vi. 
 432-3) as 'altered from Martin Parker,' whose original, to the tune 
 of Saylors for My Money, is printed in the same Volume (797), and 
 begins thus : 
 
 1 Countrie men of England, who live at home at ease 
 And little think what dangers are incident o' the seas, 
 Give ear unto the Saylor who unto you will shew 
 His case, his case, 
 
 How ere the Winds doth blow. 
 
 Certain stanzas are omitted from 356 as tending to bathos, and 
 ,ruining the effect of a singularly fine and stirring piece of verse.
 
 400 NOTES 
 
 357-361. THOMAS MOORE (1779-1850). 
 
 These five pieces are taken from the Irish Melodies as given in the 
 Poetical Works of Thomas Moore. (London, 1840-41.) 
 
 362-363. EBENEZER ELLIOTT (1781-1849). 
 
 From The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott edited by his son 
 Edwin Elliott, Rector of St. John's, Antigua. (London, 1876.) 
 
 364-365. THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK (1785-1866). 
 
 364. The catch sung by Mr. Hilary and the Reverend Mr. Larynx 
 in Nightmare Abbey: from Dr. Garnett's Edition. (London, 1891.) 
 
 365. From the third volume of Cole's Edition of Peacock's Works. 
 (London, 1875.) The Table of Contents refers the song to 1806 ; in 
 the text (p. 50) it is said to be ' written after 1806.' 
 
 366-367. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785-1842). 
 
 From Poems and Songs by Allan Cunningham. With an Intro- 
 duction, Glossary, and Notes by Peter Cunningham. (London, 1847.) 
 Both were forged by ' honest Allan ' (who never could refuse a chance 
 of appearing to vie with Burns in the manipulation, or even the manu- 
 facture, of traditional material) for Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale 
 and Galloway Song (1810). 
 
 366. kames o' hinney= honey-combs =eyes 
 /5w/fe=peep loaf = palm jimpy= slender 
 o.rtn/u' = spouse eebree= eyebrow fo.' = \ot 
 
 _/Jr = bire bairnies=sma\\ children /i>K = full 
 
 367. tV=bIack cloud : WX-i = shines 
 
 368-380. BYRON (1788-1824). 
 
 My selection is printed from The Works of Lord Byron (1837), the 
 First Complete Edition, undertaken by Murray, it would seem, at the 
 urgent instancing of Sir Walter Scott, and ' respectfully inscribed ' ' To 
 the Right Honourable Sir Robert Peel, Bart., etc. etc. etc.,' as being 
 a 'Collective Edition of the Works of His "School and Form 
 Fellow" ' at Harrow. 368. From the Third Harold (1817) ; addressed 
 to Augusta Leigh. 369. No. i of the Hebrew Melodies (January, 
 1815). 370. Addressed to Lady Byron, and published, together with 
 A Sketch from Private Life : Born in a garret, in a kitchen bred : 
 in The Champion of Sunday, April' 14, 1816, and in The Morning 
 Chronicle two days after. In the former print (which says, by the 
 way, that ' though not sold, they have been distributed by his respect- 
 able publisher, Mr. Murray ') the verses are dated March 17, 1816 ; in 
 the latter, March 30 of the same year. 371. Addressed to Augusta 
 Leigh, under date of July 24, 1816. 372. Written in 1808. 
 373. Dated 1812, and published (1812) in the Second Edition of
 
 NOTES 401 
 
 Childe Harold, i. and ii., under this device: 'Heu, quanto minus 
 est cum reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse." 374. Dated 1815, and 
 suggested, directly or indirectly, by the death of Byron's old school- 
 mate, the Duke of Dorset (killed by a fall from his horse), these 
 ' Stanzas for Music,' which the writer describes as ' the truest, though 
 the most melancholy, I ever wrote,' were sent to Moore for Power 
 (publisher of the Irish Melodies), who brought them out ' with very 
 beautiful music by Sir John Stevenson.' 375. Not dated, but 
 apparently written in 1815. 376. 'This should have been written 
 fifteen moons ago ; the first stanza was.' Thus Byron to Moore 
 under date of loth July 1817, so that this brave, affectionate lyric 
 (surely its Second Stanza embodies as good and sound a philosophy of 
 life as protestant could desire ?) was meant as the writer^ farewell ere 
 he went into exile in the April of 1816. 377. Written at Venice, in 1817, 
 when, ' although I did not dissipate much upon the whole, yet I found 
 the sword wearing out the scabbard, though I have but just turned 
 the corner of twenty-nine.' 378. Dated November 1821 ; ' com- 
 posed ... on the road from Florence to Pisa ' ; and addressed to 
 Mme. Guiccipli. 379. From the Third Juan (1821). 380. Dated 
 ' Missolonghi, Jan. 22, 1824.' 
 
 381-394. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY (1792-1822). 
 
 These examples of the art and genius of the master-lyrist of our race 
 are reprinted from the Aldine Edition. 381-382. The Ode to the West 
 Wind and The Cloud appear among the miscellaneous poems issued 
 with Prometheus Unbound (1820). 383. The final chorus in Hellas 
 (1822). 384. First given in the Posthumous Poems (1824). 385. First 
 printed in 1822, in the Second Number of The Liberal, under the style 
 and title of Song, Written for an Indian Air. 386-393. From the 
 Posthumous Poems (as above). 394. The first title, when the poem 
 appeared in The Athenesum of November 17, 1832, was : An Ariette 
 f or Music. To a Lady Singing to her Accompaniment on the Guitar. 
 
 395-400. JOHN KEATS (1795-1821). 
 
 In the case of the selections from Keats, the Aldine text, edited by 
 Lord Houghton, is adopted. 395. The Hymn to Pan is from the 
 First Book of Endymion (1818). 396. From the Fourth Book of 
 Endymion. At the close of the second section I have ventured to 
 omit a stanza of the original, because it examples all Keats's defects, 
 and embitters the perfect sweetness by which it is surrounded. For 
 the pedant's sake I give it here : 
 
 ' Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood, 
 Trifling his ivy<lart, in dancing mood, 
 
 With sidelong laughing ; 
 And little rills of crimson wine imbrued 
 His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white 
 
 For Venus' pearly bite ; 
 And near him rode Silenus on his ass, 
 Pelted with flowers as he on did pass 
 
 Tipsily quaffing.' 
 
 2C
 
 402 NOTES 
 
 401. THOMAS HOOD (1799-1845). 
 
 From the First Volume of The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood. 
 (London, 1856.) 
 
 402-404. THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES (1803-1849). 
 
 These pieces are reprinted from Pickering's edition of The Poems, 
 Posthumous and Collected, of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. ( London , 1 85 1 .) 
 Two stanzas of Dream-Pedlary (402) are omitted from the text : 
 
 ' If there are ghosts to raise. 
 
 What shall I call, 
 Out of hell's murky maze, 
 
 Heaven's blue pall ? 
 Raise my loved long-lost boy 
 To lead me to his joy. 
 
 There are no ghosts to raise ; 
 
 Out of death lead no ways ; 
 
 Vain is the call. 
 
 Know'st thou not ghosts to sue ? 
 
 No love thou hast. 
 Else lie as I will do, 
 
 And breathe thy last. 
 So out of Life's fresh crown 
 Fall like a rose-leaf down. 
 
 Thus are the ghosts to wooe ; 
 Thus are all dreams made true ; 
 Ever to last ! ' 
 
 The Dirge is from Death 's Jest-Book ; or, The Foots Tragedy (Act ii. 
 sc. i). 404. From Torrismond (Act i. sc. 3). 
 
 405-408. EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849). 
 
 From Mr. Andrew Lang's edition of The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. 
 (London, 1881.)
 
 AUTHORS 
 
 ANONYMOUS, 19-26, 139-152, 168, 263- 
 266, 267. 
 
 Barnfield, Richard (1574-1637), 166. 
 Beaumont, Francis (1585-1613), 182. 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell (1803-1849), 
 
 402-404. 
 
 Behn, Aphra (1642-1689), 280. 
 Betterton, Thomas (1635-1710), 374. 
 Biblical, 27-69. 
 
 Blake, William (1757-1827), 304-314. 
 Breton, Nicholas (1542-1626), 73-75. 
 Brome, Alexander (1620-1666), 255. 
 Browne, William (1588-1644), 187, 188. 
 Burns, Robert (1759-1796), 315-333. 
 Byron (1788-1824), 368-380. 
 
 Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), 355, 
 
 356. 
 
 Campion, Thomas(1567-1640), 129-135. 
 Carew, Thomas (1589-1639), 189-192. 
 Carey, Henry (169-?-1742), 292. 
 Cartwright, William (1615-1643), 245. 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey (1340-1400), 1-3. 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), 
 
 348, 349. 
 
 Collins, William (1721-1757), 294-296. 
 Congreve, William (1670-1729), 289. 
 Cowley, Abraham (1618-1668), 254. 
 Cowper, William (1731-1800), 300, 301. 
 Crashaw, Richard (1615-1652), 248- 
 
 250. 
 Cunningham, Allan (1785-1842), 366, 
 
 367- 
 
 Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), 98, 99. 
 Davenant, Sir William (1605-1668), 
 
 226-228. 
 
 Dekker, Thomas (1575-1640), 169, 170. 
 Donne, John (1573-1631), 163-165. 
 Drayton, Michael (1563-1616), 100-102. 
 Drummond, William (1585-1649), 183, 
 
 184. 
 
 Dryden, John (1631-1700), 269-273. 
 Dunbar, William (c. 1465 ?-1520 ?), 4-6 
 
 Edwards, Richard (1523-1566), 18. 
 
 Elliot, Jean (1727-1805), 297. 
 
 Elliott, Ebenezer (1781-1849), 362, 363. 
 
 Flatman, Thomas (16 ?-17 ?), 275, 
 
 Fletcher, Giles (1588-1623), 185. 
 Fletcher, John (1579-1825), 173-180. 
 Ford, John (1586-1640), 186. 
 
 Gascoigne, George (153-?-1577), 70. 
 Gay, John (1688-1732), 290. 
 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774), 298. 
 Graham, James, Marquis of Montrose 
 
 (1612-1650), 247. 
 Graham, Robert, of Gartmore (1735- 
 
 1797), 299. 
 
 Greene, Robert (1560 7-1592), 94-96. 
 Grimald, Nicholas (1519-1562), 13. 
 
 Habington, William (1605-1654), 229. 
 Hall, Joseph (1574-1656), 167. 
 Hausted, Peter (159-?-1645), 194. 
 Herbert, George (1593-1634), 195-198. 
 Herrick, Robert (1594-1674), 199-221. 
 Heywood, Thomas (157-?-16 ?) 171, 
 
 172. 
 
 Hood, Thomas (1799-1845), 401. 
 Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey (1517- 
 
 1546), 10-12. 
 
 Jonson, Ben (1573-1637), 153-162. 
 Jordan, Thomas (1612 ?-1685), 246. 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821), 395-400. 
 
 Lamb, Charles (1775-1834), 354. 
 Landor, Walter Savage (1775-1864) 
 
 350353. 
 
 Lindsay, Lady Anne (1750-1825), 303. 
 Lodge, Thomas (1556 7-1625), 90-92. 
 Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658), 251-253. 
 Lyly, John (1554-1606), 89. 
 
 Marlowe, Christopher (1564-1693), 103 
 104.
 
 404 
 
 AUTHORS 
 
 Marvell, Andrew (1621-1678), 256, 257. 
 Massinger, Philip (1584-1639), 181. 
 Mayne, Jasper (1604-1672), 225. 
 Mickle, William Julius (1734-1788), 
 
 Milton, John (1608-1674), 236-244. 
 Montgomerie, Alexander (154-?- 
 
 1610 ?), 71, 72. 
 
 Moore, Thomas (1779-1850), 357-361. 
 Munday, Anthony (1553-1683), 80. 
 
 Nashe, Thomas (1567-1600), 136, 137. 
 Otway, Thomas (1651-1685), 288. 
 
 Peacock. Thomas Love (1785-1866), 
 
 364, 35- 
 
 Peele, George (1558 ?-1592 ?). 93. 
 Poe, Edgar Allan (1809-1849), 405-408. 
 Pope, Alexander (1688-1744), 291. 
 
 Quarles, Francis (1592-1664), 193. 
 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter (1552-1618), 78, 
 
 79, 103, 104. 
 Rowlands, Richard (1565-1630 ?), 128. 
 
 Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset 
 (1637-1706), 277. 
 
 Scott, Alexander (1520-158-?), 14-17. 
 Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832), 338-347. 
 Sedley, Sir Charles (1639-1701), 278, 
 
 279. 
 Shakespeare, William (1564-1616), 105- 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822), 381, 
 
 394- 
 
 Shirley, James (1596-1661), 222-223. 
 Sidney, Sir Philip (1554-1586), 81-88. 
 Skelton, John (147-1529), 7-8. 
 Southwell, Robert (1560-1595), 97. 
 Spenser, Edmund (1552-1599). 76, 77. 
 Stanley, Thomas (1625-1678), 268. 
 Suckling, Sir John (1608-1642), 232-235. 
 
 Thomson, James (1700-1748), 293. 
 Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695), 258-262. 
 
 Waller, Edmund (1605-1687), 230, 231. 
 Webster, John (157-16?), 224. 
 Wilmot, John, Earl of Rochester 
 
 (1647-1680), 281-287. 
 Wordsworth, William (1770-1850), 334- 
 
 337- 
 
 Wotton, Sir Henry (1568-1639), 138. 
 Wyatt, Sir Thomas (1503-1542), 9.
 
 FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ABSENT from thee, I languish still ! 252 
 
 Adieu ! Farewell earth's bliss ! 137 
 
 Adieu, O daisy of delight ! 83 
 
 Ah ! Chloris, that I now could sit, 249 
 
 Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 304 
 
 Ah, how sweet it is to love ! 245 
 
 Ah ! Sunflower, weary of time, 274 
 
 Ah, what avails the sceptred race ! 309 
 
 Ah, what is love ? It is a pretty thing 115 
 
 All my past life is mine no more, 252 
 
 An age in her embraces passed, ......... 251 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true ?........ 267 
 
 And doth not a meeting like this make amends, 316 
 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair, 327 
 
 An end, the end is come upon the four corners of the land, ... 76 
 
 Arise, my Thoughts, and mount you with the sun, ..... 142 
 
 Arise, shine, for thy light is come, 70 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 157 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night, 116 
 
 As it fell upon a day 155 
 
 As I was walking all alone, 240 
 
 Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 171 
 
 Ask me why I send you here, ......... 189 
 
 As the hart panteth after the water brooks, 32 
 
 A sunny shaft did I behold, 308 
 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre 229 
 
 Awake, awake ! put on thy strength, O Zion, 69 
 
 Away, delights ! go seek some other dwelling 160 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 354 
 
 Beauty, arise, show forth thy glorious shining ! 158 
 
 Beauty sat bathing by a spnng 704 
 
 Because in the night Ar of Moab is laid waste, and brought to silence, . 65 
 
 Behold, thou art fair, my love, 60 
 
 Behold, thou bast instructed many 41 
 
 Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers, 215 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live 185 
 
 Bless the Lord, O my soul ! 35 
 
 Blest paur of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 205 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 124 
 
 Blow ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain, . 79 
 
 By Saint Mary, my lady 14 
 
 By the rivers of Babylon, 37 
 
 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air, 98 
 
 Charm me asleep and melt me so, 182 
 
 2 C 2
 
 406 
 
 FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry ! 176 
 
 Choose me your valentine, 176 
 
 Come hither, you that love, and hear me sing, 161 
 
 Come, little babe, come, silly soul, 86 
 
 Come live with me and be my love, 120 
 
 Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life x . . 175 
 
 Come, O come, my life's delight ! 134 
 
 Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing, 145 
 
 Dark, deep, and cold the current flows, 318 
 
 Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark, 317 
 
 Dearest, do not you delay me, 162 
 
 Dear, if you change, I '11 never choose again, 143 
 
 Depart, depart, depart ! 21 
 
 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? . . . .... 284 
 
 Donald Caird can lilt and sing 303 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay, 240 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, . 148 
 
 E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks, 172 
 
 Fain would I, but I dare not ; I dare and yet I may not, .... 102 
 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see, 187 
 
 Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize, . 244 
 
 False though she be to me and love, . . 256 
 
 Fare thee well ! and if for ever, 323 
 
 Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong 286 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 126 
 
 First shall the heavens want starry light, in 
 
 Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race 206 
 
 Fold now thine arms, and hang the head, 176 
 
 Follow a shadow, it still flies you, 148 
 
 Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet ! 133 
 
 For all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this, ... 55 
 
 For Love's sake, kiss me once again ! 149 
 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony, .... ... 243 
 
 From the forests and highlands, 341 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies, 126 
 
 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 181 
 
 Get up, get up for shame ! The blooming Morn 177 
 
 Gird up thy loins now like a man 49 
 
 Give me more love or more disdain ! 170 
 
 Give place, ye lovers, here before, 16 
 
 Give place, you Ladies, and be gone, 26 
 
 Give unto the Lord, O ye mighty, 32 
 
 Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease, 168 
 
 Go and catch a falling star, 153 
 
 Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, . 279 
 
 Go, happy Rose, and interwove, 183 
 
 Go, lovely Rose, 196 
 
 Good ladies ! ye that have your pleasures in exile, 17 
 
 Good-morrow to the day so fair, 187 
 
 Go, thou gentle whispering Wind, 169 
 
 Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be, . .... 321 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 125 
 
 Hark ! now everything is still, 192 
 
 Hark ! she is calf'd, the parting hour is come 220
 
 FIRST LINES 407 
 
 PACK 
 
 Have you a desire to see 173 
 
 Hear, ye ladies that despise 162 
 
 He is gone on the mountain, 299 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights, 164 
 
 Hence, heart, with her that must depart, 19 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 190 
 
 Hey ! now the day daws, .... 84 
 
 Hide, Absolon, thy gilte tresses clere, I 
 
 His golden locks Time hath to silver turned, 113 
 
 Honest lover whosoever, 197 
 
 How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter ! . . -63 
 How doth the city sit sojitary, that was full of people ! . . -73 
 
 How hast thou helped him that is without power? 45 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been, 130 
 
 Howl, ye ships of Tarshish, 66 
 
 How many times do I love thee, dear ? 362 
 
 How shall I report, 9 
 
 How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 260 
 
 How sweet I roamed from field to field 270 
 
 am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse, 61 
 
 am the rose of Sharon, 58 
 
 arise from dreams of thee, 342 
 
 bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers 338 
 
 cannot change, as others do, . 254 
 
 I dare not ask a kiss, 190 
 
 I did but look and love a-while, 256 
 
 I dreamt a dream ! What can it mean ? 273 
 
 I dug beneath the cypress shade, 319 
 
 If all the world and love were young, 121 
 
 If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 261 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please, 263 
 
 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, 344 
 
 I feed a flame within, which so torments me, 246 
 
 If love be life, I long to die, 140 
 
 If there were dreams to sell, 361 
 
 If thou wilt ease thine heart, 361 
 
 If to be absent were to be, 227 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had companions, 311 
 
 I know it is so of a truth 42 
 
 I love, and he loves me again, 149 
 
 I loved him not ; and yet now he is gone, 310 
 
 I might ! unhappy word O me, I might, 107 
 
 In going to my naked bed as one that would have slept, .... 23 
 
 In the greenest of our valleys, 367 
 
 In the merry month of May, 88 
 
 In to these dirk and drumhe days 7 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubia Khan, 306 
 
 I pray thee, leave, love me no more, . . . . . . . .119 
 
 I prithee, send me back my heart, 198 
 
 I said in the cutting off of my days, 68 
 
 I saw my Lady weep 144 
 
 I see bow she doth see, 22 
 
 I sing the name which none can say, 222 
 
 I that in health was and gladness 5 
 
 It was a' for our rightfu 1 King, . 288 
 
 It was many and many a year ago ... 368 
 
 It was not in the winter, . . 360 
 
 It was the winter wild, 200
 
 408 FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 It was upon a Lammas night, 282 
 
 I 've heard them lilting at our ewe milking, 262 
 
 I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously, ... 29 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies 238 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, . 276 
 
 Keep not thou silence, O God, 34 
 
 Kiss me, sweet ! the wary lover, 147 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse 160 
 
 Leave me, O Love, which reaches! but to dust, 109 
 
 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, .... S7 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 132 
 
 Let the day perish wherein I was born, ....... 39 
 
 Let us sing and be merry, dance, joke, and rejoice 216 
 
 Lift ye up a banner upon the high mountain, 64 
 
 Like to Diana in her summer-weed. . . 113 
 
 Lo, here a little volume, but great book ! 217 
 
 Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose, 117 
 
 Lord, what am I ? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing ! 156 
 
 Love in fantastic triumph sate, 251 
 
 Love in her eyes sits playing 257 
 
 Love in my bosom like a bee no 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair maid ; be wise, 157 
 
 Love is a sickness full of woes, 118 
 
 Love is the blossom where there blows, . . 167 
 
 Lovely kind and kindly loving, 87 
 
 Love me or not, love her I must or die, 134 
 
 Love me not for comely grace, 144 
 
 Love that to the voice is near 168 
 
 Lo, what it is to love, 22 
 
 Man that is born of a woman 44 
 
 Memory, hither come, . . . . . 271 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear ! 165 
 
 Music, when soft voices die, 346 
 
 My boat is on the shore ' 330 
 
 My dear and only love, I pray, ... 216 
 
 My dear mistress has_ a heart, 253 
 
 My faint spirit was sitting in the light, 345 
 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains, 357 
 
 My heart js a breaking, dear tittie, 277 
 
 My heart is high a_bove, my body is full of bliss, 28 
 
 My love in her attire doth show her wit, 140 
 
 My Love is neither young nor old 143 
 
 My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming, .... 130 
 
 My lute, awake, perform the last, 15 
 
 My silks and fine array, 270 
 
 My son, keep my words, 52 
 
 My Soul, there is a country, 236 
 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife, . 166 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his, 108 
 
 Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, .... 136 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 138 
 
 No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour, 345 
 
 Now is the time for mirth, ...,. 179 
 
 Now the lusty Spring is seen ! . . . 161
 
 FIRST LINES 409 
 
 PAGE 
 
 O blithe New-comer ! I have heard, 290 
 
 O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, ...... . 299 
 
 O, clap your hands, all ye people, 33 
 
 O day of life, of light, of love ! 237 
 
 O, do not wanton with those eyes, . 152 
 
 O, fain would I, before I die, 241 
 
 Of all chaste birds the Phoenix doth excel, .112 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart, 258 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 275 
 
 O, fly, my soul ! What hangs upon, 191 
 
 Of Nelson and the North, 312 
 
 O Goddess ! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung, 355 
 
 O, how comely it is, and how reviving, 214 
 
 O, leeze me on my spinnin' wheel ! 277 
 
 O, let me climb, 235 
 
 O Lord, I have heard thy speech, and was afraid, 80 
 
 O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me, 37 
 
 O lusty May, with Flora queen ! 27 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be, 288 
 
 O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 280 
 
 O mighty King of Terrors, come, 247 
 
 O, my luve 's like a red, red rose, 285 
 
 On a day, alack the day ! 122 
 
 O, never say that I was false of heart, 131 
 
 O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my measures ! . 139 
 
 Only Joy, now here you are, 105 
 
 Order ye the buckler and shield, and draw near to battle, ... 72 
 
 O rose, thou art sick, 273 
 
 O Sorrow ! Why dost borrow, 350 
 
 O sweet delight, O more than human bliss, 135 
 
 O, talk not to me of a name great in story ! 331 
 
 O, that joy so soon should waste ! 148 
 
 O, the sad day ! . 248 
 
 O thou, whose mighty palace roof doth hang, 349 
 
 O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down, . ... 269 
 
 O, turn away those cruel eyes, 242 
 
 Out upon it ! I have loved, 198 
 
 O, waly waly up the bank 237 
 
 O western wind, when wilt thou blow, 24 
 
 O, whamy babie-clouts will buy? 280 
 
 O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 359 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 333 
 
 O, Willie brewed a peck o' maut, 276 
 
 O world ! O life ! O time ! 346 
 
 O wretch, beware ! This world will wend thee fro 8 
 
 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day ! 159 
 
 Phcebus, arise, 165 
 
 Phyllis, for shame ! Let us improve, 249 
 
 Phyllis is my only joy, 250 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 297 
 
 Piping down the valleys wild, 272 
 
 Pleasure ! why thus desert the heart, 308 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 132 
 
 Praise ye the Lord 39 
 
 Preserve thy_ sighs, unthrifty girl 194 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood 298 
 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, ........ 146
 
 4io FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Rarely, rarely comest thou, 343 
 
 Reach, with your whiter hands, to me 189 
 
 Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, .... 56 
 
 Rise, heart ; thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise, 173 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 163 
 
 Sabrina fair, 208 
 
 Seamen three ! What men be ye ? 319 
 
 Seek ye me, and ye shall live, 80 
 
 Seek ye out of the book of the Lord, and read, 67 
 
 See the chariot at hand here of Love 146 
 
 Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me 154 
 
 Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green 17 
 
 Shall I tell you whom I love? 768 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways, 289 
 
 She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, .... 315 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night, 323 
 
 She was a Phantom of delight 291 
 
 Should auld acquaintance be forgot 284 
 
 Shut not so soon : the dull-ey'd night, 188 
 
 Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye, . . 144 
 
 Since I in storms used most to be 235 
 
 Since there 's no help, come let us kiss and part ! 120 
 
 Sjng lullaby, as women do, 82 
 
 Sister, awake ! close not your eyes ! 145 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, 274 
 
 So, we '11 go no more a roving 331 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ! . . .136 
 
 Stay, O sweet, and do not rise ! 153 
 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, 177 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 175 
 
 Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv'st unseen, 214 
 
 Sweet violets, Love's Paradise, that spread 139 
 
 Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, 344 
 
 Take, O, take those lips away, 125 
 
 Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, 228 
 
 Tell me, thou soul of her I love, 259 
 
 Thank Heaven ! the crisis, 365 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold, 129 
 
 That which her slender waist confined, 196 
 
 The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places, 30 
 
 The castled crag of Drachenfels, 322 
 
 The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof, 31 
 
 The forward youth that would appear, 231 
 
 The glories of our blood and state, 191 
 
 The golden gates of Sleep unbar, 346 
 
 The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece 332 
 
 The keen stars were twinkling, 348 
 
 The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, 193 
 
 The longer life, the more offence, 28 
 
 The merry World did on a day, 174 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ! 129 
 
 The nightingale as soon as April bringeth, 109 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters, . . 330 
 
 There is a garden in her face, 135 
 
 There 's kames o' hinney 'tween my luve's lips, 320 
 
 There 's not a joy the world can give, 329 
 
 There 's nought but care on every tan' 283
 
 FIRST LINES 411 
 
 PAGE 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream 291 
 
 Therewith when he was ware, and gan behold, 2 
 
 The skies they were ashen and sober, 362 
 
 The star that bids the shepherd fold 206 
 
 The twentieth year is well-nigh past, 263 
 
 The world's great age begins anew, 340 
 
 Those looks, whose beams be joy, whose motion is delight, . . . 106 
 
 Thou art but young, thou say'st 143 
 
 Thou art to all lost love the_ best 185 
 
 Though the day of my destiny 's over, 325 
 
 Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way, . 315 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright, 273 
 
 Time is the feathered thing, 192 
 
 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved 334 
 
 'Tis true, I never was in love 230 
 
 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, 260 
 
 Toll for the brave ! 264 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 130 
 
 To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke 305 
 
 To the ocean now I fly, 208 
 
 'Twas on a Monday morning, 287 
 
 Twenty years hence my eyes may grow, 310 
 
 Under the greenwood tree, 124 
 
 Unfold ! unfold ! Take in His light, 235 
 
 Up, halesom heart, thy rootes raise and loup, 20 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 133 
 
 Up 1 youths and virgins ! up, and praise 150 
 
 Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, 54 
 
 Vital spark of heavenly flame 257 
 
 Vulcan, contrive me such a cup, 253 
 
 Wake, all the dead ! What ho ! what ho ! 194 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 296 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 1x4 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains 1 141 
 
 Welcome, maids-of-honour ! 181 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail ? no 
 
 What conscience, say, is it in thee, 188 
 
 What harder is than stone? - What more than water soft? ... 24 
 
 What is thy mother? 78 
 
 What is your substance? Whereof are you made 128 
 
 What shall I do to show how much I love her? 247 
 
 What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see 18 
 
 When daisies pied, and violets blue 123 
 
 When, dearest, I but think of thee, 199 
 
 When Flora had o'erfret the firth 25 
 
 When he, who adores thee, has left but the name 314 
 
 When in death I shall calmly recline, 314 
 
 When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 127 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time, 131 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly, ........ 263 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings, 228 
 
 When the lamp is shattered, 347 
 
 When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, 36 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame 268 
 
 When thou must home to shades of underground, 136 
 
 When thou, poor Excommunicate, 171
 
 412 FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, 127 
 
 When we two parted 326 
 
 Where shall the lover rest, 301 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I, 127 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride, 230 
 
 Whether on Ida's shady brow, ' 271 
 
 Who can find a virtuous woman ? 53 
 
 Who hath his fancy pleased, . 107 
 
 Who js Silvia? what is she, 122 
 
 Who is this that darkeneth counsel 46 
 
 Why art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, 164 
 
 Why dost thou shade thy lovely face ? O why, . . . 254 
 
 Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears, 184 
 
 Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace, . . . .119 
 
 Why sitt'st thou by that ruin'd hall, . 302 
 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou clim'st the skies ! 107 
 
 Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, 103 
 
 Ye blushing virgins happy are, 195 
 
 Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 278 
 
 Ye have been fresh and green, 186 
 
 Ye learned Sisters, which have oftentimes, 88 
 
 Ye little birds that sit and sing, 158 
 
 Ye Mariners of England, 311 
 
 Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 281 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, 209 
 
 You are a tulip seen to-day, . . . . 182 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night 138 
 
 Your eyen two will slay me suddenly, 4 
 
 Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press

 
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